Chapter 221
KATYA POV
Nonna didn’t waste ti. "Well, Who are you?"
Her voice cut clean through the noise of the food court. No softness. No accusation. Just expectation.
I knew—we all knew—the question wasn’t ant for . But my mouth opened anyway.
"His na is Michael," All eyes shifted to .
"He’s..." I hesitated, the pause stretching too long to be natural. My fingers curled in my lap. "He was—"
I swallowed. "A friend." I didn’t know if it was true. I didn’t know if it had ever been true. I didn’t even know if he had thought of that way, or if I’d just been sothing familiar, sothing he’d assud would always be there.
Friend.
Michael’s eyes flicked to mine, sothing unreadable passing through them. Surprise, maybe. Or hurt.
Nonna noticed. She noticed everything. "A friend," she repeated slowly, like she was testing the weight of the word. Then her gaze shifted back to him, unblinking.
"Then perhaps you would like to explain why you felt entitled to grab my granddaughter like she was sothing you could claim."
My chest tightened. I glanced at Michael, panic fluttering low in my ribs. This wasn’t the conversation I’d wanted. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to happen.
Michael inhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself. And I wasn’t sure which of us I was more afraid of hearing speak.
"With all due respect," he said, looking straight at nonna , his tone controlled but strained, "I didn’t grab her because I felt entitled."
Nonna’s expression didn’t change. "I grabbed her because I was shocked," he continued.
"Because I thought I was seeing a ghost." His gaze full shifted to then and my stomach dropped.
"I’ve been searching...searching for her for months," he said.
"Months." The word echoed in my head.
Searching. His eyes never swayed from mine "You don’t just forget soone disappearing like that," he went on. "Not after everything."
Nonna’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she stayed silent, allowing him to speak. That alone felt dangerous.
Michael leaned forward, his voice lowering, losing so of its control. "Do you know how it felt," he asked , not accusing, just raw, "to watch a man threaten soone right in front of you?"
My breath caught. Images flared unbidden—suits, blood, the sound of a body hitting the floor—but I shoved them back down before they could surface.
"Do you know how it felt," he continued, "to wake up in a room with a dead body and police lights flooding the windows?"
The food court noise blurred. The clatter of trays, the laughter, the music overhead—it all faded into a dull hum.
"They thought it was ," he said quietly. "I didn’t even understand what was happening yet. One minute I was trying to process what I’d seen... the next, I was being questioned like I was a criminal."
My hands trembled in my lap. I hadn’t known. I hadn’t known any of it. I didn’t even thought of him after being captured. I didn’t even think how he would feel after being knocked out.
"And all I could think," he added, his voice rough now, "was that you were gone. No calls. No ssages. Nothing. Like you’d been erased or worse killed"
His eyes searched my face again, desperate and exhausted. "So yes," he said softly, "I reacted. Because for a second, I thought I was losing my mind.".
I stared at Michael, my chest aching, guilt pressing down so hard it hurt to breathe. I wanted to explain but explain what exactly.
My vision blurred before I realized I was crying.
It wasn’t loud. There was no sob, no dramatic break. Just a quiet betrayal as tears slipped free, trailing down my cheeks one after the other, warm and unstoppable.
"I’m... I’m sorry," I whispered. The words felt useless the mont they left my mouth. Sorry for disappearing? Sorry for getting kidnapped? Sorry for all the things you went through because of my cursed life?
Michael’s chair scraped back sharply, before I could even react, he was on his feet and then he was in front of .
He dropped down without hesitation, right there on the food court floor, ignoring the stares, the noise, the world.
His hands ca up to my shoulders, grounding in a way that made my chest cave in. "Hey...Hey....no. It’s alright."
I shook my head, tears falling faster now. My shoulders trembled under his grip. "I should’ve—" My voice cracked. "I should’ve said sothing. I should’ve—" I should have told them about Roo, about my family, about my escape.
It was all my fault. "Katya," he interrupted softly, forcing my gaze up to his. His eyes were red too, though he hadn’t let anything fall. "Stop. You’re here. That’s what matters."
He searched my face like he was morizing it again, like he needed to reassure himself I was real. "Just—" he hesitated, then glanced briefly toward Nonna, who was watching us with a now calm expression. "Just tell sothing."
His eyes ca back to mine, intense but pleading. "She isn’t a threat, right?" My breath hitched.
"This woman," he continued carefully, "she’s not soone who’s going to hurt you." Nonna stiffened slightly, clearly displeased at being discussed like an unknown variable.
The guard shifted his weight a few steps away, alert. "I swear to you," Michael said, his voice dropping even lower, like a vow ant only for , "if there is even the smallest chance you’re in danger—"
His grip tightened just a fraction, not painful. Protective. "I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out," he said. "To keep you safe. This ti, I won’t fail."
That did it.
A sob tore free before I could stop it. My hands ca up, fisting into the fabric of his jacket like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
He was still the sa. Still kind, still Caring, Still willing to throw himself into fire without asking how badly it would burn him.
Still trying to save .
††
Trust the process 🥲
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