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Could this girl really be a princess?
Could she be the daughter of a soldier in the Mafia?
Chiara.
An Italian name, but no proof in place to link her to the Mafia.
If she is, then everything will change. This will no longer be some random girl we’ve taken from the streets. My brother and I have made a move that might possibly ruineverything.
The weight of it presses against my chest, suffocating me.
What will this mean for us?
For our future?
Will my brother and I be trusted to take over after this?
My mind races with endless possibilities. If she is who Mikhail thinks she is—an Italian princess—then our actions have just opened a floodgate; a war we never intended to start.
Her face appears in my head again, so limp and vulnerable before us.
“What the fuck have we done, Mikhail?”
I mutter under my breath, breathing out heavily, my knuckles turning white from my tight grip.
Again, Mikhail doesn’t say anything for a long time. When he does finally speak, his voice is low, and thoughtful too.
“We put ourselves right in the middle of something bigger than us, brat. But have no doubt. We’ll get through this together.“
I swallow hard, my throat tightening as I force myself to continue breathing.
We can’t walk away from this. What’s done is done.
If Chiara really is a princess…if Chiara really is part of the Italian bloodline…
Mikhail and I are in too deep.
My brother looks down at his phone again, his eyes scanning over the screen, his lips curling into a grim expression. He doesn’t need to say anything else—his words already speak volumes.
“If Chiara really is a princess, then she’ll have people looking for her. We’ll find out soon enough if she is who we think she is.”
I exhale sharply, the weight of the situation crushing me like a slow, inevitable collapse.
Before anybody can look for her, Mikhail and myself will ask her our own questions first. There must be a reason why she knows all of this information, and we’ll be sure to get to her before anybody else can.
Mikhail snaps me out of my thoughts, tugging on my arm as his fingers clasp tightly over my forearm, the bond between us always present. Turning to face him, I find our bodies instinctively leaning into one another as we both speak the same unspoken language. My brother looks at me, the same storm that rages in my eyes reflecting in his gaze. His jaw clenches, then he shrugs his shoulders backward.
“Will we give her away?”
My blood surges as I feel fury rising in my chest.
Nobody will touch our property.
Nobody will touch what belongs to us.
Not now.
Not ever.