71. Chapter 71
71
Bella
I ’ve seen this scene before. The kind where the mob boss’s enemies line up their captives, guns pointed, and the only sound is the ticking clock before the bullets fly. The kind where the girl who thought she was just collateral realizes she’s the main event.
Except this isn’t some late-night mafia flick. This is real. And I’m not some faceless extra. I’m the idiot who thought marrying Konstantin would protect everyone.
The panic room was supposed to be the safest place in the house—a vault with walls thick enough to withstand a small war. But they never tell you what to do when the enemy’s already inside.
They’ve bound our hands with zip ties, cinched cruelly tight. Anatoly, Yelena, Oleg, Julian, Lila, Elena, and I—lined up against the wall like firing squad victims. Only the children remain free, huddled together in the corner, guarded by masked men with automatic weapons.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I keep them closed, I can pretend it’s still a bad dream. But the zip ties bite into my wrists, the cold tile presses against my spine, and the whimpers from Lila in the corner are too real to ignore.
This is happening.
And I have no idea how we’re going to get out.
I open my eyes again and force myself to look at Alya.
She’s shaking, her little fists clenched so tight her knuckles are white. Tears streak down her cheeks, and her gaze is fixed on her mother—a ghost made flesh, standing beside Tatiana like they’re old friends. Lev and Nikolai press in closer to their sister, each of them a shield in their own way, eyes darting between Irina and Anatoly, trying to make sense of a world that just flipped inside out.
Irina’s gaze sweeps over them, cold and unreadable. Like she’s assessing a room full of strangers. Like they aren’t her kids at all.
“Did you really think I would let you steal everything from me?” Tatiana asks, circling Anatoly like a predator. Her voice is eerily calm, belying the rage I can see simmering beneath her polished surface. “After all these years? After everything I’ve endured?”
Anatoly sits ramrod straight despite his bound hands, his face a mask of cold dignity. “You’ve lost your mind, Tatiana.”
SLAP!
The slap echoes through the room like a gunshot. The force of it snaps Anatoly’s head to the side, a red handprint blooming on his weathered cheek.
“Don’t you dare!” Yelena shouts, struggling against her restraints. “Don’t you touch him!”
Tatiana laughs, the sound brittle and dangerous. “How touching. The first wife, still so loyal.” She turns to Yelena, her smile sharp as a blade. “Did you know he still keeps your picture in his wallet? Even after all these years. Even after I gave him a son. Even after I gave him everything.”
“I’ve never promised you anything,” Anatoly says quietly. “Our agreement was clear from the beginning.”
“Agreement?” Tatiana’s voice rises, sharp with decades of resentment. “You think a 23-year-old girl shipped off to marry a man twice her age had any say in that agreement? You think I wanted to spend my life as your trophy, paraded around at parties while you built your empire, and I smiled on command?”
Alya begins to sob in earnest now, her small shoulders shaking. Without thinking, I try to move toward her, but one of the guards shoves me back against the wall.
“Leave the children out of this,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Whatever grievance you have with Anatoly, they’re innocent.”
Tatiana’s attention swivels to me, her eyes narrowing. “The waitress speaks. How quaint.” She moves closer, studying me like I’m a curiosity in a museum. “Tell me, Isabella, did you know what you were walking into when you signed that contract? Did you understand the family you were joining?”
“Her name is Bella,” Elena interjects, earning her a cold glare.
“Let me tell you a story,” Tatiana continues, ignoring Elena. “About a girl who was sold by her father to settle a debt. A girl who thought if she played by the rules, if she was the perfect wife, the perfect mother, she might one day have a say in her own life.”
She begins to pace, her expensive heels clicking on the concrete floor. “I was beautiful once. More beautiful than Irina. More beautiful even than you.” She gestures dismissively at me. “Anatoly paraded me at parties, showed me off like a prize. But beauty fades. And when it does, you’d better have something else to bargain with.”
“You had your fair share of material benefits,” Anatoly says quietly. “A life of luxury. Homes. Cars. Jewelry. You wanted for nothing.”
“I played along,” Tatiana continues, pacing again, the click of her heels punctuating each word. “For years, I smiled and nodded and did exactly as I was told. I wore the diamonds, hosted your parties, bore your son. I was the perfect doll, dressed up and put on display, waiting for the day you’d finally see me as a partner instead of a pawn.”
