Page 7 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

My mind refuses to understand it properly.

It keeps trying to turn it back into the game.

Into words.

Into anything else.

But it isn’t a game.

Not anymore.

My body betrays me completely.

Warmth spreads down my legs.

I freeze in horror as I realize I’ve just peed myself.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t stop it.

Tears blur my vision instantly, but I don’t make a sound. I bite down on my own hand to keep it in. My entire body shakes so violently I think I might fall apart right there between the books.

No.

No.

No.

My father moves again.

Slowly.

Unsteadily.

He drags himself toward the bookshelf nearest the wall. His hand slides along the wood like he’s searching for something.

Then he pushes.

Hard.

The bottom shelf tips.

Books fall.

They hit the floor in heavy, uneven thuds, spilling out in a chaotic wave across the apartment.

I freeze.

It doesn’t make sense, not at first.

My father never lets books fall.

Ever.

He always gets mad at me when I knock down books, especially the ones on the bottom shelf that he calls his limited editions. He has a special arrangement for them, one that he’s taught me since I was five.