I tear my eyes away, anger blooming in my chest as I walk to my closet, leaving Isabella sleeping on my bed. I grab a shirt, buttoning it hurriedly before tossing a jacket on.
When I walk out, the covers have slipped lower, and she’s naked from her waist up. Her breasts bounce gently as her chest rises while she sleeps on. My gaze drinks in her soft features—hair spread out on the pillow, half-parted lips, and the fading bruises on her neck and chest.
She looks peaceful. Almost innocent. Yet, lust rises inside me gleefully as blood rushes from my head to my pants. I tug on my buckle, exhaling quietly as my dick gets hard again.
Having sex with Isabella last night wasn’t part of the plan.
When I got the call from Polina that Isabella was nowhere to be found, I panicked. My first thought wasn’t that she’d escaped. No, I assumed the worst—that someone had taken her. That she’d been kidnapped right under my fucking watch.
It would’ve made more sense.
But I clearly underestimated her.
That became obvious the second I pulled up the external feed—the one she doesn’t know about. The figure in overalls was unmistakable.
No amount of dirt or disguise could hide the sharp defiance in her stride or the sway of those hips I’d already memorized. She thought she was clever. She wasn’t.
Not to me.
The moment I realized it was her, I didn’t waste a second. I drove straight to the farm, rage curling in my chest like smoke in a closed room. She’d put herself at risk. She’d walked out into a world that wouldn’t think twice about tearing her apart, all because she thought she could run from me.
Foolish.
While I drove, I thought about all the ways I’d keep her from trying this again. I’d lock every exit, place someone at her door, and install cameras inside and out if I had to. Whether she liked it or not, she belonged to me.
But then I saw her.
Curled under a leaking shelter, soaked through and shaking violently… It made something twist low in my gut. Her skin was pale, her lips blue, and her fingers curled in on themselves as if her body was too frozen to fight anymore.
And just like that, the fury fell away.
Without thinking or planning, I was on my knees, gathering her in my arms. She didn’t fight—not really. There was no fight in her punches, and I cared more about getting her warm than anything else.
Her body felt small and fragile against mine, limp with cold and exhaustion. Her breath came in uneven little bursts, and when her head lolled against my shoulder, I wanted to hold her in my arms and not let go.
I didn’t care about the cameras. Or the guards. Or the damn plan. Because despite everything, I couldn’t fight the desire to protect her.
So when she stood in front of me, her towel on the floor, I wasn’t thinking about sex. When she asked me why I brought her to the bathroom, it wasn’t to claim her as mine…physically.
Entertaining that thought—that Isabella means more to me—was fine last night. I allowed myself to feel for her more than I was supposed to.
Not anymore.
It was a one-time fluke that’ll never happen again.
And my plan? It’s back in motion. If she was ready to escape, despite my threats, it means she had a plan. If that plan involved contacting Marco Ricci, I intend to get every detail from her, no matter the means.
With one last glance and desire rising its tempting head, I stride out of my bedroom, closing the door behind me.
I meet Polina in the hallway. Her eyes are filled with questions and concerns. She, too, was worried that something might have happened to Isabella.
Stoic, firm Polina.
“She’s fine,” I say, easing her worry.
“Okay.” She nods, though the nod is hesitant. “I made soup for her. When should I take it up?”
“Anytime,” I reply with a nonchalant shrug. “I did my part. I brought her back. The rest doesn’t concern me.”
It’s a lie, but I deliver it well. “I’ll be out till dark,” I add, already walking past her. “No need to prepare dinner for me.”
“Oh,” she says, her voice catching in a way it rarely does. I stop and turn to her. “What is it?”
Polina hesitates, her fingers twisting the edge of her apron before quickly releasing it. “It’s nothing, sir. I just…assumed you’d be staying home. I made plans for you and Miss Ricci to have your meals together. I’ll make the necessary adjustments,” she adds briskly.
“That won’t be needed,” I reply curtly. “Miss Ricci and I will not be eating together…anymore. If it’s a hassle to make our meals separately, then I’ll have someone—”
“Oh, no.” She waves her hands and shakes her head. “I didn’t mean it that way, sir. You don’t have to worry about me. Thank you.”
She walks away then, her hands clasped behind her back.
I have no business being in the same room with Isabella unless it’s to make an heir. And before then, she needs to have my last name. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve dragged it on for too long.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she becomes mine in the eyes of God and the law.
“Bill,” I drawl as he walks into my office on time. “You’re punctual. That’s good.”
He smiles—a continuous attempt to get on my good side. Which, as far as I’m concerned, is a waste of time. The only reason he’s here, untouched, is because I have use for him.
