Chapter Twelve #3
“They’re strong people.” I begin saying, my voice trembling slightly. “They always have been. Papa has always doted on me, and Dario has always been kind.”
My chest tightens at the thought of them; my father’s calm presence, and my brother’s fierce protectiveness.
Mikhail pushes off of the doorframe, his gaze never leaving mine.
“How has your brother been kind to you?” He asks, his tone sounding like he’s trying to puzzle something out. “What’s Dario like?”
I hesitate for a second, my mind now flooded with so many memories of my brother.
He’s always made me feel like I’m the most important thing in the world, and he’s always made sure to keep me safe.
“Dario is protective.” I say, my voice a little softer now, raspier with the memories of my brother in mind. “He has a tough exterior, but he always has a soft spot for me. He’s always making sure that I’m okay. He looks out for me…fratello mio.”
There’s a quiet pause.
My throat has become dry now, and as I look up, I find the weight of both their gazes on me. I try not to let it get to me, but it’s hard to hold back the tears when all I want is to see my family again.
It’s not fair that they’re both here together—brothers—whilst my family is somewhere else, probably scared out of their minds about my whereabouts.
“What about your father? What is he like?”
Nikolai’s the one to ask the question this time, and his voice is a little more hesitant now.
It’s almost as if he’s afraid that I’ll break completely.
“Papa…” I pause, taking a deep breath in, trying to steady myself. “He’s the strong one. Even though he carries the weight of it all on his shoulders, he never lets anybody see him weak. He loves me, loves Dario too, and he raised us both all alone after…after Mama’s death.”
Just the mention of my mother has a sob bubbling in my throat.
I swallow hard, forcing it down.
Mikhail shifts, his eyes narrowing in my direction, as though he’s trying to figure me out.
“And how did she die?”
He asks me, his voice quiet.
I don’t want to answer that question.
I don’t want to remember the day that my mother died, and how everything changed for us in only a matter of seconds.
I don’t want to remember how my father became even more guarded, even more determined to keep us protected.
Biting down on my bottom lip, I fight back tears.
“Mama was…she was killed.” My breathing is shaky, and my chest aches. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
This time, Nikolai is the one who steps forward, only stopping when he’s standing right in front of me with one hand pressed to my shoulder.
His eyes…they’re gentle, but they’re guarded too.
“We’re not trying to hurt you, darling.” He says quickly. “We just want to know. We need to understand.”
I look up at him, blinking the tears away, before glancing over to Mikhail.
They’re both waiting on me, and I realise that it’s not even about understanding any more.
They want answers.
I take a heavy breath in, holding it for a few seconds, before I release it.
“My mother was murdered.” Something flashes through both of their faces. “She was killed in our home in Italy.”
Nikolai’s jaw becomes tight, and as I look over to Mikhail, I see him shaking his head.
Tears immediately rise to my eyes.
“I miss her.” I whisper, my voice barely audible now. “I miss her more than anything. I miss my family too.”
Tears threaten to spill down my face, but I blink them away.
After all that has happened, both over the last few days, and even today, I know that I can’t cry in front of them.
I won’t.
The room becomes silent for a moment, and I know that they’re both processing what I’ve said.
Even if they’re Russian, and I’m Italian, we’re both from a similar background.
Bratva.
Mafia.
Organisations where men rule. Organisations where women and children are to be unharmed.
I know what they’re thinking about—I’m thinking about it too.
If women are to be unharmed, then how is it that my mother was murdered?
I look back at my own situation, a sinking feeling appearing in my stomach.
If women are to be unharmed, then how is it that they’ve taken me, and they’re keeping me captive?
My fingers begin to tremble against the bed.
Nikolai reaches down, taking my hand in his, tugging me up so that I’m now standing.
Mikhail steps closer too, throwing the duvet over, as they both help me into bed.
Their hands are all over me, keeping me safe, as I lie down in bed.
I allow myself to drift into the past, my memories feeling a little faint now, like they’re just dreams I can barely reach.
But there are some moments I’ll never forget.
The warmth of my family’s love.
The way they would hold me when everything else fell apart.
I think back to the memory of Papa holding me so tightly, his strong arms wrapped around me as he kept me close.
It was the day that Mama passed.
His face—so fierce, and so determined too—peered down at me, tears in his eyes as his hand brushed all over me, making sure that I was safe.
My rock. My protector.
When Papa would hold me, nothing could hurt me. He was always soft with me, so loving in a way that I knew most made men weren’t with their daughters.
And Dario, my brother.
There are seven years between us both, but he never let that mean anything.
We were a team, the two of us, with Papa leading the way.
I remember how Dario would tease me when we were younger, but he somehow always knew the right thing to say to get me out of my moods, and to make me laugh again.
There was never a moment where I doubted his love for me; his protectiveness was fierce, and nobody could ever do anything to me without feeling my brother’s wrath.
But now, everything is different.
Dario is not here to hold me when I cry, and Papa is not here to tell me that everything will be okay.
I can’t even talk to them—that video is my only hope.
A bitter ache fills my chest as I think of the men in my family, wondering if they’re looking for me, wondering what must be going through their minds.
I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve been taken. I have no idea if I’m still in England.
From their accents…I doubt it.
My family has always kept me safe, always fought for me. But now…now, I’m all alone.
Alone with Nikolai.
Alone with Mikhail.
They both promised to protect me. They both promised to keep me safe.
And now…
I clench my fists, squeezing my eyes shut.
Somebody has his hand on my head, stroking my hair, and the other has his hand on my middle, stroking my flesh.
I can’t tremble like this in front of them. I can’t let them think that I’m weak.
But no matter how much I try to hold it together, the ache remains.
The emptiness in my heart.
The longing for my family.
And I hate it.
I hate how small and fragile I feel without them here, without the love they’ve always given me.
Papa’s deep voice echoes in my head, followed by Dario’s teasing tone.
The weight of everything feels so heavy now.
I should be angry.
Angry with Nikolai.
Angry with Mikhail.
But every single time that I try to be, I can’t.
They’re always there, their presence so close, so undeniable.
I should be repulsed by their touch, by the way that they’ve taken me, and kept me trapped here, but I can’t.
All I feel is confusion, a tangled mess of emotions that I can’t make sense of.
I still have no idea how this all happened.
When did the lines blur?
When did I stop hating them?
When did I stop resisting?
I used to dream of my family—Papa and Dario—coming here, saving me.
And now…
I swallow hard, a whimper escaping my lips.
Now, all I think about is curling up into Nikolai and Mikhail, allowing them to hold me, to touch me, and to reassure me.
I want to hear their words, and I want them to tell me that everything will be okay. I want them to show me how they’ll keep me safe, keep me protected from everything else around me.
But it’s never going to happen.
I won’t allow myself to forget who they are.
I won’t allow myself to forget what they have done.
They’re dangerous men who have taken me.
I shouldn’t feel safe with them, but when they're here, it’s like everything becomes quieter.
I don’t understand how it happened.
When did I begin to crave their presence?
Their touch?
How is it that something so twisted is now starting to feel so right?
I should be terrified of them; terrified of what they’ve done, and what they can do.
But I’m not.
I’m lost.
I’m stuck between two versions of myself; one who wants to fight, to escape, and to be free, and the other who wants to stay, to trust them, and to let them take care of me.
I release a shaky breath.
How did I get here?
How did I allow them to get inside my head so easily?
Maybe it's the loneliness.
Maybe it's the isolation.
Or maybe…just maybe…it’s something deeper than that.
Maybe it’s something I’m not ready to face.
I take a deep breath in, knowing this feeling won’t be going away anytime soon.
I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know where to go from here.
All I can do is wait.