"Yes."
"We’re from–"
"I know who you are," I cut in. "Mikhail Lobanov sent you."
The man exchanged a glance with the man to his right. "Mr. Moretti has run away instead of showing up. We’re to escort you to the boss."
It was funny how these Bratva soldiers knew my dad wasn’t in the house while I had no idea if he was inside or on a plane.
"Then escort me," I said. "My bag is ready, as you can see."
They blinked at me like I'd broken some invisible rule. Maybe I had, but I didn't care.
They led me into the car, and I sat still, hands in my lap, my heart steady. The engine started with a deep growl, and the house Giovanni and I grew up in began to fade behind me, along with my father, his silence, and his shame.
As the gate closed, I leaned toward the window and whispered to myself, "I'll end him."
Not because he was taking me for my dad’s sins; only heaven knew what the hell my dad had dabbled in. But he killed my brother, or at least, had a hand in it. He was so confident of his actions that he didn’t deny my accusations at the funeral. Even though he and Viktor pointed at something my dad was surely bent on hiding from me, it didn’t change the fact that my brother was now dead.
The driver caught my stern eyes in the mirror but said nothing.
The car moved smoothly through the city. I watched the streets of New York slide by, wet pavement, red lights, people rushing under umbrellas, completely unaware that somewhere inside this black car, a girl was being taken by the devil himself.
The men didn't speak much. Only the sound of the wipers and the hum of the engine filled the silence.
One of the soldiers, the one with a scar across his cheek, kept glancing at me through the mirror. Maybe he was trying to figure out if I'd break down. Maybe he thought I'd beg them to stop. Well, I didn't.
He finally spoke. "You're quiet, Miss Moretti."
"Would you rather I scream?" I asked, not lifting my eyes.
He gave a small huff. "No, just that you don't seem afraid."
"I am," I said. "Just not of you."
The men began speaking in Russian, the tone of their voices low. The tidbits I’d learnt from Liza were enough for me to know the general direction of their words: my calm silence, as opposed to the expected tears and fear.
What they didn’t know was that women like me didn't shatter; we sharpened.
We got off the busy road and joined the low traffic on another road. We were driving into an estate in a few minutes.
I straightened my back as the car stopped in front of a tall mansion, swallowing my fear. Mikhail’s empire, no doubt.
The empire I would bring to the ground.
The empire he’d regret ever bringing me to.
Chapter Four
Mikhail’s POV
The elevator doors opened, and Yuri approached. But my eyes were on the lady who went ahead of the other men into the large sitting area of the sub-penthouse like someone who was visiting a friend.
“Boss, she’s here,” Yuri informed.
“I can see that,” I answered, a small chuckle leaving my lips as she told them how to handle her bags.
Isabella Moretti paused as she caught sight of me where I stood waiting, my sleeves rolled up, revealing dark tattoos snaking up my arms. As her eyes lifted to me, I didn't speak; I only watched the way a predator studies something new before deciding whether to kill it or keep it.
