Page 18 of Dark Desires (Chicago Bratva #1)

ISABELLA

“ A nd there’s my wayward daughter.”

Dad’s pissed . I can tell because his face is totally blank.

My father is not a normal kid of guy, where he turns red and angry when he’s really upset. No. He gets calm . Mario is at his side, his hands folded behind his back.

“Sorry, Mar,” I say sheepishly. “Just needed a little time to myself.”

Mario glances at Alexei, a look passing between them, but says nothing.

Alexei approaches my father. For a moment, I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Then, Dad extends his hand and Alexei takes it.

“Thank you,” my father says. “Someone needs to keep an eye on her.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Mancini.” Alexei lets go of Dad’s hand. “We’re soon to be allied, which means that our families need to look out for one another.”

“Indeed they do.”

Alexei smiles. “I’ll leave her to you, then. Would you like my men to stay stationed around the property?”

Dad shakes his head. “No, we should be fine. I thank you again.”

Alexei glances over his shoulder at me as he turns to leave. There’s the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips. “If you need anything else, please—don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Listen to your father, Is. He cares about keeping you safe.”

“Noted.”

Alexei climbs into his car and drives off. I watch him leave, my eyes on the missing window. God, I’d come so close to dying. Maybe Dad’s right about just staying put in the house. If Alexei hadn’t been there…

I don’t even want to think about it.

“Any chance you can stick around?” I ask Mario. “Might need a buffer.”

“Cute,” he replies. But it’s clear he’s not happy in the slightest.

“Mario, I’d like to talk to my daughter,” Dad says.

“Understood.”

Mario shakes his head at me and walks off.

“Come with me, Isabella.”

I follow Dad into the house, my stomach tied up in knots. He’s going to rip me a new one, and the worst part? He doesn’t know about the secret I’m carrying.

“Den.” The single word booms through the entryway.

We make our way to the room, and I sink into one of the oversized leather armchairs, the warmth of the fire licking at the edges of the space. Dad takes his usual seat across from me, his expression unreadable.

But he doesn’t yell. He leans back, rubbing his temple, and then fixes me with a steady gaze.

“Isabella, you know I don’t ask for much.”

The one thing worse than getting chewed out? The disappointed Dad treatment. I feel like a total ass and he’s only spoken eight words.

“I can’t tell you how many sleepless nights I’ve had over you.

” His voice is calm and measured. “Not just tonight. Not just last week. But for years. You’ve always done things your way, and I respect that to an extent.

But I can’t bear the thought of losing you.

Not after everything this family has been through. ”

I sit there, fiddling with the hem of my sweater, unsure how to respond. “Dad, I?—”

He cuts me off with a shake of his head. “Let me finish. I’m not trying to clip your wings, Isabella. But you’re my daughter. And that means it’s my job to worry about you, to protect you, even if it means making decisions you hate.”

“I hate it when you’re rational. It’s almost worse than when you yell.”

That earns a faint smile. “I don’t know what else to do. Yelling hasn’t worked. So I’m trying honesty.”

I let out a small laugh. “Honesty?”

“I’ve learned by now that I can’t stop you from leaving this house,” he says, his voice softening. “But if you insist on going out, I need you to tell me. I need you to let me guard you, to make sure you’re safe.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand.

“I’m not trying to control you. Consider this a compromise . I’m not asking you to stay locked away, but I need to know you’re protected. Especially now, with everything that’s happening.”

I nod slowly. “OK. I can do that.”

His brows lift. I can tell he wasn’t expecting me to agree so easily. “You can?”

I shrug. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re going to be reasonable, then I should return the favor, right?”

Dad chuckles. “Appreciated.”

Finally, I look over at him, and the words come without thinking. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, Isabella. Now, please, make better decisions. It would make my life significantly less stressful.”

“I’ll do my best.” If only he knew how many bad decisions I’ve made recently.

He stands, straightening his suit jacket. “I’ll leave you to it, but don’t think I’m letting you off the hook completely.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

With that, he leaves the room, and I exhale a long breath. That went way better than I expected, but the knot in my stomach hasn’t loosened. Not even a little.

After grabbing a glass of water, I head upstairs. I need to talk to Stephania. If anyone can help me make sense of all this, it’s her.

I knock softly on her door, but there’s no answer. I push it open a crack and peek inside. The room is warm and cozy, the scent of her favorite vanilla candles lingering in the air. The sound of running water drifts from the ensuite bathroom—she’s in the shower.

Her laptop is open on the desk. I step inside, my curiosity piqued. I don’t mean to snoop, but something on the screen catches my eye.

I move closer and my heart skips a beat.

“What the hell is this?” My words come out in a whisper.

I squint at the screen and see Instagram open to Stephania’s account. A new message notification is at the top, from someone named OdelaR . My curiosity gets the better of me, and I click the conversation.

Sure enough, it’s Omar. I grin as I skim through the chat. The messages are cute. Like, painfully so. Steph is telling him she misses him, and he’s saying it back, with a couple of heart emojis sprinkled in for good measure.

I miss you so much, Omar , one of her messages reads.

I miss you more, he responds. I think about you all the time .

Ugh. It’s adorable. My heart aches a little for her, because it’s obvious how much they still care about each other. It’s also obvious why she’s been so off lately. The whole arranged marriage with Alexei has got to be brutal on her.

I stop reading before I dive too deep. As much as I love my cousin, I can’t bring myself to snoop through something so personal. She deserves her privacy, even if she’s not around to guard it. The shower turns off, the sound of water stopping abruptly.

I step back from the desk and hurry out of the room. By the time I reach the hallway, I’ve already decided on my next move. I’m going to see Omar.

Tomorrow.

Whatever it takes, I’m going to figure out a way to help Stephania. She deserves to be happy—and if that means meddling just a little, so be it.