Page 30 of Dark Desires (Chicago Bratva #1)

ISABELLA

T he hood comes off, and the first thing I see is extravagance: polished hardwood floors, an oversized mahogany desk, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a sprawling garden.

Where the hell am I? I’d gotten so scared on that damn helicopter that I’d passed out. And now, it’s morning or afternoon or something, and I’m definitely not in Chicago.

I’m in what looks like a villa.

The place is intimidating and beautiful.

“Good afternoon, Bonita .”

I’m not alone.

Christian de la Rosa sits behind the desk, a drink in hand, looking every bit the smug villain.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“You’re somewhere nice and private.”

He looks me up and down, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him. “You’ve had quite the eventful day, haven’t you? Please sit.”

I glare at him, but sit, anyway. My wrists are sore from the tight zip ties they used to bring me here, and my body aches from the rough handling.

“What do you want, De la Rosa?”

His grin is slow. “Straight to the point. I like that about you, Isabella.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t flatter me. It’s not going to work.”

He leans back, swirling his drink. “What I want is simple.”

My stomach twists, but I keep my face blank. “You dragged me out here to chat? You couldn’t just send an email?”

Christian chuckles. “Oh, Isabella. You’re more than just leverage, you’re insurance.” He nods toward my stomach. “Your little secret makes you invaluable.”

I stiffen. “How the hell?—”

He cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “Please. The hospital staff? Easily bribed. It took time to get to you with all the extra security, but I’m nothing if not persistent.

It didn’t take me long to put two and two together either once my men got eyes on you.

Once they watched you sneak off to meet Alexei Plushenko. He’s the baby daddy, isn’t he?”

I want to scream, throw something, wipe that infuriating grin off his face. Instead, I sit frozen, my mind racing. He knows about the baby.

“Here’s how this plays out,” he says. “You stay here, safe and sound, while I send a message to your father and the Bratva. I’m given Alexei, Domenico agrees to marry your cousin to my son, and everyone walks away alive. Well, mostly everyone.”

“ Given Alexei?” I ask. “Who the hell is going to give you Alexei?”

“Your father, of course.”

I scoff. “You really think my father will just hand over Alexei? You don’t know him. He’d never betray the Ivanovs.”

Christian’s grin widens. “Oh, I know Domenico Mancini quite well. He’ll do anything to protect you, Isabella. Anything. Even if it means handing your bastard boy toy over to me.”

He’s right. Dad’s an honorable man, but there’s no way he’d choose honor over his daughter.Dad will trade Alexei to save me. If it brings down the entire Ivanov Bratva, he’ll do it. I have no doubt.

Christian sips his drink. “The mission was meant to be a simple one—we kidnap you and kill Alexei. Unfortunately, I recently learned that Alexei survived the attack.”

Relief washes over me, but I try not to celebrate too obviously.

“That will be rectified, however,” he says. “Once Alexei is out of the picture, the Bratva will have nothing to offer your family.”

“But why Stephania?” I ask.

Christian’s expression darkens slightly.

“Omar is my heir. Marrying Stephania solidifies my claim to Chicago. The Mexicans and the Chinese—they’re watching, waiting.

They won’t move until I’ve dealt with the Bratva.

Once Omar is joined with the Mancinis, the Ivanovs will be isolated, easy to take out. This marriage is the final piece.”

My head spins. Christian isn’t just after Alexei—he’s trying to dismantle the Bratva in one move.

“My son and I have had something of a rocky relationship. He’s never approved of this life he was born into. It’s always created something of a distance between us.”

“No shit,” I say. “You’re a murderer, and he’s a decent guy.”

“Decent, yes.” He chuckles, like he can’t imagine that word being part of his world. “A bit of a, how-you-say, Boy Scout . But he’s my son. And I know he has feelings for this cousin of yours. If I were to ask him to join the life he’s abandoned, he would likely say no.”

“But if you can offer him the girl he’s crazy about…”

“ Exactamente ,” he says. “His romance with Stephania is no secret. And I’m going to use it to bring both your family and my own back into the fold. Together, we’ll destroy the Ivanovs and run Chicago.”

“Let me guess,” I say. “After Alexei’s dead and Stephania’s married off, I get a nice little retirement package?”

“A retirement package?” he asks.

“You want to control the Mancinis, right? Well, there are two people in the way—my dad and me . I may not look like much to you, but rest assured, I was raised to deal with people like you. I have fully embraced the life I was born into, unlike your son.”

He chuckles. “You must give your poor father heartburn with that mouth of yours. No, I haven’t quite decided what I’m going to do with you.

I could kill you, sure. But killing a pregnant woman is beneath even me.

