Taken

Chapter Twenty #2

“That’s a very harsh word.” He says. “It wasn’t like that, dearest fratello.” My eye twitches. “We would never kidnap a woman as beautiful as my beauty over here.”

My eyes dart between him, Chiara, and Nikolai, then I look back to Mikhail once more.

“You stole my sister.” I deadpan. “You took her from her flat—one which she didn’t even get to spend a night in, if I may add.”

Mikhail only grins at me.

“Sure, we took her.” He says. “And now, we’re keeping her.”

Nikolai butts in.

“If Chiara misses that small apartment so much, we can always build something identical in New York. Property is not an issue for us.”

My jaw tightens at his smug tone, and my eyes narrow in his direction.

Bratva bastard.

“Our future involves Chiara. That’s all you need to know.”

My eyes move back to Mikhail, my anger more apparent now than it was before.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

I snap at him.

“It should.” Nikolai says, his voice as cool as ice. “Because it’s the truth, Dario.”

Chiara only squeezes my hand tighter.

“Dario…” Her voice is soft, almost as if she’s pleading with me. “I chose this. I chose them.”

Goddamnit.

I drag my free hand down my face, forcing myself to take a few deep breaths before I can look at her again.

“You do realise that this isn’t normal, right, Chiara?” I don’t miss the way she flinches. “You were kidnapped, and you were with them for weeks on end, forced to do fuck knows with these mad men. This situation isn’t normal, sorellina. Do you understand that?”

She blinks, and her bottom lip trembles.

I hate that I’m the one making her feel this way, but if nobody else wants to give it to her straight, I’ll need to.

Even if it makes me the villain here.

“Nothing about this situation is normal, dearest fratello. Not the way our past is connected, or the way our future will be formed.”

Mikhail quips, clearly amused.

I ignore him, focusing on Chiara instead.

She’s curled her bottom lip into her mouth to stop it from trembling, and she’s blinking rapidly, like she’s trying to stop herself from crying.

Fuck.

Outside, the rain taps against the windows; England’s lullaby.

It feels like home.

It feels like a lifetime ago that Chiara and I were sitting here at home.

“We’re not forcing you to like us, Dario.

” Nikolai finally says, causing Chiara to look away from me to look over at him instead.

“But you need to understand something; we don’t play any games when it comes to Chiara.

She is ours. We will protect her with everything that we’ve got.

She will never be left unprotected with us. ”

I shake my head, feeling my throat beginning to tighten up with emotion.

Fuck, not now!

Leaning forward, his elbow on my table, Mikhail looks my way.

“Look, Dario, I get it. If anybody came for my little sister like that—even though I have no idea who she even is—I would be dropping bodies like flies. I respect what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work. Chiara has accepted that she is ours, and she knows that we are hers. End of discussion.”

I swallow hard, feeling my throat bob as I do.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

I croak, not bothering to hide the emotion in my tone.

Mikhail only shrugs.

“It’s not. I’m only stating facts.”

Chiara’s gaze bounces between us, nerves flickering across her face.

“Can we not do this now?”

She asks us softly.

I force myself to continue breathing.

“Tell your boyfriends to stop being insufferable.”

Mikhail clicks his tongue.

“I like that you're now accepting us as her boyfriends.” He tells me, grinning. “And we’re delightful, to be honest with you.”

Nikolai breathes out a laugh.

“Speak for yourself.”

I almost laugh.

Me.

Instead, I shake my head.

“This is all insane.” I mutter. “But if it means that my sister is happy…” I swallow hard, feeling like I’m choking on glass. “Then that’s what matters.”

Mikhail’s grin only widens.

“Good, because we’re planning on keeping her that way.”

Nikolai nods, adding to his brother’s words.

“She’ll always be happy with us.”

Always.

Damn them for meaning it.

Leaning back into my chair, I feel the tension slowly leave me.

It doesn’t mean that I trust them—fuck no—but…I believe them.

And somehow, that’s even worse.

“If you hurt her,” I say in a low voice. “That’s it. I don’t care who you are, and I don’t care what power you’ve got—I’ll come for you both.”

Mikhail winks in my direction.

“We would expect nothing less.”

Nikolai agrees.

“True. It’s what a brother should say.”

My jaw tightens.

I’m her brother. Her protector. And now…I’m supposed to let her go.

Chiara’s hand tightens around mine again, and I glance over at her, finding her smiling softly at me.

I somehow find it in me to smile back at my little sister too.

Even if I hate it—this situation, this arrangement—I’ll accept it.

What more can I do when these two men bring my sister happiness?

