Page 16

Leon is driving fast, his attention fully focused on the road ahead of us. I am so terrified that my father's men will come around every corner and try and take me again.

My hands are knotting and unknotting in my lap. I try my best to focus on my breathing, to stay calm, to not let fear completely overwhelm me—but the truth is that seeing my father’s men today reminded me of everything about him, and everything about my life living with him.

I am absolutely terrified of having to go back there.

Leon turns off the main road and drives through an area of the city I don’t know. Then he stops outside a black garage and punches a code into a panel next to the driver’s window.

The garage door opens, and he drives inside.

“Where are we?”

“A safe house. Home is too far away. I wanted to get us off the road as soon as possible.”

“What if they find us?”

“Trust me, they can’t find us here. No one knows about this place, and we came here in an unknown car. No one is going to be able to track us down here.”

I sit in the car, hesitant to get out. Hesitant to leave the imagined safety of something I know and move into a space I don’t.

“I promise you, this place is safe,” he says, pushing his own door open and sighing loudly. “That was one hell of a car roll.”

By the time he’s walked around the car towards the entrance, he notices that I am still sitting nervously in the passenger seat. He pulls my door open. “Out. Now,” he demands. “Please hurry, I want to get us into the safe house as quickly as possible.”

I climb out reluctantly and follow nervously behind him as he punches in a security code that unlocks the door.

Behind that door is another door, and another, each with its own code.

Finally, when we are in the main area of the house, I have witnessed how much security he has, and I believe him when he says that no one will be able to get to us here.

Leon sits down heavily on the couch. He groans loudly and holds onto his side, letting out a heavy breath of air. “That was—what was that?”

I am pacing around the living room, filled with nervous energy. I hardly hear his question.

“What happened back there, Sasha?” he says again, and I turn my head towards him, but I don’t reply because my thoughts are chaos.

“Hey, are you listening to me? That didn’t make any sense, what you did. You put yourself in harm’s way when you could have taken the chance to get away and go home. You could have escaped.”

I return to my pacing. My father has discovered who has me. He managed to track us down and run us off the road. He’ll be hell-bent on getting me back, but not because of love or family or wanting me to be safe. It will just be an ego thing.

“Sasha. What was that about? ” Leon says more harshly.

I sigh loudly and flop onto the sofa opposite him. He’s not going to stop asking. I lean forward and put my head in my hands for a moment, rubbing my face, trying to organize my thoughts.

Finally, I look up at him, and I know my eyes are fierce because I can feel it inside my soul. I mean what I am about to say with every piece of me.

“I’m never going back there. I don’t ever want to see that man again.”

It’s as simple as I can put it.

“Your father?” he asks in shock.

“I hate him. I’ve always hated him. He is the cruelest man I have ever met and will do anything to avoid going back there, including choosing to stay with a man who kidnapped me ,” I snap bitterly at him. I know my words will upset him, maybe even start a fight, but at this point I don’t care. I need him to know exactly where I stand on this matter.

I can see his jaw muscles clench and unclench as he thinks about what I’ve said. Maybe, just maybe, he’s thinking back to everything I’ve said that never quite made sense to him. Maybe all the pieces are fitting together. Maybe not. Maybe he’s just pissed off that I insulted him by saying I’m only using him to get away from my father at this point.

I sigh and lean back on the sofa, waiting for the inevitable outburst of anger, followed by pain for myself.

“Why do you hate your father so much?” he asks, which is not the question I was expecting. I think I was waiting for him to tell me what a selfish bitch I was, not for him to ask me something about myself. Maybe he doesn't understand. Maybe I need to be clearer.

“What does it matter? All that matters is that I choose never to go back there. I choose to stay with you, the lesser of two evils , but I promise you, when I get a chance, when I am in the right position, I will leave you as well. I am going to escape the entire mafia world —all of the sick things that happen to people who live in this world. It’s dark and evil and I want nothing to do with it. So, I will never go back to my father. And one day, I will get away from you and your world as well.”

My entire body is tensely defensive. I am glaring at him and daring him to challenge my words. Waiting for the backlash. But he looks…gentle. His face is calm. He is quietly thinking about my words, but he has absolutely no anger on his face.

“What did he do to you?”

“I told you, it doesn’t matter.” My eyes grow dark and moody, and I can’t look at him anymore, the memories of what my father did flooding my thoughts. I try to change the subject. “Aren’t you angry that I insulted you?”

“Insulted me? Oh—no. Sasha, I just need to know what he did to you. It does matter. It matters to me .” His tone is so gentle, almost soothing. It’s strange, but it sounds like he genuinely cares.

I find my emotions flipping between raging anger and a complete breakdown.

Years, an entire life of frustration builds inside me, and I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve never let it out before.

I turn to look at Leon again, and he is just waiting patiently for me to speak.

“He’s a monster. A literal monster," I blurt out. I’ve been so desperate to admit that truth for an eternity. “Every single day of my life has been miserable. He brings me down every chance he gets. I’ve never heard a kind word from his mouth. He belittles me and mocks me. If I say anything back, anything at all, he hits me. I’ve had to hide away for weeks at a time to keep the world from seeing my bruises. He broke my arm, throwing me down a flight of stairs, and wouldn’t even let me see a doctor. He had one of his goons click the bone back in place and then plaster it. I’m lucky it healed alright, but that pain—that pain, I will remember forever.”

