Page 3 of Dark Desires (Chicago Bratva #1)

ISABELLA

M orning light sneaks through the curtains. I blink awake. The realization pushes the fog of sleep from my brain. Last night's memories come rushing back—Alexei, the danger, the rush of adrenaline.

I remember the kiss. The sex. I remember the way his eyes bore into mine, like he could see right to my core.

But when I turn, hoping to see that sexy, lean body next to me, he's gone.

My heart sinks until I notice something on the nightstand—a folded piece of paper with my name written in bold, confident handwriting. Next to it sits a steaming cup of coffee and a single white rose.

I sit up, reaching for the note with trembling fingers.

Devotchka,

Had to handle some urgent family business this morning. Didn't want to wake you—you looked too peaceful. The coffee's still hot (I hope), and there's breakfast in the kitchen when you're ready.

Don't disappear on me. Please. Last night meant everything to me.

I'll be back by noon. Wait for me.

-A

P.S. - You're even more beautiful in the morning light.

I read it twice, my chest tight with an emotion I can't name. He wants me to stay. He's coming back. Last night wasn't just a one-night stand to him.

But as I sit there, reality crashes down. What am I doing?

My father would lose his shit.

This was never meant to be anything but a fun night.

I glance at the note again, my resolve wavering. Don't disappear on me.

I gather my clothes from where they'd been neatly folded on a nearby chair—even that small gesture makes my heart ache—and dress quickly. The coffee smells incredible, and part of me wants to curl up and wait for him like he asked.

Instead, I slip the note into my purse and head for the door, my heart breaking with every step.

Exiting his penthouse is eerily simple; the corridors are silent, the plush carpets muffle my footsteps until I reach the marble; then my heels click.

Once in the lobby, I take out my phone to call an Uber, but my phone’s nowhere to be found.

Shit. I’d dropped it back at the club. Damn thing was broken from the fall, anyway. Luckily, there’s a man working the front desk who’s able to call an Uber for me, and it arrives in no time at all.

As the city stretches awake, the skyscrapers blur past as we weave through the traffic. Anxiety begins to gnaw at my insides. Stephania is probably pacing a hole in the floor by now, her anxious mind concocting all sorts of explanations for what the hell happened to me.

The cab pulls up to the gates of what I affectionately call the Mancini fortress—home, sweet prison.

Maybe I’m being overly dramatic, but with the way Dad keeps tabs on me, that’s what it feels like sometimes. Just one of the many charming parts of life as a mafia princess, I suppose.

As I step out of the car, the family mansion looms over me. My gut tightens, and I imagine my father sitting in one of the chairs in the lobby, a pissed-off expression on his face.

With that lovely image in mind, I try sneaking in through the side door into the kitchen, aiming for the stairs that would lead me straight to my room. But luck’s not on my side today. As I tiptoe past the dining hall, a sharp voice stops me dead.

“Isabella Mancini, where on earth have you been?”

My cousin Stephania stands in the doorway, her posture rigid, worry all over her face. It's a look that says she's been up all night, probably imagining every possible nightmare scenario. Little does she know, one of them very nearly came true.

She’s dressed in a little pair of flannel sleeping shorts and an oversized Chicago Cubs T-shirt, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Just out,” I reply, trying to brush past her, hoping she’ll let it slide just this once. No such luck—she steps in front of me, her expression hardening.

“Out? All night? Without a word?” She’s not yelling, but it's close. Stephania never yells. Yelling isn’t her style—her disappointment is usually enough. I’ve been dealing with it since she moved in with us when her parents both died.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. It was a thing. I didn’t plan it,” I say, attempting a half smile, hoping to lighten the mood.

She doesn’t smile back. “Isa, you know it’s not safe, not now with everything going on.” Her voice is low now, urgent. “You can’t just disappear like that. I can only imagine what would happen if your dad found out.”

I hate when she worries, hate that I’m the cause of that worry, but the night’s freedom—the wild, reckless part of it, the danger—still hums in my veins. Part of me hates how much I loved the danger, the thrill of Alexei rescuing me.

Not to mention what happened after.

“Steph, I was careful. I’m always careful,” I insist.

Stephania shakes her head. I can tell she’s frustrated. “Being careful isn’t enough, Isa. Not anymore. Your dad is going to freak.”

I wince at the mention of Dad. Domenico Mancini isn’t a man you want to disappoint, and certainly not a man to challenge lightly. The consequences of last night could be major.

“Let’s just... not tell him?” I suggest with a shrug.

She looks at me, her expression softening slightly, the tight bond we’ve always shared pulling at her resolve.

“You know we can’t keep doing this, Isa. It’s getting too dangerous. The way you sneak out... it’s not good. One of these days you’re going to get into serious trouble.”

“I know. I’ll be more careful,” I promise. The words taste like ash in my mouth, however.

Careful was never really my style. But for Stephania, for our family, maybe I could try.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifts dramatically—like someone just cranked up the tension with a big, heavy dial.

