“There are no choices here, brother. It’s about the Bratva, not you,” Viktor pointed out. “Reach out to him. Give him a close ultimatum. If he fails to show up, take the collateral.”
“Yes, boss,” I concurred, smirking like Isabella’s defiance wasn’t flashing through my mind.
Chapter Three
Isabella’s POV
The church bells still echoed in my head long after the funeral. Giovanni's name haunted the streets, but no one said it like they meant it. Of course, his loss was personal; he was my only brother.
My dad barely waited for the car to be parked before he stepped out, heading straight into the house.
I slammed the car door and stormed into the house.
"Dad!" I yelled after him, but there was no response.
I stopped following him, taking off my hat and tossing it to one of the living room couches. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a cold bottle of water out of the fridge. I needed my strength to battle the weird creature that was now my dad. I wouldn’t leave him until I got answers. The answer Viktor Lobanov hinted at back at the funeral.
I kicked off my heels and headed to his study. The door creaked open. There he was, my dad, once feared in New York's underworld, now slouched, tie loose, eyes bloodshot. A half-empty glass sat next to a pile of bills and a gun.
He didn't look at me. "You probably shouldn't have gone, Isabella. I warned you to keep calm and not say anything to the Lobanovs if they showed up. Look what you did instead."
I laughed, bitter and sharp. "You're telling me I shouldn't have gone to my own brother's funeral? What's wrong with you?"
"I said, drop it."
"No," I stepped closer. "I won't drop it. You've been hiding since he died, and I'm done pretending not to notice. Everyone's whispering that Giovanni's death wasn't an accident. So you're going to tell me the truth, or I swear–"
"Enough!" he snapped, slamming the glass down so hard it shattered. "You think you know how this world works? You think you can handle the truth?"
"I can handle it better than you," I shot back.
He rubbed his temples, shaking his head. For the first time, I saw something I never expected from him. It was not anger or pride, but fear.
"What did you do, Dad?" I asked, quieter now.
“What didIdo? They set your brother up, and you’re here asking me what I did?”
"Was it the Lobanovs?" I whispered. “What dealings were they talking about back there?”
“It’s not something I can explain to you, Isabella,” he muttered, detached.
He looked at me then, and I almost wished he hadn’t. His eyes were hollow, like something inside him had already given up.
I sighed, not just in resignation but in disappointment.
“Giovanni is no more, Dad. What more do you have to lose if you tell me what exactly is going on?”
“There’s so much more to lose,” he countered. “So much more.”
He didn’t utter a word as I slipped out of his study.
I’ll find the answers myself.
**********
I had been sitting in front of the television for so long that, when the door opened, I stood just to feel my body. I was still in the dress I wore to the funeral, but everything else in my outfit had been discarded.
“Who is it?” I asked the two men who entered the house.
