Page 43 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“You’re saying my husband is a misogynist?"

“No. You have good judgement and would have refused to marry him if you believed that,” says Luka, staring hard at the wall. “All I’m saying is, in an effort to prevent the past from repeating, he tends to be a little overbearing when it comes to protecting the things he loves.”

“Which is me,” I state

“Indeed,” says Luka. “You, the Bratva, and your children. He’s afraid of those above things slipping through his fingertips. Freedom translates to danger in his eyes, making him extremely vulnerable to loss.”

I stare at Luka, processing his words. “What are you saying?”

“To be careful around him, Fia. Your love for him is all consuming. I saw it before, and I have no doubt that your feelings will return… but at what cost?”

I search the ground, allowing my thoughts to wander. Freedom and independence are two things I built my entire life around as soon as I graduated and could make my own income.

Emil taking those things away from me, out of his own insecurities and fear, makes me question if I ever loved him in the first place.

“Look,” sighs Luka. “I’m not telling this to make you feel uneasy,” he says. “You're the sister I always wish I had, which is why I’m telling you. You deserve to know your own mind.” He rises from the bed, continuing to look at me, emotion etched in his expression. “When I saw the man behind the steering wheel drive straight into you without looking?—”

“Wait,” I say, blinking repeatedly. “You saw the person driving? All of the witnesses at the scene say he was wearing a mask, unidentifiable.”

“Apologies,” says Luka, shaking off the thought. “I assumed the driver was a man.”

“If you saw the person driving, you should tell me, since you see me like a sister and care.”

“Sorry, Fia,” says Luka, heading toward the door. “I’m afraid I didn’t see either.” He loiters in the doorway, the light from the hallway turning him into a silhouette. “I should let you get back to sleep.”

He shuts the door softly behind him, darkness enveloping me again.

I slide down the pillows, shaking off the conversation. Emil is guilty of lying to me right now, not his friend.

By the sounds of things, Emil and I were completely obsessed with each other. Cutting myself off from the world for an entire year, abandoning Chloe, my independence, even work, means I was completely infatuated.

I shut my eyes, laying a hand on my baby bump as I drift off to sleep.

Emil revisits me in my dreams, his gorgeous face suddenly lathered in blood.

Pain explodes in my head, my temple meeting cold, hard concrete.

I scream, kicking and shoving as an attacker appears. He materializes through the shadows, avoiding the floodlights, wanting to keep his identity hidden.

He keeps to the shadows, making his way back to me.

I hoist my legs into the air. Kicking is my only defense mechanism. I know how to solve a financial crisis, how to appease rich clients to squeeze a good tip out of them, but self-defense is a skill I never thought I would need.

After leaving my father’s house after graduation, I never saw the point in learning how to fight. I put as much distance between me and his psychotic ass as possible, never needing to fight.

But I find myself in grave danger. Emil tells me to stay clear of the docks, but I always hear the foghorns calling my name, enticing me back, not like this place feels like home.

Cranes shoot up into the sky. From this angle, they appear even more threatening, standing proud in the night, silhouetted by floodlights.

“You’d look good on my dinner plate,” says the man, squatting down in front of me.

I kick my legs in a propeller motion, fighting him off. Pathetic fucking idea. The man grabs both legs, steering me closer.

He slips a knife, the blade smiling in the harsh, white floodlights, waiting to be painted red.

“Perhaps Emil will hate you even more than he hates me,” says the man, his face still concealed in shadows. “You will always be his weakness, and he’ll never be the same again.”

“Neither will you,” grunts another voice.