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“Just let me take care of you.” I pull her onto my lap and hold her against my chest.

We stay like that for a few minutes, swapping out tissues when they become too soaked with blood. Eventually, the trembles in her shoulders cease and the blood becomes less and less until there’s no more.

She straightens, and looks up at me.

“You good?” I ask, holding her gaze.

“Yes,” she rasps, sounding more like herself.

We stare at each other for a few moments, and I wonder what set her off like this.

Maybe her father.

I pick her up and put her back on the bed. She watches me carefully as I gather up the bloodied tissues and carry them into the bathroom.

I flush them down the toilet and grab a glass of water. Water always helps with night terrors and nightmares. I know that more than most.

I go back out to her and hand her the glass.

“Drink all of it.”

She downs the water. “Thank you.”

“That was some dream, printsessa.”

She looks away and sets the glass on the nightstand. “It just… happens sometimes.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

Her gaze falls to the floor. “Monsters. The ones who took me.”

I crouch down before her, forcing her to look me in the eyes. “Your monsters are no worse than me, malyshka. And you handle me pretty well.”

She gazes back at me, appreciation in her eyes, but I can’t help but wonder again what she must have gone through during that time.

Nobody ever knew the full details of her kidnapping, only the basics—that she and her sister were taken.

Her father went through hell to get them back, killing everyone involved. Knowing that bastard the way I do, he would have been enraged because of the financial loss of losing a daughter. But Gabrielle would have been devastated to lose her sister. I can see she still is. You don’t get over things like that.

I move a wayward strand from her face and tuck it behind her ear. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Her eyes dart from right to left and she looks everywhere except at me. “I… can’t.”

“It’s okay.” I tap her cheek. “Do you want me to call your mom?”

She shakes her head and pants. “No. Not her… my father will...”

Her shoulders drop and she looks more defeated than I’ve ever seen her.

I sit back on the bed, facing her. “I heard tonight didn’t go so great with your parents. Did your father upset you?”

Her gaze falls to the sheet, but she slowly nods.

“What happened?”

She’s silent for a moment, only moving a finger over the embroidered pattern on the sheet. “He blames me,” she eventually mumbles, her voice hoarse.

“What does he blame you for?” Corrado is the last person who should be blaming anyone for anything.