Page 7 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession (Vadim Bratva #12)

It has been five whole days since that argument between Gastone and his brothers blew up. I took that day to find a route of escape, yet came up empty-handed.

Seeing as there was nothing more I could have done, I tried to make peace with the situation at hand, at least until one of my brothers came looking for me.

I was certain, to a degree, that Carlo and Dino would have told Larissa what happened. Knowing Larissa, she would have made sure to tell my family.

Gastone hadn’t thought this whole thing about forcing me to marry him through now, had he? Sometimes, I tried to reason with him. But every time I did, it ended up in an argument.

I was going crazy, and not just from having to live here.

It was something else that had started to bother me.

I realized I might have been going crazy because every time I accidentally bumped into Gastone, I felt my pulse begin to quicken, and I felt a small thrill shoot down my spine at the chance of his company.

It made no sense. I hated it. I hated him.

But most of all, I hated that I was so damn bored that I almost craved his company.

And as for him, he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Or so it seemed.

Gastone's daily routine seemed designed specifically to avoid me. He left early, before I woke up, and returned late, after I'd retreated to my room. The few times we'd encountered each other, it had gone poorly.

One would imagine he would have wanted some semblance of peace between us, right? I mean, we were living together.

But clearly, he revelled in keeping things tense between us.

Like yesterday morning, when I'd gone into the kitchen for a little snack when I was unable to sleep, I'd found him there, shirtless, making tea.

I'd frozen in the doorway, momentarily caught off guard by the sight of him half-naked, and the thing is, I wouldn’t have stared, but his body was a work of art.

His entire muscled chest was filled with elaborate tattoos, snaking across his arms, shoulders, reaching for his back.

I’d never seen anything like it. He looked…poetic. Dangerous.

“Take a picture,” he'd said when he caught me looking. “It'll last longer.”

In my eyes, the polite thing to do would have been for him to have ignored making a comment. But it seemed like he almost enjoyed pulling at my strings.

“I'd rather gouge my eyes out,” I snapped back, mortified at being caught staring.

He shrugged. “Bathroom's down the hall. Feel free to find something sharp.”

And that was one of our more civil exchanges.

Or the evening before, when I'd been curled up on the sofa watching TV, and he'd returned from wherever he went during the day. He'd walked in, seen me, and his entire body had tensed.

“That's my spot,” he'd said, like a petulant child.

“I don't see your name on it,” I'd replied, not moving an inch.

“It's my apartment. My rules.”

“Of course, and you make damn sure to remind me I’m your prisoner every chance you get.”

“Not prisoner. Wife ,” he said. Something in the way he said it sent a shiver down my spine.

We'd stared each other down for a full minute before he'd stalked off to his room. I'd counted it as a win, but the victory felt hollow in the loneliness that followed. Even arguing with him was better than the constant isolation.

Today, however, marked almost a week of me being caged in here, with nothing to do and no one for company. I was starting to feel suffocated. I needed to hear a friendly voice, to have some connection to the outside world.

It was a Sunday, and I was surprised to find the house not empty for a change. I could hear sounds in the kitchen, of Gastone rummaging in the fridge for a meal the part-time maid had cooked and left for us. I could hear the phone ringing, his voice echoing through the hallways.

He was home, meaning I could finally sit him down and explain my situation.

I knew Gastone was in his office and was so eager to speak to him that I forgot to knock and barged right in.

He looked up when I entered and cocked an eyebrow. “Manners.”

“I treat people exactly how they treat me,” I shrugged.

To my surprise, he gave me a very small grin and motioned me to the chair across from his.

“I want to call my family,” I said, the minute I sat.

He slammed shut his laptop. “No.”

“I'm not asking.”

His eyes met mine, cold and green as arctic ice, and I tried not to lose myself in them. “Neither am I.”

I sighed in frustration. “You can't keep me completely isolated. I’m going crazy in here. I haven’t seen sunlight in like, a week.”

“Have you tried opening the window?” he suggested.

“Gastone,” I pleaded, my voice taking a genuine sound of exasperation. “This isn’t normal for me. Please, you must understand that. I’m not joking when I say I’m losing my mind in here.”

“I could get you some books. You could watch some TV,” he suggested.

“Watch some TV?” I grimaced. “That’s… not a life.

I had a life, Gastone. For how long do you plan to keep me from the only life I’ve ever known?

From my friends. My family. My routines?

I’m not fighting you, am I? I’m not making your life miserable when I have every right to.

All I’m asking is for one conversation.”

“With your family,” he stated, and the way he did implied a no.

“Yes. With my family. Even prisoners get that right.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” he argued back, glowering at me.

“I’m not? You sure as hell are treating me like it. Unless if this is how you think wives ought to be treated?”

For once, he didn’t have a fitting reply, and I jumped on this chance.

“Look. I’m not asking.” I planted my hands on his desk, leaning forward. “As your wife, I want to call my family. Now.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “Or what?”

“Or I'll make your life miserable and you’ll miss this version of me.” I smiled sweetly. “I've been holding back, believe it or not.”

“Holding back?” He let out a short laugh and arched his forehead. “You've been a pain in my ass since the moment I brought you here.”

“And I can be much worse,” I promised. “I can sing show tunes at the top of my lungs all night. I can 'accidentally' break every piece of expensive technology you own. I can—”

“Fine,” he cut me off, rubbing his temples. “One call. Five minutes.”

