Page 26 of Forced Bratva Bride

The question lit the fuse to my anger. Better? How could anything be better after what I'd seen?

“That wasn't my brother's doing,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected as I looked up at him, seeped in conviction. “Gastone wouldn't—he couldn't have ordered that. It must have been his men, acting without permission.” I stood up, needing to move, to do something with the energy suddenly coursing through me. “We need to tell him. He needs to know what's happening behind his back.”

Gio remained still, his face softening with something that looked too much like pity. “Larissa—”

“Don't,” I snapped. “Don't look at me like that. You don't know my brother. Those men, those executions—that's not how he operates. Gastone has rules. He has principles.”

“Your brother knows everything that happens under his roof, Larissa,” he said, voice gentle but unyielding. “The same way we know everything in ours. Nothing happens without their knowledge. Nothing.”

“Stop it.” I slammed my fists into his chest in anger. “Just because you all run your operation like a butcher shop doesn't mean Gastone does the same.”

It was a low blow, comparing his family to a butcher. I braced myself for another fight, but Gio didn’t flinch, didn’t react.

When I met his gaze, all I saw was pity. I hated that. I didn’t deserve it.

“Stop looking at me like that,” my voice rose into a hysterical pitch. “Gastone protects people. He's not a monster. He wouldn't sanction that—that slaughter. Those men had families! He’ll have the manager killed for this. He will!”

Gio stepped closer, and I was now trembling with rage. I couldn’t move. I was rooted in my spot, my space.

“I know this is difficult to accept,” he said, “but denying reality won't protect you anymore.”

“Because you put me there!” The accusation burst from me. “You kidnapped me and dragged me into this nightmare! Did you plan it? Was that entire warehouse scene staged for my benefit? Some twisted way to turn me against my own blood?”

I shoved at his chest, needing him to react, to show anger, to confirm he was the villain I needed him to be. His body was like hitting a wall—solid, unmovable. He caught my wrists in his hands, his grip firm but not painful.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asked quietly. “That I would traumatize you for tactical advantage?”

“I don't know what to think anymore!” my voice broke out in a choked sob. I felt the tears burn behind my eyes. I hated them, hated the weakness they revealed. “You're just like all the rest—keeping me in the dark, deciding what I should know, what I should see. Poor, naive Larissa, too delicate for the real world.”

Gio's thumb brushed over my pulse point, the unexpected tenderness of it stopping my rant cold in its track. Why wasn’t he reacting? Why wasn’t he angry?

“You’re not a delicate flower to be sheltered, Larissa. You’re… anything but.” He released one of my wrists to brush a strand of hair from my face. “I see a woman who's stronger than she knows.”

The kindness in his voice undid me more effectively than any harshness could have. My shoulders slumped, the anger dissipating like smoke, leaving only the raw wound beneath. A sob caught in my throat, and I pressed my lips together to hold it back.

“They’re my family,” I whispered. “They couldn’t have… they didn’t…”

Gio's arms came around me then, and I should have resisted. I should have pushed him away and remembered the fact that he was my kidnapper. Instead, I found myself collapsing against his chest, my hands clutching at the fine fabric of his suit as if it were a lifeline.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured against my hair. “I'm sorry you had to see that. I'm sorry you're caught in this mess.”

His heartbeat was steady under my ear, and his body was a warm comfort, melting away the numbness in my bones. There, standing in his arms, I felt my heart begin to settle. One of his hands traced slow, soothing circles on my back, while the other cradled the back of my head. The gesture was so protective, so caring, that it made my throat tighten.

I forced myself to remember who he was, the man who was using me as leverage against my family. But in that moment, all I could feel was the comfort he offered, and my body betrayed me by accepting it.

“Why are you being kind to me?” I asked, my voice muffled against his chest.

His hand paused briefly on my back before resuming its motion. “Not everything is a means to an end, Larissa.”

I pulled back just enough to look up at him, searching his face for deception. His expression was soft and worried, those whiskey eyes warm on mine. A small crease formed between his brows as he studied me in return.

That was when I became acutely aware of him—not as my captor, but as a man; the solid wall of his chest under my palms, the subtle scent of his cologne, the strength in the arms that held me. I remembered the moment I first saw him and recalled the thought that had passed through my mind—how handsome he was and how I didn’t allow myself to think about it, given what he’d done.

Time stood still as warmth crept up my arms and down my spine, making me acutely aware of every spot on my skin where he touched me. I stood a little straighter and watched as his gaze dropped to my lips, and then mine fell to his.

His lips were fuller than I'd noticed before, the bottom one slightly more so than the top. I wondered with a shock of heat what they might feel like against mine.

The thought should have horrified me. Instead, it sank through me like hot honey, pooling low in my belly. I tried to ignore it, to focus on anything else, but my body had become a traitor, hyperaware of every point of contact between us.

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