Page 37 of Dark Desires (Chicago Bratva #1)

ISABELLA

" S o, Ms. Mancini, care to explain how you ended up in the same villa as Christian de la Rosa, surrounded by cartel members?"

The room is sterile, cold, and suffocating—probably by design.

Across from me, Agent Patterson sits, firing questions like bullets. Her tone is clipped, her demeanor unrelenting.

“I was kidnapped.”

“Do you have proof of this?” she asks.

Next to me is my lawyer, Vince Marino. He’s in his late forties with salt-and-pepper hair, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. Vince was my father’s go-to counsel, and he’s damn good at what he does.

Vince leans forward. "Agent Patterson, unless you have concrete evidence linking my client to any criminal activity, this is a total waste of your time and ours.”

Patterson ignores him, her gaze fixed on me. "You’re the daughter of the late Domenico Mancini. There’s no doubt that you were involved in his empire. Hell, word on the street is that you’re the new head of it. And that’d make sense—the father passing on the kingdom to his daughter.”

Not a single word passes my lips.

“Is this why you dragged us here, Agent?” Vince asks. “Do you have something tangible, or should we call this what it is—a fishing expedition?"

Agent Patterson leans back, a tinge of frustration appearing on her face. "We both know you’re not innocent, Ms. Mancini. You’re in deeper than you’re admitting. This is far from over."

“For the last time, Agent Patterson,” Vince says, his voice calm, “my client has no knowledge of the dealings of a Christian de la Rosa. And unless you’ve got evidence to the contrary, this line of questioning is, as I said, a waste of everyone’s time.”

Patterson’s eyes narrow as she shifts her attention to me. “You know, Ms. Mancini, you could take the heat off you if you’d just cooperate a little, give the FBI something to work with. Maybe even work with us, share information.”

Vince scoffs. “Alright, that’s enough. You’ve got nothing, and we don’t need to spend another minute here.”

The agent sighs, shaking her head, as if finally understanding that she’s not going to get anything.Then Patterson’s gaze drops to my dress. “What’s with the black? Are you heading to a party?”

I bite back my first response, but Vince doesn’t miss a beat.

“Agent,” he says sharply, “my client is attending her father’s funeral today. You’ve already kept her long enough.”

“That’s right—that’s today.”

She knew this, of course. Dragging me to her office on the day of my father’s funeral was an obvious pointed message.

“Anyway, we’ll be speaking again soon.” She stands.

Vince rises, adjusting his tie. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

The moment we’re outside, I let out a frustrated breath. Mario’s there, waiting by the car.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

“Fine. Thanks,” I say as he opens the door for me.

“Handled that like a pro,” Vince says. “Your father would’ve been proud.”

I thank him as he slides in the other side of the back seat. Mario starts the engine and we’re soon off. It’s a cold, gray, rainy day in Chicago. Fitting for the occasion.

“Yeah, well, Dad taught me the first rule of dealing with the cops—don’t say a damn word without a lawyer.”

Vince smirks. “Smart man.”

As we drive toward the church, I can’t help but seethe at Agent Patterson’s stunt. She obviously wanted to let me know—or let me think—that she’s the one in charge.

I’ll settle the score for this insult. But not today.

“They’re trying to rattle you,” Vince says. “Don’t let them. Patterson knows she’s got nothing.”

I nod, though the anger simmers just beneath my skin.

The funeral is at St. Anthony of Padua, a historic Italian church nestled in the heart of Chicago’s Little Italy. The towering spires and stained-glass windows cast colorful patterns on the cobblestone streets outside. Inside, the air smells of incense and old wood.

The church is packed. Hundreds of people fill the pews, spilling into the aisles, a low hum of conversation filling the air.Every major player in Chicago’s underground is here, dressed in black and looking appropriately somber.

I stick close to Vince and Mario, who directs me to our place in the pew among my dozens of lieutenants.

I can feel the weight of every gaze. People don’t just look at me—they assess me.They know I’m the one in charge now, and they want to know what to make of this former mafia princess, now a queen.

The Ivanovs are here, of course. Elena is poised and elegant, her arm linked with Grigori. Lev and Luk stand together with their families, their sharp eyes scanning the room as though they expect trouble. Yuri is quiet, his head slightly bowed.

But no Alexei. No Stephania.

I haven’t heard a word from Alexei since the villa, and Stephania might as well have disappeared off the face of the earth.

The Mass is beautiful. My father’s casket, draped in flowers, sits beneath the soft glow of the altar lights. The priest talks about my father, about his loyalty to his friends, his associates and—most importantly—his family.

I take a look around the church at the huge crowd gathered for him. No doubt they feel the same way about my father’s commitment to loyalty.

By the time it’s over and people begin filing out, I’m drained. The Ivanovs approach me briefly, offering their condolences. Elena’s hand on my arm is warm, comforting.

