Page 54 of Stolen By the Don

I took some classes because my father made them mandatory, but I never got to practice on a human. I can’t let him know that, though. Ineedto atone for stopping his revenge in some way. When I do, then I can call it even.

Then, I can leave without a stain on my conscience.

My needle goes through flesh as I work quietly, clamping down my jaw to keep the bile away. I tell myself it’s just like the lifelike dolls I used to practice on, only bigger and more…personal.

Roman doesn’t make a noise, but I can tell he’s in pain from how he jerks and the muscles in his arm strain like they want to escape.

“There,” I say quietly as I step back. “You’re good as new.”

He inspects the stitches as I gather the instruments and the bloodied patch of his shirt, shoving them into the box.I’ll deal with it later.

“You were telling the truth,” he says.

It’s a simple comment, but it feels like high praise coming from him. My cheeks heat up as they turn red, and my fingers fumble, almost dropping an instrument.

“Thank you.” Box in hand, I rise to my feet. “You shouldn’t put pressure on the arm so you don’t rip your stitches before they’re ready to come out. And you might want to go to the hospital to ensure there’s no infection.”

“Bella.” He calls my name as I turn. I pause but can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “You told Leo that your father was planning to kill me. You could’ve said nothing, and I might’ve died, earning you your freedom. Why didn’t you?”

Because it wasn’t freedom.

Because a part of me didn’t want to see Roman die. It could be that somewhere, in all the hate, I found a way to care for him.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I just did.”

“You’re smarter than that,” he replies, not letting me go. “You wouldn’t do something like that unless you had a reason. Tell me, printsessa.Have you fallen in love with me?”

16

ROMAN

The slight tremble of her shoulders, the quiet inhale that reaches through the air, and the tight grip of her fingers around the first aid box.

She didn’t save me because she suddenly grew a conscience. Not after weeks of declaring, in every way possible, that she would rather do the most horrific things than have a slice of sympathy toward me.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I just did.”

Liar.There’s only one way to get the truth.

“You’re smarter than that,” I reply, not letting her escape. “You wouldn’t do something like that unless you had a reason. Tell me, printsessa.” I touch her stitches, admiring them.

I thought I knew everything about Isabella, but it turns out there’s so much more to the woman who carries my last name. My wife. The urge to strip her layers down to the last one slithers across my skin.

“Have you fallen in love with me?”

“Love?” Her voice breaks.

“Yes.” I nod, watching her shoulders stiffen. “Love. It’s not hard to fathom if you think about it. It’s a chemical reaction. Only slightly more potent than lust.”

She whirls around. I expect to see anger clearly written on her face, because the point of implying that she’d fallen for me was to see her crack—but there’s something else there.

It’s denial, hovering beneath her silence.

“So?” I prompt, pushing at the layer. It’s cruel to reach for her vulnerability, but I’m driven by something other than tenderness.

“Who would be in love with you?” she sneers. “You don’t know what love is, Roman, and the fact that you think it’s the same as lust tells me everything I need to know.”

Huh.I turn to Leo. “Can you give us some space?”

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