I considered it, then nodded. “Deal.”

He reached for the landline on his desk, pausing with his hand on the receiver. “If you try anything—”

“What could I possibly try?” I asked, exasperated. “It's a phone call, not an escape plan.”

“With you, I wouldn't put anything past it.” Nevertheless, he picked up the phone and passed it to me. I dialled the house line with trembling hands, praying to hear a familiar voice. It rang twice before someone answered.

“Giovanni Lebedev,” my brother's voice came through the line, and tears immediately sprang to my eyes.

“Gio?” My voice cracked.

“Elena?” Gio's voice sharpened with worry. “Elena, is that you? My God, are you okay? Where are you?”

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” I reassured him, though my trembling voice must have betrayed me. “I'm at Gastone's penthouse. He's...keeping me here.”

“We know. Carlo and Dino told Larissa everything.” The relief in Gio's voice shifted to rage. “That bastard. Has he hurt you? Because I swear to God—”

“No, he hasn't hurt me,” I said quickly, glancing at Gastone, who was watching me with those intense green eyes. “He's just...keeping me here.”

“Elena, listen to me.” Gio's voice lowered, becoming more urgent. “We're going to get you out of there. We've been working on it since we found out. Just hang tight, okay? Don't do anything to provoke him.”

I laughed through my tears. “I know that.”

I heard shuffling on the other end, then Larissa's voice came through. “Elena? Oh my God, Elena, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn't—”

“No, Larissa, don't you dare blame yourself,” I cut her off. From across, I saw Gastone sit straighter, a look of worry flashing across his face.

“Your brother is the one who decided to pull this stunt. Not you,” I said pointedly, looking right at Gastone.

I watched Gastone's face harden at my words, but I didn't care. Let him hear how his actions had hurt his sister.

“How are you? Really?” Larissa asked, her voice thick with tears.

“I'm okay. Bored. Frustrated. But okay.” I twisted the phone cord around my finger. “How's little Sophia?”

“She misses her aunt,” Larissa said, and I could hear the smile in her voice despite everything. “She keeps looking for you whenever we play your songs for her.”

My throat tightened. “Tell her Aunt Elena will be home soon.”

“Elena,” another voice broke in—Caspian, my eldest brother. “We're coming for you. I promise you that. We know where you are, and we're going to—”

Suddenly, Gastone reached over and pressed the speaker button, taking away my privacy.

“You're going to what?” Gastone asked loudly. “Please, enlighten me on your grand rescue plan.”

“Gastone,” Caspian roared. “You've made a grave mistake.”

“Have I?” Gastone's eyes never left mine. “I don't think so. I think I've finally balanced the scales.”

“This isn't balancing anything. This is you being a vindictive bastard who can't accept that Larissa made her choice,” Gio bellowed.

“A choice she made after your family kidnapped her,” Gastone replied coolly. “Don't pretend your hands are clean in this, Lebedev.”

“Please, Gastone,” Larissa's voice broke through, pleading. “This isn't helping anyone. Let Elena go. Come see your niece. We can work this out.”

Something flickered across Gastone's face—pain, longing, I couldn't tell—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that familiar coldness.

“Here's what's going to happen,” Gastone said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register that sent shivers down my spine.

“Elena stays with me. If any of you try to take her by force, there will be consequences. I have men watching your homes, your businesses. One wrong move, and this becomes a war none of us can afford.”

“You motherfucker—” Mikhail started, but Gastone cut him off.

“Five is up,” he said, and reached for the phone.

“No!” I grabbed for it, but he was faster. “We weren't done!”

“We are now,” he said, hanging up and severing my connection to my family.

I stared at him in disbelief and growing anger. “You are such an asshole.”

“So I've been told,” he replied, unmoved.

“I was talking to my family!” My voice rose with each word. “You could have given me that, at least! But no, your ego just had to get involved. You just had to threaten them, taunt them!”

“They needed to understand the situation,” he said calmly.

“The situation?” I repeated incredulously. “The situation is that you've messed up and are refusing to acknowledge that!”

He slammed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” I stood, kicking back my chair. “What are you going to do to me, Gastone? Lock me up? Oh wait, you've already done that!”

“I've been more than generous with you,” he growled.

“Generous?” I laughed bitterly. “You’ve ripped me away from my life!”

“I let you make that call,” he pointed out.

“And then ruined it!” I threw my hands up in frustration. “God, do you even hear yourself? You think you're entitled to control everything and everyone around you, but you're not. My brothers are going to get me out of this hellhole, and there's nothing you can do to stop them.”

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, and suddenly he was standing right in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“We'll see about that,” he said, his voice low and rough.

My breath caught in my throat. I'd never been this close to him before—close enough to see the flecks of darker green in his eyes, to smell his cologne, and to notice how his pupils dilated as he looked down at me.

For a split second, the air between us changed, charged with something that wasn't entirely anger anymore. His eyes dropped to my lips, and I felt a jolt of something hot race through me.

I took a step back, desperate to break whatever spell had momentarily fallen over us, to run away from this confusion. “Stay away from me.”

His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. “Gladly.”

I turned and walked out of his office, my heart pounding. I refused to analyze what had just happened, refused to acknowledge the way my skin still tingled from his proximity.

He was my captor. The fact that my body had momentarily forgotten that fact was irrelevant. It was just the Stockholm syndrome setting in early, I told myself. Nothing more.