Page 109
Story: Taken
I can barely keep up with the bursts of anger, the harsh words that leave from their mouths now that all the men, minus Papa, are shouting at one another. The only thing I can focus onis the sound of my own heartbeat, now thudding in my chest, drawing out everything else.
My body shakes as I clutch onto Papa desperately, too scared to let go, and too scared to breathe.
I’m lost in this storm of men shouting as emotions run high.
“Stop!”I try to scream, but the word gets caught in my throat. My voice is nothing more than a whisper, barely heard over this chaos. I feel small in Papa’s arms, like I’m just a child, unable to stop any of this. “Just stop!”
I say, louder this time.
It does take them a little while to, but thankfully, they do.
They stop.
With all eyes on me, I feel smaller than ever now.
I force myself to take a deep breath in, and I stand up slowly from the sofa, feeling the weight of everything on my shoulders. Papa rises with me too, his arm moving instinctively around me, pulling me close. His body is solid against mine, as if he’s trying to shield me from everything that’s happening here.
It doesn’t matter to me.
This has been going on for far too long now.
I face the men—Isaak, Alessandro, Dario—and after steadying my breath—Nikolai, and Mikhail too.
I need them to stop. I need them to hear me.
“Please.” I beg them all softly. “Just stop. Just forget it. We don’t need any of this, not the anger, or the shouting…we don't need it.”
Papa shakes his head, wrapping both arms around me, holding onto me like I’m only a fragile doll.
He begins to speak again, his words hushed Italian murmurs, telling me that I’m only confused.
His voice is full of nothing but love, and fatherly affection.
I know he’s worried about me, but all I can hear now is the pounding in my chest; the sound of my heart racing as though it belongs to someone else.
To Nikolai.
To Mikhail.
My throat feels tight.
How can I explain it to Papa?
He would never understand.
Unable to stop myself, I turn my eyes back to them.
Both brothers are still looking at me.
Nikolai’s eyes narrow, his gaze possessive as ever.
Mikhail’s lips curl into a small smile.
They’re watching me closely, waiting for me to react, ready to take back what’s theirs.
And I feel it—just like I always do now.
That soft yet firm pull of their control, that heavy weight of their ownership.
My body shakes as I clutch onto Papa desperately, too scared to let go, and too scared to breathe.
I’m lost in this storm of men shouting as emotions run high.
“Stop!”I try to scream, but the word gets caught in my throat. My voice is nothing more than a whisper, barely heard over this chaos. I feel small in Papa’s arms, like I’m just a child, unable to stop any of this. “Just stop!”
I say, louder this time.
It does take them a little while to, but thankfully, they do.
They stop.
With all eyes on me, I feel smaller than ever now.
I force myself to take a deep breath in, and I stand up slowly from the sofa, feeling the weight of everything on my shoulders. Papa rises with me too, his arm moving instinctively around me, pulling me close. His body is solid against mine, as if he’s trying to shield me from everything that’s happening here.
It doesn’t matter to me.
This has been going on for far too long now.
I face the men—Isaak, Alessandro, Dario—and after steadying my breath—Nikolai, and Mikhail too.
I need them to stop. I need them to hear me.
“Please.” I beg them all softly. “Just stop. Just forget it. We don’t need any of this, not the anger, or the shouting…we don't need it.”
Papa shakes his head, wrapping both arms around me, holding onto me like I’m only a fragile doll.
He begins to speak again, his words hushed Italian murmurs, telling me that I’m only confused.
His voice is full of nothing but love, and fatherly affection.
I know he’s worried about me, but all I can hear now is the pounding in my chest; the sound of my heart racing as though it belongs to someone else.
To Nikolai.
To Mikhail.
My throat feels tight.
How can I explain it to Papa?
He would never understand.
Unable to stop myself, I turn my eyes back to them.
Both brothers are still looking at me.
Nikolai’s eyes narrow, his gaze possessive as ever.
Mikhail’s lips curl into a small smile.
They’re watching me closely, waiting for me to react, ready to take back what’s theirs.
And I feel it—just like I always do now.
That soft yet firm pull of their control, that heavy weight of their ownership.
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