“Are you…” Andre paused to tug his mask off too as the car sped away. Deep lines stayed etched on his brow as he studied me.
I hugged my arms around my stomach, nervous at the commotion and shifts of the night. I could adjust. Living with my uncle taught me to take the punches—literally—and roll with changes. But this adrenaline rush of getting out of there felt twisted.
Were they saving me? Or relocating me to wheretheycould punish me?
“Is the baby okay?” Andre licked his lips and continued to catch his breath as he secured me next to him. His worried gaze fell to my arms. “Sofia. Is the baby okay?”
Ice coasted over my soul. I went numb inside. The rush and high of being rescued faded as I realized thewhy.
They weren’t here to declare war on my uncle or the Giovanni family.
He hadn’t come to get me out of that hell because he loved me or missed me.
The only reason I had been “saved” was because I carried his flesh and blood. His child. I was just a vessel, still only something that could be used. My only value was the fact that I carried his unborn baby.
Nothing more.
I lowered my gaze, too heartbroken and angry to reply.
Why?
Why can’tIbe good enough?
Just me?
Why can’t I be loved and wanted just for being me?
I gave and gave. I always considered others and spent my heart on helping and caring for others. But no one could ever see me and repay that favor.
“Sofia,” he repeated firmly. “The baby.”
He reached for my arm, and I snapped my hand up to catch his wrist. I couldn’t bear it if he touched me now, not when I knew he didn’t care aboutme, only what he could get from me.
“He didn’t hit me there,” I said woodenly. Letting my anger rise up inside me, I flung his hand back and glowered at him, daring him to think I welcomed his touch.
He narrowed his eyes, staring at me with his lips parted. Shocked. Confused. Offended.
I refused to think he lookedhurtby my reaction.
“She needs to be seen,” he said into his comms unit, ripping his tortured stare from me. “Have Claire ready to help.”
Mikhail’s voice came in through the phone, the comms link changing to a speaker call as Andre yanked his earbud out and let it hang by the thin cord sewn into his gear. “Is the baby?—”
“Have Claire ready to assess her,” Andre replied curtly.
I hugged myself again and closed my eyes. I heard the concern in Mikhail’s voice, too. He was worried about the baby I could bring to them. He didn’t care about me. No one did.
That was the only reason they’d come at all, and I couldn’t blame them.
By the time we arrived at Mikhail’s building, I had slipped into an iciness nothing could thaw.
I had been used. Dismissed. Rejected. And never loved.
Everything passed in a blur, and with this chilly front I hid behind, details didn’t sink in.
We pulled up. Andre carried me out. Claire met us in the clinic, where she was in doctor mode, assessing me. Gentle yet firm, she wason. I appreciated how she didn’t try to act like a friend. And I was glad that Andre ordered Anya to get out of there and stay out of the way for now.
He hovered over me as Claire checked me out. An ultrasound showed no concerns. Other diagnostic measures were done to make sure my vitals were okay, that there was no worry of a concussion, infection, or internal bleeding.