Isaak

The door shuts behind us both.

Francesco takes a seat at the desk, and I take a seat across from him.

As he pours two glasses of whiskey, he slides one across to me.

“Peace.”

I say simply.

Francesco eyes his drink before he downs it in one go, slamming the glass to the desk before he looks at me.

“Easy for you to say.” He almost sneers. “You are not losing your daughter.”

For a moment, just a breath long, I see it.

The flash of regret.

The weight of choices that were made many long years ago.

I throw back the vodka, letting the burn scorch down my throat.

Fuck!

My mind drifts—unwanted, unwelcome—to her.

My daughter.

Moya zvyozdochka.

My little star.

Alexis.

She is a woman now.

Is she safe?

Is she happy?

Those are the types of questions which gnaw at me daily.

Francesco clears his throat, but I raise a hand.

Our gazes lock, two lions sizing each other up.

Years ago, we wouldn’t have hesitated to kill each other without blinking.

And now?

Now, we’re talking about family.

Our family.

“Our past is our past.” I say. “We cannot change what has been done, but our children are our future. My sons adore her, and I know she feels safe with them too. She is safe with them.”

The silence stretches between us, then finally, he nods.

“They love her.” He admits in a thick voice. “I never thought I would say it, but I have seen them with her, and I know it is true.”

I nod at him, knowing it’s true.

I see it every day at home.

Together, we both sit in silence, two old men battered by life.

Finally, I stand up from my seat as I offer him my hand.

“For them”

He murmurs as he stands up too, accepting my hand.

Firm.

Respecting.

Accepting.

“For them.”

I agree.

The handshake lingers; it’s a symbol neither one of us thought would ever be possible.

Not friendship.

Not forgiveness.

But understanding.

For our children.

For the ones we love more than our own pride.

I release my hand from his, watching him sigh as he rubs his own hand across his face.

“Do you ever wonder…” he begins to say. “Do you ever think that if you and I had not made enemies of each other…maybe our kids would not have been caught in the crossfire?” He pauses for a second, taking a sharp breath in.

“My daughter would not have been taken if we lived in Italy. Your daughter would not have been forced to move, either. Perhaps…in another life, she lived with you, grew up with her older brothers by her side too.”

I release a heavy breath, feeling my chest tighten with tension.

“Regret is a heavy drink, Francesco.” I say. “If you sip it too long, you’ll find yourself drowning.”

He releases a humourless laugh.

“Is that what you tell yourself at night?”

I force myself to look away from him, images of my daughter flickering in my head.

I only ever saw her when she was a small child.

A toddler.

A baby.

She would stumble over her own two feet trying to reach me, but she would succeed—every single time—and I would take her in my arms, throwing her high over my head, just to hear those sweet giggles leave her mouth.

She loved me, even if she only saw me a few hours at a time, and I loved her too.

Fuck, how I loved my sweet little star.

Emotion fills my throat.

What would she say if she saw me now?

I’m sitting across from the man I’ve blamed for everything, and I’m working to make amends.

I hope she’ll realise one day that I am also doing this for her too.

“No.” I finally admit. “Most nights, I just drink.”

A beat passes between us both.

Heavy.

Honest.

We both sit down in our chairs.

Francesco reaches for the bottle, pouring more whiskey into our glasses.

“She is my entire world. After Serena died…she is all I had left. Dario and I butted heads, unable to see clearly with everything that was happening, but Chiara was always there, doing her best to keep our family together.” He pauses, his jaw tightening.

“And now, my daughter is with them; your sons.”

I swirl the whiskey in my glass.

“My sons are not me.” I say quietly. “They have their own hearts, and those hearts are hers.”

Francesco scoffs, shaking his head.

“You talk like you have it all figured out.”

I manage to smile, the expression as foreign as the talk that is happening between us.

“I don’t, but I do know my sons. They love Chiara, every part of her, and they won’t stop loving her until they are in the grave.”

His jaw tightens as he looks away.

“Men like us…we do not get happy endings, Isaak.”

I release a heavy breath, knowing he’s right.

“I agree, but maybe they can. This is a different time, Francesco. Don’t forget that.”

It’s strange—this…peace we’re trying to achieve.

It’s unsteady, like a bridge that’s been built over old wounds, but it holds.

Francesco finishes the last of his whiskey.

“Do you really think this will end well?”

He asks.

I look at him.

“I think this will end based on how they do it. Our history has no importance in their future.”

His gaze moves towards the closed door.

“My daughter is stronger than she looks.”

I nod at him, knowing he is right.