“Sasha—"

“He is the one who locked me in the basement for days without food, water or any kind of comfort. It was my own father. My own father. He tortured men in front of me, murdered them, and told me I was weak because I didn’t want to watch their pain.”

Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I blurt out story after story of what he has done to me over the years.

My heart is breaking as I speak, because the more I tell, the more I remember what I’ve been through, as though I've managed to block it all, tuck it away and pretend it didn’t happen. But now it’s suddenly all on the surface, right here, and pouring out of my mouth.

I hate Danil Balakin just as much as every single other person out there does, and I am ashamed to have the same name as him.

I pause talking because my voice is choked with tears. I’m fighting it because I know I am not supposed to show emotion. Or was that just some stupid thing my father taught me, forced me to believe—emotions are weakness.

“Sasha," Leon says my name again, more gently.

I am so deep in my own pain, and I can tell he is trying to call me back into the moment, away from that darkness before I slip all the way into it.

I look up at him, and I can see he doesn’t know what to say. His face is distorted with—is that pity? I don’t want to be pitied. Not by a mafia boss. Not by someone who kidnapped me.

He doesn’t know what to say because the things I’ve told him have shocked him.

Does that mean it wasn’t normal? What my father did wasn’t the norm in this world?

I doubt it.

Leon stands up and walks over to me. I go rigid as he sits down on the sofa next to me and tries to pull me closer to him. My legs are bouncing with anxious tension, and I can’t sit still.

I push away from him. I don’t want comfort. I want to be strong. I want to show him that I am not weak like my father likes to tell me.

I can handle this. I can handle all of the things that have happened to me in my life.

I’m angry with him for being gentle.

“I don’t want anything to do with your world, Leon.”

He sighs, pulling his mouth tight, and grabs me, fighting, holding me against his chest so that I can’t push him away again. His determination to comfort me makes me realize how badly I just want to be held.

I sigh, trying to let go of the memories, but instead, I let go of everything and start sobbing as I lean against his chest. My tears are soaking his black shirt.

I cry for ages, and he just holds me.

When I start to breathe a little more normally, he gently asks, “How many people know what you’ve been through?”

“Only Marie knows. I don’t have anyone else in my life who would care to listen.”

“So, at the party at my cousin's place, when Rico Nunes came at you and you had the memory of being kidnapped and locked in a basement—you weren’t kidnapped at all. Your own father did that to you. Everything that happened to you, your own father did?”

I nod. “Yes.”

I’m exhausted. It’s as though letting go of all of those things that I was locking inside of my all my life was like cutting open an old wound and letting an infection drain out of me. It's ugly, painful, and exactly what I need to do in order to start healing.

But right now, it’s like I just have this massive open slice in my heart that everything has poured out of.

Leon runs his fingers through my hair and kisses the top of my head.

His warmth is reassuring and his incredibly calm reaction to my outburst was what I needed. I didn’t expect it from him.

“You saved my life, Sasha. They would have shot me. You could have let them do that and still gotten away, but you saved my life instead, and for that I will be forever grateful.”

I nod against his chest, and finally, feeling safe and more at ease, I reach out and wrap my arm around his side to pull myself closer to him.

My hand runs over his shirt, and I feel something wet and sticky.

“What in the world?” he winces as I run my hand over the sticky patch on his shirt again, then I look down at my fingers and see they are stained bright red.

“Leon,” I shout. “You’re bleeding.”

I leap away from him, standing next to the couch. I don’t know what to do for a second. I need a first aid kit. I need to get bandages. We need to go to the hospital. I have to do something.

He chuckles. “Calm down. I know. I know.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “Sasha. Look at me.” I turn my face towards him, my eyes locking with his, and it’s like I am looking into a calm blue sky. “It’s okay. I know I’m bleeding. I don’t think it’s bad.”

“You haven’t even looked?” I am shocked.

“Not yet.”

“But I was talking for long, you could have been bleeding to death.”

“I’m not.”

He is still holding my hand, so I start pulling him to his feet. “Stand up,” I demand.

“Why?”

“Stand up. I need to look.”

He grunts and pushes himself off the chair, letting me try and help by pulling him up, too. Then he stands dutifully still while I pull the side of his shirt up, peeling it away from the blood to see the gash across his ribs.

I shake my head. “I know how this happened,” I sigh.

“How?”

“You shielded me when the car rolled. You used your body to shield me when the windscreen exploded, and the glass cut you.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, I don’t really remember. It all happened so fast.”

I shake my head again. “You shouldn’t have risked your life like that to save mine.”

“Funny, seeing as you did the same for me only seconds after the crash.”

He is staring down at me with such force behind his blue eyes that I am frozen staring up at him.

He reaches out and runs his hand across my jaw. “Thank you.”

His deep voice vibrates through me.

I feel my body responding to his touch and force myself to look away.