Taken

Chapter Twenty

chiara

S ometimes, I find myself wondering how this can possibly be my life.

How did things change so quickly?

The air outside smells like home, and it’s crazy to even think that once upon a time, I never thought that I would ever see it again.

Now back at Papa’s home in England, we all take a seat at the dining table.

The room feels too big, too formal, like I’m now a guest in my own world.

Nikolai sits to my right, and Mikhail sits to my left.

Though their warmth bleeds into my sides, I feel the weight of my family across the table.

Papa.

Dario.

They’ve all been civil with one another so far, but now that we’re all in London, in the place that Papa has made his home…

I glance over at him sitting at the head of the table, and I smile softly at him.

His gaze is steady as he looks at me, concern hidden beneath his stern expression, even after all this time.

And Dario…my crazy, overprotective big brother…

His jaw is clenched so tight I wonder if it’ll crack, and his glare cuts straight through me.

It’s not hatred in his eyes—no.

It’s pain.

I can’t blame him for feeling this way.

Not really.

My heart pounds in my chest, my throat becoming tight.

“I like being with them.” I begin saying, my voice shaky. “This is my choice too, Dario.”

He scoffs, looking away.

“Some choice you’ve made.”

He mutters under his breath.

I swallow hard, looking back to Papa, hoping he’ll say something, when Isaak speaks instead.

“Family is family, Dario.”

His Russian accent seems more prominent now, thick as it curls around each word.

Somehow, it’s just as calming as it is terrifying.

My brother’s fists tighten on the table.

“Family? You’re joking, right?” He throws a glance over at the two men who are sitting on either side of me. “Your sons took my sister, and I’m supposed to what—welcome them both into my home with open arms?!”

Pain slices through me at the hurt in his voice.

“Dario—”

He doesn’t let me get another word in.

“No!” His voice shakes as he carries on. “You don’t belong with them, Chiara. You belong here with us; with Papa, and with me.” His chest heaves as he shakes his head, his eyes full of emotion. “We’re your family.”

My chest aches, feeling torn between the two men who share the same blood as me, and the two men who have captured my heart.

A palm is pressed to my thigh from my right, and an arm is stretched along my shoulders from my left.

Their touch isn’t only for show—no. Their touch is there to make a point.

Not only to me, but to Papa and Dario too.

Comforting.

Possessive.

Mine.

My cheeks burn, even though they haven’t done more to me than just touch me, since Papa is right there.

Sitting opposite Nikolai, Isaak rises from his chair, looking over at Papa.

“Let us speak like fathers, Francesco.”

Papa looks at me for a fraction of a second before he looks away, nodding as he stands up too.

Together, the two of them move towards the hallway, and into Papa’s study, closing the door behind them both with a heavy thud.

The room feels heavier now that it's only us in here, the muffled voices of both our fathers fading away into the background.

Silence stretches as we stare at each other.

Thick.

Awkward.

Uncomfortable.

I don’t know how to make things better.

Dario drums his fingers against the table, each tap sounding more and more like a countdown to an explosion.

Nikolai sits relaxed in his chair, as calm as ever, but there’s a sharpness to his gaze—a predator sizing up to his rival.

Mikhail simply grins, like he’s itching to push my brother even further.

“So,” he drawls as he finally breaks the silence. “Is this the part where you threaten us again?”

Dario’s lips press into a thin line.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Nikolai chuckles.

“Aren’t you tired of these empty threats? It’s not like you even have the power to be able to do anything.”

His tone isn’t condescending—it’s a fact.

His words are a cold truth that’s been delivered with causal menace.

Because even if he wanted to—and I know that my brother desperately wants to—he can’t.

Nikolai and Mikhail…they are Bratva…men in training to become Pakhans.

And Dario…my brother isn’t even a soldier.

It wouldn’t end well if he even tried to do something.

“Guys.” I mutter as I squeeze Nikolai’s hand, and Mikhail’s thigh too. “Please don’t do this now.”

Dario’s eyes dart to mine.

His jaw tightens further as both Nikolai and Mikhail raise my hands, pressing their lips against my knuckles.

My face burns brighter.

“Do you really like being with them?” I don’t miss the way his voice cracks on that last word. “After everything that’s happened?”

I nod my head at him, feeling my heart twist even tighter in my chest.

Before I can speak, Mikhail leans forward, one forearm stretched along the table.

“We didn’t plan for any of this, fratello.

We had no idea that Chiara was involved in this world of ours.

” The Italian rolls off his tongue, so familiar, yet also mocking, all at once.

