Page 6 of Dark Desires (Chicago Bratva #1)

ISABELLA

I ’m slouched in a hospital bed, which seems a little excessive, my arm bandaged up and throbbing. It all feels like a nightmare.

To make it worse, the cops are right in front of me.

The officer isn’t letting up. He’s firing off questions like rounds from the guns I’d just been taking cover from.

“Did you see anyone suspicious?”

“You mean besides the guys who were shooting at me?”

“Cute. I mean, before that happened.”

“Nope.”

“Catch any names?”

“No.”

He frowns. “And you’re sure you didn’t recognize any of the attackers?”

I roll my eyes. “They all had masks on.”

He jots this down. “Anything else at all? Any details?”

“A little hard to take in details from behind a table,” I shoot back, annoyed.

Even if I had seen anything, I wouldn’t tell this guy. Growing up in the mob, you learn not to trust anyone, even cops.

Out in the hallway, I can hear my dad storming, all coiled-up fury. He’s pacing back and forth, growling low and lethal at another officer, trying to keep his cool, but sounding one question away from throwing a punch.

The cop questioning me shifts, looking over his shoulder at the hallway, then back at me. “Miss Mancini, anything you remember could help.”

“Like I said, I was a little busy trying not to get my head blown off. But if anything comes to mind, I’ll make sure to shoot you a text. Or do you have Instagram? I could always DM you there.”

He looks like he wishes he could arrest me on the spot.

“Listen, we’re just trying to help,” he says, and I almost feel bad for the guy.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I’ve got nothing else for you.”

The cop shakes his head but says nothing, scribbling in his notebook like he’s writing a grocery list.

From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Alexei through the little window in the door, standing with one of the other officers. His arms are crossed, his face stony, and I can tell he’s giving the cop nothing.

The cops share a look, one that makes it clear they know they’re not getting anything else out of me. One of them reaches into his pocket and takes out a card, setting it down on the little table next to the hospital bed.

“There’s no Instagram handle on there but call me the old-fashioned way if you’re feeling up to talking.”

“I won’t. But thanks.”

With that, they leave. As soon as they’re gone, I hop out of the bed, a tinge of pain running through my arm, and hurry to the door, dragging my IV pole behind me. I open it and poke my head out. Dad’s gone, but Alexei is still there.

“I’ve already told you. I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say,” Alexei says. He’s irritated as hell. “Maybe instead of interrogating us, you should be out there finding the people responsible.”

The cop bristles. “Sir, I’m just doing my job.”

“Then do it somewhere else,” Alexei snaps. “My family’s lying in hospital beds, and you’re here asking pointless questions instead of hunting down the people who did this.”

There’s a dark satisfaction in watching the cop’s face go from stern to embarrassed, and I bite back a smirk. Finally, just like they had with me, the cops get the hint and leave him alone.

“Alexei,” I say.

He flicks his eyes to me, then down to my bandage.

“You’re fine?”

“I’m fine.”

“Stephania’s fine, too. Now go back to bed.”

With that, he heads down the hallway, pulling open the door to one of the other rooms and stepping inside. I yank the IV pole after me and follow him down the hall.

I arrive at the room and see my cousin in the bed. She’s still, her eyes closed and her arms at her side.

His face softens as he looks down at her. A pang of jealousy twists in my gut, though I quickly push it down. This is what he’s supposed to do. He’s her fiancé.

And yet, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, seeing the way he stands by her bedside, his expression grave. He places his hand on hers. Sure, this may be an arranged marriage, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s genuinely concerned for her.

Or maybe he’s a total sociopath, a guy who knows how to pretend to look like he gives a shit.

A hand on my shoulder startles me, and I turn to see my father standing next to me, his face lined with worry.

“Isabella.”

I take his hand and he squeezes it.

“Is she going to be OK?”

“That’s what they tell me. Doctors say that she hit her head hard. She’s lucky—injuries to the back of the head like that can be fatal.”

Ask me how I know , he seems to imply. Every now and then, I find myself wondering how much blood my dad has on his hands. But like always, I push the question aside.

“Come with me,” he says and guides me back to my room.

“Do you have any idea who might be behind this?” I ask as I’m settled back in bed.

Dad lets out a weary sigh. “If I had proof, I’d be dealing with it myself instead of standing here with a bunch of incompetent cops.

But if I had to bet, I’d say it’s De la Rosa’s people.

They’re trying to push their way in, and they’ll do whatever they can to weaken us.

They were smart, though—none of the attackers spoke a word, likely not wanting to give away their accents.

But I’m damn sure it was the Colombians. ”

“But without proof…”

“Without proof, I can’t do a damn thing,” Dad says. “You can’t go to war just on a hunch.”

He signals Mario, who’s been posted outside my door.