So, maybe if you, as you Americans say, play ball , I might be willing to send you out of the country.

Everything you have will be mine, of course, but you’ll have your life—and the life of your child. ”

Part of me wants to tell him he’s full of shit, that I know he’s going to kill me no matter what.

But I bite my tongue. If I push too hard, he might decide I’m not worth the trouble.

I need to survive for the baby, for Alexei.

Christian rises from his chair, pacing slowly as he speaks.

“Do you know what I admire most about myself, Isabella?” he asks.

“Your humility?”

“Funny. No. My ability to see the bigger picture.” He stops in front of the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “This ability has allowed me to grow the De la Rosa cartel into one of the most powerful in the Western Hemisphere. But my son...”

He sighs, shaking his lead. “Little did I know that he would have such a turn. Breaking bad —that’s an expression I hear, here in the states.

The idea makes sense. Easy to imagine someone might be tempted by what my sort of lifestyle can offer.

But breaking good ?” he laughs, as if the idea is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“That’s something else entirely. I can’t believe it. ”

He goes on. “Omar’s arrest was inconvenient. But it’s not the end of my plan. I’ll get to him eventually.”

“So, what? You’re just going to use me as bait until this is all handled the way you want?”

Christian turns, his expression cold. “Until I get what I want. You’re insurance, Isabella. Either your father will hand him over, or Alexei will come for you. And when he does...”

He doesn’t finish, but the threat is obvious.

“And you think Omar’s going to be fine with it? That he’s going to join you?”

His eyes narrow, and for the first time, I see a flicker of something—anger, maybe even regret.

“Don’t mistake me for a fool, Isabella. Everything I do is for my family. Omar is my legacy. This war? It’s about securing a future for him.”

“Funny way of showing it,” I snap. “Kidnapping a pregnant woman and threatening to kill the father of her child doesn’t exactly scream ‘Father of the Year.’”

Christian’s jaw tightens. “Omar doesn’t understand what it takes to survive in this world. He thinks he can walk away, pretend he’s not part of this, play good-boy lawyer in that little firm of his. But blood ties run deep, Isabella. He’ll see that eventually.

“Here’s the reality,” he says, leaning against the desk. “You’re out of moves. Your father is going to do what I want, your cousin will marry my son, and the Ivanovs will be destroyed.”

“You’re too cocky, acting like you’ve already won. You’ll never get away with this.”

His laugh is low, mocking. “We’ll see about that.”

Christian exits the room with a final, chilling smirk, leaving me alone to stew in my fear and anger.

The heavy door clicks shut behind him, and I let out a shaky breath. My hands move instinctively to my stomach, palms pressing gently against the small bump.

“Don’t worry, little one. I’ll get us out of this. Somehow.”

I look around the room to get a sense of what my situation is. The windows are big, but barred. No slipping out that way.

I get up and go over to the door, placing my palms against it and pushing. It’s solid as they come. It’s wooden, but I’d need the mother of all axes to break through it. There’s a lock, but no chance of picking it.

The villa is quiet, except for the faint hum of air conditioning and the occasional sound of footsteps outside the door. My mind races, replaying everything Christian said. He’s banking on Dad’s love for me to seal Alexei’s fate.

And if Alexei dies, the Bratva is weakened, and Christian tightens his grip on Chicago. And then without the Mancinis on their side, it’s only a matter of time before Christian manages to take them down.

And Stephania? I can’t even imagine what she’d be going through. She’d get to be with Omar, but at what cost? Her family would be gone, and Omar would be pulled into a life of crime that he never wanted.

I move back to the window and peer through the bars. The sprawling garden I’d seen earlier is still there, pristine and lush. Beyond the garden, I can see a high wall lined with cameras.

Whoever designed the security system for Christian is good; this place is a fortress.

Still, if there’s something I’m good at, it’s breaking out of fortresses. I chuckle at the idea of Mario seeing me now, about to put my skills to good use for once instead of to drive him crazy.

There has to be a way out. I refuse to believe this is where it ends. My thoughts shift to Alexei. If anyone can find me, it’s him.

But that hope is fleeting. Christian isn’t a man who leaves loose ends—he’s going to kill Alexei, and he’s going to kill me after that. Not a chance in hell he’s going to let me get away, knowing that I could return at any time to claim the Mancini throne.

My chest tightens at the thought of never seeing Alexei again, never watching him hold our child—it’s unbearable.

I don’t care if I need to kick the door down and take apart every damn guard with my bare hands. I’m getting out of here.

I force myself to focus. No crying. No breaking down. I’m not some damsel waiting to be rescued. If I can’t find a way out, I’ll damn well make one.