Page 18 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession

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 peopleexactlyhow 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.