Page 49

Mikhail, unable to keep his mouth shut, decides to speak up. His voice is strained as he tries his best to remain calm, and if I’ve noticed it, then I know that our father has too.
“All this time…we’ve beencivilwith the Italians because of some old incident? Why allow them to continue like this? It’s unforgivable what happened, I know it is, but in our world, we’re all at risk of becoming casualties of war. Men. Women. Children. Why not let it go, Otets?”
Though our father’s expression doesn’t change, there is a slight tightness in his eyes as he responds to my brother’s questions.
“There’s so much more linked to this incident, my sons. I wish I could tell you everything, but that will only cause more pain for us all.” He releases a shaky breath, his hand reaching out for his glass, as he throws back the liquor. Once the glass is back on his desk, he continues speaking. “The Italian Don and I have worked hard to keep peace, but I’ve always known this day might come—when somebody would try to disrupt this peace, to cause conflict between us once again.”
I swallow hard.
All this time, the Italians have had the upper hand, and now that they need to blame somebody, they’re hellbent on blaming us. And even though their suspicion is right, only my brother and I are aware of that.
To be suspicious…to point fingers without any solid proof…it’s a dangerous game.
“So, then.” Mikhail says, shaking his head as he leans in even closer. “This Italian princess, why has she been taken?”
My fingers curl into fists as I glance over at Mikhail, schooling my expression.
Why the fuck would he ask that now?
Our father, who is completely oblivious to the reasoning behind his son’s question, answers him happily.
“Perhaps it is connected to the old incident, or maybe this is somebody new trying to use it as leverage against us. I don’t know why she has been taken, but she needs to be found. Safe. Alive. If not, everything will be ruined.”
My thoughts race as I control my breathing.
All of this—from our father suddenly revealing this situation, and this Italian princess being taken by Mikhail and I—feels like one big trap. I know it’s not possible though, not when nobody knows the truth behind her disappearance except for us both, but I can’t help but feel like we’ve now been caught in a web of lies.
Now we know that Chiara—the Italian princess we took—is so deeply tied to our history, there’s no telling how bad this could all become.
“Otets.” I finally manage to say. “What should we do?”
He stares at us for a moment, his expression unreadable.
Then he exhales slowly, his voice growing firm with every word that falls from his mouth.
“You handle it, as you both always do. Be smart. Be calculated. Don’t give them any reason to suspect us. If they publicly point fingers at us, then we will deal with it. For now, look for the princess, and return her back to her family safely.”
My stomach sinks, though I do nod my head at him.
The situation isn’t looking good, but even that isn’t enough to return her. Like I told Mikhail, she would be ours to keep, and nobody would be taking her away from us. It didn’t matter how much history was involved, or how many past stories we’ve dug up by taking her; Chiara is here to stay.
“And if it’s found that the Russians are indeed responsible for this…”
My voice is laced with caution as I trail off, unaware of how to finish my sentence.
Leaning back into his leather chair, our father takes a sharp breath in. His eyes dart between us both again, then he shakes his head.
“If that happens to be the case,” he begins. “I will deal with the one responsible myself.” His voice now drops to a low, dangerous growl, and a dark look flashes across his face. “What this person has done—daring to take a woman, and forcing her into captivity—is cowardly. A mere soldier wouldn’t even stoop so low. It is disrespectful, both to themselves, and the Bratva. I will not show mercy if it’s found that a Russian is behind this.”
I have seen him in many ways; as a father, as a Pakhan, but I have never seen him like this.
The tone in his voice isn’t just from anger, there’s a deep hurt in it too. There’s something personal. He sits up straighter, clearing his throat before he continues to speak.
“As a father…” his voice falters for a moment as his throat tightens, as though the mere thought of it pains him. “I can’t even imagine what Francesco must be going through right now.”
I feel like my heart stops beating altogether.
Francesco.