ANYA
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
My papa’s face was a canvas of fury. He looked like a cold-blooded killer. His eyes—so much like my brother’s—were a murderous storm ready to make damage, and all his anger was aimed at my husband.
My heart stopped.
“Papa!” I screamed, my voice cracking as I ran toward him. I yanked on his forearm while trying to protect Jetmir with my body. “Please, listen to me. Let’s talk.”
“Step aside, Anya,” my papa growled.
“No.”
“Listen to your father, Anya. Step aside.”
Jetmir jerked against my papa’s firm hold. Frustration clouded his features, but all my focus was on my papa whose only goal was to end Jetmir’s life.
“Stop it, both of you!” I screamed.
It was pointless, because they were both ignoring me and too busy glaring at each other.
“Please, Papa. Listen to me.” The waves seemed distant beneath the pounding of my heart. I was moving my lips, mouthing the words, but I couldn’t be sure I was making any sound. I’d never been more terrified than now. I knew what my papa was capable of when he was in protective mode.
Papa’s jaw tightened. “Anya, step—”
“I said no.”
I threw myself between two men I loved, dropping to my knees beside my husband. One hand reached instinctively for him while the other shoved against my father’s arm, forcing the gun away from the back of Jetmir’s skull.
“What has he done to you?” My father stared at me. “All the damage he’s caused… It cannot be that you’ve forgiven him so easily.”
I looked down at my husband. Blood trickled from the cut on the back of his neck where they’d struck him, but even now his eyes searched mine instead of pleading for himself.
He was worried about me. The realization only strengthened my resolve.
I turned back to my father. “I know exactly what he’s done. If I could forgive, so can you.”
“It’s Stockholm Syndrome, Anya,” Papa shouted. “He stole you from your family.”
“No.” My voice rose. “I chose him.”
“You cannot be serious.” My father’s expression hardened. “You were manipulated.”
“No, I wasn’t. You taught me my entire life that family stands together.” My eyes burned with unshed tears. “Well, he is my family.” I reached for my husband’s hands, holding them as tightly as I could. “If you want to hurt him, you’ll have to go through me first.”
“Anya…” he warned.
“No.” I shook my head fiercely. “If you want to get to him, you’ll have to go through me.”
Several of Papa’s men exchanged uneasy glances. Even my father’s grip on the pistol faltered for the briefest second.
My husband’s breathing was strained from the knee pressing into his back, yet he still spoke through gritted teeth. “Anya… don’t.”
“You asked me to give us a second chance. I’m doing that.
” I squeezed his hand, then lifted my chin and met my papa’s furious gaze.
“You raised me to be strong. To make the right choices. To protect the people I love.” A tear escaped despite my efforts to stop it.
“I’m doing exactly that. I’m protecting my husband. The man I love.”
A muscle twitched in my papa’s neck, but his hold on the gun loosened, and I took it as an opening.
I looked directly into his eyes and spoke with a calm certainty that surprised us both.
“If you pull that trigger, you won’t just kill him,” I said slowly. “You’ll kill me too. You’ll lose me forever.”
He didn’t move. Silence stretched, threatening to snap with the sting of a rubber band.
“Fine, then let me tell you this.” Papa’s voice was cold and clipped. “If you choose him, you can never bring him around your mother.”
“You can’t speak for Mama,” I protested. “I’m sure with time she’ll understand.”
“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “Just like you’re choosing him, I’m choosing her. Bringing this man around your mother will only seek to retraumatize her. I won’t allow that.”
“Retraumatize her?” My brows knitted. “Trauma? What… trauma?”
He couldn’t possibly be speaking about what I’d done three years ago. Yes, I snuck off and got married. Yes, I used the pretense of the raggedy Albanian shore for my photoshoot to be with Jetmir. But that couldn’t have been that traumatic for her. Right?
“This island…” My father’s eyes dropped to my husband. “Him and his resemblance to Santiago Tijuana, the man who kidnapped your mother and tortured her… almost raped her. You cannot expect me to allow that near my wife.”
I blinked, then blinked again, my whole world spiraling with Papa’s words.
“What?” I breathed, certain my mind was conjuring things. There was no way I heard him correctly. “What are you talking about?”
“I simply won’t allow it, Anya,” Papa gritted.
“It’s not for you to allow it, Raphael.” Mama’s voice cut through the tension and she appeared on the beach flanked by two of her bodyguards.