“If you need anything, call me,” she says softly.

Lev adds with a faint smirk, “And if you need someone scared off, call me.”

I manage a smile, but my thoughts are elsewhere. I want to grill them about Alexei— where is he, what’s going on, why hasn’t he reached out —but I know this isn’t the time or place.

When it’s finally over, Vince and Mario drive me home. The mansion looms, big and empty, as we pull up.

“I’ll be on duty,” Mario says, the gravel of the driveway crunching as he brings the car to a halt. “Call me if you need anything.”

I flick my eyes to the mansion, the thought of being in there all alone, my family gone… it’s too much.

“Nothing from Stephania?” I ask.

“Not a word. Believe me, the second I know, you’ll know.”

“Thanks, Mar.”

With that, I get out and head inside.

The silence hits me like a wall. It’s overwhelming how quiet and cavernous the house feels without my dad’s larger-than- life presence. I wander to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water, staring out at the dark garden.

Then I feel it. A small, fluttering kick in my belly.

My hand flies to my stomach, my eyes widening. Another kick follows.

The baby. My baby. Our baby.

Tears prick my eyes as a wave of emotions crashes over me. For the first time in what feels like forever, I smile.

I guess I’m not so alone after all.

A week has passed since my father’s funeral, but the world hasn’t slowed down at all, not even for a second. News of De la Rosa’s downfall is splashed across every major media outlet and dominates social media. It’s all anyone in our world can talk about.

But still, there’s no sign of Steph. My calls and messages go unanswered, and the silence from her end is deafening. It’s like she’s vanished into thin air. I push the thought aside, for now, because I’m here , settling into the role of head of the Mancini family.

It’s surreal. I always knew I’d end up here one day, but some part of me thought Dad would live forever. The idea of him not being around seemed impossible. But now, here I am.

What’s shocking is how much I’ve come to find comfort in the work. This role, this responsibility—it makes sense in a way my life hasn’t for a long time. It’s given me order, purpose, and a way to channel my grief toward something productive.

I sit at the head of the long conference table in my father’s— my —study. Mario stands to my right, arms folded, watching every face like a hawk. Around the table are our family’s lieutenants, men who’ve served my father loyally for years.

I clear my throat, the room instantly going silent. It still feels strange, commanding this kind of attention, but I roll with it.

“Gentlemen, thank you for coming.”

One of them, a grizzled veteran named Nico, nods. “We’re here for you, Ms. Mancini. Whatever you need.”

I offer a small smile. “Good. Because there’s a lot to discuss. First, we need to solidify our positions. The Colombians are on the ropes, but that doesn’t mean their allies won’t try to retaliate. I want increased security on all fronts. Mario will handle the details.”

Mario steps forward, giving a curt nod. “I’ll make sure our properties and people are covered. No one gets through without us knowing.”

I glance around the room. “I also want eyes on the Ivanovs. They were loyal to us during this mess, but I want to make sure nothing’s brewing on their end. Trust is earned and maintained.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “You think they’d turn on us?”

I shrug, keeping my tone measured. “I don’t think anything. I just don’t take chances.”

The room murmurs in agreement. Another lieutenant, a younger guy named Rocco, speaks up. “What about your official ceremony? To take charge of the family?”

Oh, yeah. The ceremony. The traditional gathering where I’ll be formally named the head of the Mancini Family. It’s a show of power, unity, and stability. Exactly what we need right now.

“We’ll schedule it for next week,” I say. “Mario, you’ll oversee the arrangements.”

“Already on it,” he replies.

Nico smirks. “You’re a natural at this, Isabella.”

I lean back, crossing my arms. “Did you expect anything less?”

The room chuckles, and for the first time in days, I feel a genuine sense of control. This is my world now, and I intend to own it.

After the meeting, as the men file out, Mario stays behind.

“You did good.”

I glance at him. “You sound surprised.”

“Not surprised. Just impressed.”

A moment passes, Mario’s face fixed in thought.

“What’s up?”

He purses his lips for a moment. “I don’t want to speak out of turn.”

“You’ve earned it. Go ahead. Consider it your turn.”

“I’m not sure what you had in mind for your future, but your father always imagined you’d be the head of this thing. Never once did he ever doubt that you had the brains, the spine, or the heart for leading the family.”

“Funny, I always imagined myself more the interior-décor-small-business kind of girl.”

“I’m sure you’d have a knack for that, too. But in the meantime, I think you’re right where you need to be. And there’s not a doubt in my mind that your father would feel the same way.”

“Thanks, Mar. That means a lot.”

He gives me a rare smile before heading out, leaving me alone in the study. I let out a breath, leaning back in my chair.

Head of the Mancini Family. Who would’ve thought?

As daunting as it is, I feel ready.