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“She’s the daughter of an underboss; an Italian princess. Her mother was murdered—because a Russian ordered it to happen—then her family moved to England. Now that she’s supposedlymissing,the Cartel is somehow rumoured to be involved, but before them, the blame was on us.” He takes a deep breath in, running his hands through his hair. “What the fuck, Nikolai? Nothing is making sense. Why does one girl matter so much? This doesn’t make any sense.”
I meet his eyes, knowing that he’s right.
If Chiara is so important—which she is—then why didn’t her family remain in Italy?
If she has that much power over the Italians, why wasn’t she heavily guarded in England?
I have a feeling that we’re only scratching the surface, with so many more things to come to light.
“It doesn’t make sense. None of this does.” I murmur. “We’ve never heard about her before, or even her family. And now, all of sudden, she means everything to both the Italians, and to us too? This is madness.”
The corners of Mikhail’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smile.
It’s a grimace.
“I don't like this, Nikolai. This is going to be bad.”
I frown when I hear my brother say that, a pit beginning to form in my stomach.
If Mikhail is uneasy…it’s not good.
I look away from him, my mind drifting back to my darling.
At first, I didn’t care. Mikhail and I…we’re unstoppable. It didn’t matter if we took some random girl from the streets of London, dragging her back with us to New York City, moulding her into the perfect woman to make herours.
But now, with everything that’s being revealed, I can’t help but feel uneasy.
This game is bigger than anything either one of us ever thought.
“Who do you think is pulling the strings behind all of this?”
My brother doesn’t respond straight away.
He’s still thinking, his mind working through every angle, just like mine is.
“I have no idea, Nikolai. None at all.”
The room goes quiet again, heavy with the weight of everything that has been spoken between us.
This isn’t only about Chiara now. This is about something bigger—something neither one of us has figured out yet.
Us Russians…we have no reason to be involved in the Italians’ matter purely based on a missing girl.
No.
That’s not how this works.
There’s no doubt that a bigger game is being played here, and we’re stuck in the middle of it.
“Let’s begin preparing.” I finally say, trying to get this over and done with. “Then we can explain things to her.”
Mikhail releases a heavy breath, nodding at me, then we both walk out from the gym.
It’s quiet as we both walk through the mansion, our eyes taking notice of each soldier we pass.
Usually, the high ceilings, and the dimly lit corridors are familiar, always a constant presence in our lives. But now, today, something feels different, something heavier as we finally approach the end of the hall—where our wing begins.
Our wing.