“Mario, I want a couple more men on each detail. And make sure the girls are protected twenty-four-seven. Whatever security we have in place, I want it doubled. Not a goddamn chance in hell this De la Rosa prick is going anywhere near my family again.”

Mario nods, his expression serious. “Understood, Mr. Mancini. I’ve already spoken to Alexei’s people. Stephania will have two Ivanov guards on top of ours. Alexei is making sure of it himself.”

Dad’s shoulders slump as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him, and he runs his hand through his thick, ink-dark hair.

“Good. It’s about time. He steps up to his responsibilities as her fiancé.”

“Right,” I say, the word coming out sharper than I intended. “Alexei, doing his husbandly duties. Perfect.”

My father sighs. “Isabella…”

I wave him off. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. It’s just been a long night. And I want to make sure my cousin’s OK.”

Before he can press me further, the room spins slightly, a wave of dizziness hitting me out of nowhere. What the hell is happening?

I lay my head back and close my eyes.

“You okay, Miss Mancini?” Mario asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I blink to clear my vision. But I still feel shaky, and suddenly the whole night comes crashing down on me—emotionally, physically, every possible way.

My father’s face goes from concerned to alarmed in an instant. “Isa, you don’t look well. I’m going to call the doctor.”

“I just need a minute,” I say, but the words feel thick and heavy in my mouth. The edges of my vision blur, and the voices around me start to fade, melting into a dull hum.

My father’s voice, sharp with worry, is the last thing I hear before everything goes black.

When I open my eyes, I’m surprised to find Alexei there, looking down on me with that cocky smirk.

“Back from the dead?” he asks. “For the second time?”

I sit up. “What happened? And why are you here?”

“Someone had to make sure you weren’t going to pass out again.” His blue eyes flash as he leans forward. “I offered to keep an eye on you. Everyone was quite worried.”

“Well, don’t worry,” I reply, my tone sharp. “I’m perfectly fine now, so you can go play the doting fiancé and be with Stephania.”

There’s a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe frustration—but he hides it quickly. His jaw tightens, and he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, looking like he’s trying to keep his cool.

“Stephania is good. She’s being taken care of. Nothing for her to do but rest.”

“Good for her,” I say, forcing a bright, fake smile. “Then you’re all set.”

He doesn’t move. Instead, he just stares at me, an unreadable expression on his face that drives me insane.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to be here.”

“You fainted, Isabella,” he finally says, “for the second time tonight. You need rest, and you need people looking out for you.”

I roll my eyes, brushing it off. “It was just the stress of the night. Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” he repeats. “You lost consciousness, Isabella. I have reason to be concerned.”

“No, you don’t. It was very clear by the way I woke up alone in your place that I was just a way to spend a night. You didn’t even leave a note, for fuck sake.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. For a second, I think he might actually fire back, but instead, he just sighs and looks away.

“We’re not talking about that right now. It’s not the time. There are bigger things going on at the moment, in case you haven’t noticed.” He sits back.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I reply, lifting my injured arm.

The silence between us stretches out, heavy and thick, with all the things neither of us is saying.

I’m tired, stressed, and honestly, having him here just makes everything more complicated. Every time I look at him, flashes of that night come rushing back—his hands, his mouth, the way he made me feel.

It’s a déjà vu I don’t need, especially not now, not while I’m carrying his baby that he knows nothing about.

He’s still watching me, his gaze intense, like he’s trying to read my mind or figure out some puzzle I’m not even aware of. It’s unnerving, and I can feel the frustration bubbling up inside me.

I need him gone before I do something stupid—like let my guard down around him.

“Look,” I say. “I’m fine, and I don’t need a babysitter. Go check on Stephania. She’s your fiancée, after all.”

He smirks, more amused than anything else. “You’re really that eager to get rid of me?”

“Yes, actually,” I reply. “I don’t need or want you here.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He turns to leave, and I feel a strange pang in my chest as he walks away. I hate that I even care, hate that his leaving stirs up this weird mix of relief and disappointment. But it’s for the best.

He pauses at the door, glancing back one last time. “Get some rest,” he says, his voice softer, almost gentle. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and the little secret I’ve been carrying.

“Ms. Mancini,” the doctor says, looking at his clipboard as he steps in. “So, we ran a few tests after you arrived. Standard protocol.

I nod, waiting for him to continue.

“Are you aware that you’re pregnant?” he asks.

“I am, yes,” I say, a sudden panic gripping me. “Oh, my God, is the baby OK?”

“I’d like to do an ultrasound to double-check now that we have lab confirmation. Would that be OK?”

“Yes, please,” I say, my focus suddenly shifting to the tiny life inside me. I offer a prayer to any god that might be listening that my baby is alright.