“But she is ours now, and there’s no doubt about it.

Nikolai and I will always protect her—better than anybody else can. ”

Dario glares at Mikhail, jaw ticking as he scoffs slightly.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

My brother shoots back, eyes narrowed at him.

“It’s both.”

Nikolai says from my side, his voice smooth and steady.

It only makes Dario glare at them both even harder.

The storm brews in his eyes—wanting to fight, wanting to scream—but something holds him back.

Me.

As his gaze meets mine, it softens just a fraction.

He exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck as he swallows hard.

“She’s my little sister.” He whispers brokenly. “Sorellina mia. How can you expect me to be able to hand her over so easily—and to the Bratva of all people?”

I take a sharp breath in, shaking my head.

“You’re not handing me away, Dario. This is my choice.”

He mutters under his breath, still unable to see how much these two men mean to me.

I lean forward, reaching out to take his hand in mine across the table.

Immediately, he flips his hand around, holding mine tighter in his.

“It doesn’t feel like you have one, Chiara.”

Again, I open my mouth to speak—to defend myself, to defend them—but Nikolai beats me to it.

“We get it; she’s your sister. Naturally, she’s yours to protect.” His voice drops lower. “But she’s ours to love, and we don’t take that lightly.”

Dario’s shoulders slump, all the fight finally leaving him as he reluctantly begins to accept this—accept us.

“If you ever hurt her,” he murmurs as his eyes dart between either one of theirs. “I’ll end you both. Bratva heirs, or not.”

A breath of laughter escapes Mikhail.

“That’s the spirit, Dario.” He says. “The protective big brother act—I respect it. I might even need to take a few tips from you when it’s time to meet my own little sister.”

I roll my eyes at him, unable to believe that this is where our conversation has led to.

Squeezing Dario’s hand even tighter, I lean back into my chair, looking between both Nikolai and Mikhail.

“My brother means it, you know.”

Nikolai smiles down at me.

“We know he does, darling.” He says, amusement clear in his tone. “We would be disappointed if he didn’t.”

Again, Dario says something under his breath—but there’s less heat to his words.

A lot less fight too.

This is a step forward in him accepting them both.

This is something I’ve been desperately waiting for.

dario

I should be punching them.

I shouldn’t stop until they’re both so bloody and bruised up, my sister has a hard time recognising which twin is which.

I should make them pay for taking her.

But I don’t.

It’s not because I like them—fuck, never that—but it’s because my sister’s hand is still wrapped around mine.

Her eyes, the same ones as our Mama’s, are staring up at me with pure hope.

Hope that I won’t mess this up for her.

Hope that I’ll let her leave again.

With them.

It’s what this is, though.

It’s about letting Chiara go, and letting them both have her.

Freely.

Willingly.

Not in the vile way they had taken my sister.

I release a shaky breath, watching the three of them.

Mikhail leans back in his chair—in my chair—like he owns the goddamn room.

And now that I’ve known him for some time now, he probably thinks that he does.

Russian brat.

When Chiara turns to speak to the other twin, Mikhail flashes me that grin, the one that almost pushes me to the edge.

Hit me, it screams, I dare you.

My fist tightens, the one I’ve forced by my side so my sister won’t see it.

I’m fucking close to throwing hands with them both, and I don’t care if Chiara will hate me for it.

But when she turns away to look at me, I know I can’t.

Those eyes…Mama’s eyes…

It’s the only reason why I haven’t been more stern with all of this.

If Papa is happy with this arrangement…I’ll need to be happy with it too.

Beside Chiara, Nikolai sits there, as still as a goddamn statue.

Cold.

Calculating.

He watches me like he’s monitoring my every move, ready for me to do anything so he can jump into action.

So he can prove himself to be the good guy my little sister thinks he is.

And as I look back to Chiara…I can’t lie any longer.

My little sister is glowing.

She’s sitting between these two men—these awful beings who once had eagerly taken my sister from me—and she looks happy.

Safe.

Like she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

I hate it.

I respect it.

I hate that I respect it.

It doesn’t make sense—none of it does.

But they make her happy, and they keep her safe.

My chest tightens as I force myself to take a heavy breath.

“What now?” I say as I break the silence, desperate to be involved in these plans my sister is rambling about. “What are your plans for the future? Or are you both winging this entire kidnap and fall in love with some random girl from the streets of London thing?”

Chiara’s mouth drops open, and her cheeks soon fill with colour.

The corners of Nikolai’s lips twitch.

And Mikhail snorts.