I feel him in my spine before I even see him. My father fills the doorway, his presence a force that seems to suck the air out of the room. He's every inch the mafia don, with an intimidating build and sharp, piercing eyes that could make anyone squirm.

Wearing one of his usual impeccably tailored suits, he carries himself with the unshakable confidence of a man who’s both respected and feared.

His dark hair has hints of gray at the temples. He’s got the build of a linebacker, but the mind of a general. Walking into a room, he doesn’t just enter it—he owns it completely.

“Isabella, Stephania. Good, you’re both here.”

There’s an undercurrent of something I don’t like—one part worry, two parts impending doom.

“What is it, Dad?” I ask, adding just a touch of sweetness to my tone.

“There’s been a change. There will be more security, starting now.”

Ugh, not this again.

An immediate response bubbles up.

“Dad, seriously? I don’t need a bodyguard cramping my style.”

“It’s not up for discussion, Isabella.”

His gaze pins me in place, and I’m suddenly very aware of just who I’m dealing with. This is the man who wouldn't hesitate to start a war for his family.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s this De la Rosa guy. He’s trouble and he’s after us. I’m not taking any chances.”

I frown, the name nagging at me. "Who is De la Rosa, exactly? What’s his deal?"

Dad’s eyes narrow slightly, and I can tell he's deciding just how much to tell me. He’s always trying to strike a balance between how much Steph and I can know about the family business.

"Christian de la Rosa. He's a major player coming out of Colombia. This isn’t some small-time crook; he’s got connections, resources, and enough ambition to be a serious threat."

He pauses. "De la Rosa's been expanding his territory aggressively. We've managed to stay off his radar for a while, but that's changing. He’s making moves on us. It’s only a matter of time before he tries something bold."

Steph is unusually silent, her usual go-to support for Dad’s decisions noticeably absent.

I sneak a look at her, trying to read her expression, but she’s got that poker face locked down tight.

"We’re going to have round-the-clock surveillance around here, check-ins via phone every hour, and guards posted at every entrance. No leaving without me knowing—for both of you. And you’re both going to be turning on location-tracking. This is no game.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. So much for my social life—what little of it I have, anyway.

“Dad, this is insane. Location tracking? I can't live like?—"

He holds up a big hand, stopping me right in the middle of my sentence. His dark eyes, the same dark eyes I have, stay locked on mine.

"Isabella, listen to me. I'm not doing this to punish you. This isn't about control. This is about protection, pure and simple. De la Rosa is a threat to everything we've built, to our family."

It’s unsettling to see my father like this. He seems genuinely worried. It’s enough to keep my frustration in check.

At the mention of De la Rosa’s name, I’d caught a subtle flinch from Steph. It was quick, but it was there. Fear? Recognition? Something else?

Dad softens a bit, closing the distance between us to place a firm hand on my shoulder. "I need you to understand, Isa. We have to be cautious. He's after us, and I can't—I won't—let anything happen to you or your cousin.

“De la Rosa’s made it clear he’s not stopping until he gets what he wants,” Dad continues.

“And what he wants is more than to just disrupt our operations, to take control—he wants to destroy us and anyone else who stands in his way. I won’t let that happen.

Not to our family. Remember, this is for your safety. ”

“Well, speaking of phones,” I start.

Dad cocks his head to the side. “What is it?”

“I had a little mishap with mine last night. I was out on a walk, and it slipped out of my hand while I was changing songs on Spotify. Of course, I was standing right next to a drain.”

“So, you lost your phone.”

Dad scans me with those dark eyes.

“Yep. And I need a new one. Can’t have location tracking without it, right?”

He narrows his eyes a bit, and I can tell he knows there’s more to my story than I’m letting on.

“I’ll have a new one delivered today, and I want location tracking turned on immediately .”

He looks at Steph and me one last time, then leaves without another word.

As soon as Dad’s gone, the room feels suddenly larger, emptier.

I turn to Steph, about to explode with questions. “What was that all about? And since when do you just nod along without saying a word?”

She hesitates, glancing away, as if trying to come up with a lie—something very much not like her.

“Isa, it’s complicated. There’s a lot you don’t know—things I can’t…” She sighs. She’s never been a good liar, and even keeping things close to the chest like this is exhausting for her.

“Can’t what? You can tell me anything. You know that.”

She gives a long, weary sigh that makes her seem old.

“I just… I need you to trust your dad on this. De la Rosa… he’s dangerous, Isa. More than you realize.”

Her tone is so serious, grave even. “What aren’t you telling me, Steph? What’s going on?”

She looks around as if to make sure we’re truly alone, then leans closer.

“Just… be careful, okay? This isn’t the time for being rebellious or sneaking out of the house to go clubbing. Not with De la Rosa around.”

She sighs. “Anyway, I’m not going to tell Uncle Domenico what you did. But there’s a good chance he already knows.”

With that, she turns and leaves.

Once I'm alone, I think back to Alexei. I could return to his place. I could explain.

But explain what? That I'm a coward? That I ran because I was scared of how much I wanted to stay?

I think about the note again, still folded in my purse. Don't disappear on me.

Too late for that.