The moment that ends, he ends.
“Sit.” I point. “Tell me what you have for me.”
He hesitates momentarily before picking up his pace, and my eyes narrow. He perches at the edge of the chair and clears his throat. “I—I found someone who might know where Marco is. Igor Smirnov.”
I stroke my chin. “Who?” I’ve never heard the name before.
“He’s a pakhan,” he says. “He used to be under a different brotherhood but left and formed his organization a few months ago. According to my sources, he was a double agent for Marco when he was still under the brotherhood. When he left, he lay low.”
“So?”
Billie exhales. “He’s back. He’s back, and he’s making a lot of noise. One of my sources said he was bragging about his plan for some families, yours included.”
Mine? My brow arches as I chuckle dryly. “Me?”
He nods. “Yes. But—but not for the reasons you think. He’s smart enough to know that challenging the Volkovs would be a death sentence. What he’s coming for is Isabella Ricci. Some people…” He swallows, his gaze shifty as he contemplates finishing his sentence. “Say that you have Marco Ricci’s daughter.”
“Some?” I say slowly as my lips twitch in a sardonic smile. “What do you think, Billie? Do you think I have the daughter of the man who betrayed and killed my father?”
“I don’t…” He scratches the back of his neck, glancing around furtively. “I don’t know. They say you took her on her wedding day. If you did, sir, I’m sure you had a good reason.”
“Damn right,” I growl, leaning back. “You’re damn right, Billie. And yes”—his eyes almost pop out in shock—“I took her. If you’re curious why, I think you’d find the answer if you ask yourself why you’re still alive.”
His brows furrow in confusion, followed by more perplexity as he scrunches his face. “Because I can help?”
Well…close.
“Why does he want her?” I ask, moving on.
“She’s his fiancée.”
I snort, the sound amusing in a mocking way. “His fiancée?”
His head jerks in a quick nod. “That’s what he’s been saying. Marco Ricci promised her to him in exchange for their alliance. He had things to settle outside the country, so he wasn’t aware she was marrying someone else. But since she didn’t and she’s with you…he’s coming for what’s his.”
The fucker.
A dark laugh rumbles up from my throat, dry and humorless, as I drag my fingers through my hair. Marco Ricci. I thought his greatest sin was killing my father. But as it turns out, the man’s offenses are bottomless. A shitty father. A coward. And now, a pimp in a thousand-dollar suit.
He abandoned his daughter with a man who had no mercy to give.
But not before he auctioned her off like some rare collectible, lining up bidders in back rooms and boardrooms.
I wonder how many men he approached. Two? Three? Did he plan to give her to one and burn the others, the same way he betrayed my father? If he hadn’t killed my father, he would’ve been a dead man either way.
He was already dead before I knew it. The only difference is that now his death is going to be by my hands.
I clasp my hands together, palms pressed so tightly they sting. My gaze settles on Billie across the desk.
“He said he’s coming for her?” I ask.
“Yes.” Billie shifts under the weight of my voice. “He said she’s his. That you’ve got no claim. From the sound of it, he might make his move soon. Maybe we could give her to him. In exchange for Marco’s location. If he feels cheated, he might be willing to—”
He pauses when he sees my expression shift. I tilt my head, the calm on my face masking the storm. “You want me to give her to him?”
Billie hesitates and then shrugs as if trying to soften his suggestion. “I just thought—”
“No,” I interrupt, voice low, steady. “You didn’t think.”
The air shifts.
I rise slowly from my chair. There is no shouting, no slamming fists, just the quiet hum of something violent pressing beneath my skin. I see the pale spreading across Billie’s face and his Adam’s apple stuck in his throat. My fist curls and my fingers flex.
Do I really need him? I could find someone else—the list of people who betrayed my father is longer than it should be. It’s high time I go through them.
“Your life,” I say, “is much less valuable than hers. So if it ever comes down to a choice…” Billie swallows. “Pray I never have to make it.”
“I understand,” he says, trembling slightly.
“Good. Get out.”
He dashes out of my office, but he pauses at the door, closing it gently. I inhale heavily as I sit down, the weight of my anger pressing down on my chest.
Igor Smirnov. A no-name, small-time pakhan coming for Isabella. She’s mine. Mine alone. And if Igor needs to understand that, if he needs it carved into his skin, whispered into his ears as he chokes on his own blood, then I’ll teach him.
I’ll make him regret the moment he ever said her name aloud.
He’ll be a warning to everyone else—whoever was dumb enough to make a deal with Marco—that she’s my wife.
Reaching for my phone, I call Leo.
“How fast can you make plans for a wedding?”