She stops, eyes narrowing, a bitter laugh clawing its way up her throat. “You should’ve died, Anatoly. But no—you wake up from the damn coma, clinging to life like a parasite that refuses to let go. And here we are. All of us still playing your game.”
Anatoly’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath his graying beard. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm. “Power?”
Irina shifts uncomfortably beside the children, her perfect features pinched with growing unease. She glances at Lev and Nikolai, then quickly away, as if unable to meet their eyes.
“It’s about what’s fair. What’s mine.” Tatiana’s voice drops, becomes deadly serious. “You promised Filipp would be your heir. You promised my son would inherit what you built.”
She throws her head back and laughs, the sound sharp and hollow, her Botox-stretched face unable to fully contort. The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, like a mask that’s been pulled too tight. “And then you chose him…” she spits, the words tasting like they’ve been marinated in three-day-old garbage. “Konstantin.”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to say it!” Tatiana shrieks, her composure finally cracking. “You showed me! Every day, every decision, every time you went to her,” she gestures wildly at Yelena, “for advice instead of me. Your wife.”
The pieces click into place, the twisted logic revealing itself. This isn’t just about the succession. This is about a woman who believes she’s been denied what she’s owed. What she sacrificed her life for.
“And you,” Tatiana turns to Irina, her voice dripping with disdain. “The perfect vessel for his perfect heir. Selected from a catalog of acceptable bloodlines, with your impeccable pedigree and empty head.”
Irina flinches, her porcelain composure cracking. “That’s not true. Konstantin and I—”
“Were arranged,” Tatiana finishes. “Just like me and Anatoly. Just like every marriage in this godforsaken family. Ask Yelena. She’ll tell you.”
Yelena’s face remains impassive, but her eyes blaze with cold fury.
“Some of us understood our duty,” she says stiffly. “Some of us didn’t need to be forced to do what was right for the family.”
Irina’s face contorts, her gaze darting to Lev and Nikolai.
“You think I wanted this? To be a broodmare for the Belov line? To produce heirs while my husband built his empire?”
The boys’ faces drain of color, Nikolai’s jaw tightening while Lev’s eyes well with tears.
“Shut up,” I snap, unable to contain my fury any longer. “Can’t you see you’re hurting them? They’re your children, not pawns in whatever sick game you’re playing.”
“My children?” Irina laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. “I didn’t want children. I was 22! I wanted to travel, to study art in Paris. But duty called, isn’t that right, Yelena? ‘It is your responsibility to provide heirs,’ you told me. ‘It is what a Belov wife does.’”
Lev makes a small, wounded sound that cuts straight through me. Nikolai’s arm tightens around his brother’s shoulders, his face a mask of controlled pain.
“I said shut up,” I repeat, my voice shaking with rage. “They can hear you, you selfish bitch.”
Tatiana’s hand connects with my cheek, the force of the slap snapping my head back. Stars explode behind my eyes, the taste of copper flooding my mouth.
“You don’t get to speak,” she hisses. “You’re nothing. A convenience. A contract. If you open your mouth again, I’ll put a bullet in it. Is that clear?”
I glare at her, refusing to show fear despite the throbbing pain in my face and the growing terror in my chest. Not for myself but for the children. For Julian and Lila, who never asked to be part of this nightmare. For Alya, Lev, and Nikolai, whose own mother just confirmed their worst fears—that they were never wanted, never loved.
“What exactly is your plan here, Tatiana?” Anatoly asks, his voice steady despite the trickle of blood from his split lip. “You can’t possibly think you’ll get away with this.”
“Get away?” Tatiana laughs. “I already have. Your precious fortress has fallen. Your heir is walking into a trap as we speak. Everything you’ve built is crumbling, Anatoly, and I’m the one holding the hammer.”
Beside me, Elena shifts slightly. From the corner of my eye, I see her wrists working behind her back, subtle movements that the guards, focused on the drama unfolding before them, haven’t noticed.
Elena always carries a knife—a small, elegant switchblade her father gave her for protection years ago. She keeps it tucked into her boot, snug against her ankle, hidden beneath the hem of her jeans. A detail I’d forgotten until now, when I see her subtly shifting her weight, foot twisting just slightly.
How the hell is she going to get it out? With our hands bound, it’s nearly impossible. But then I see it—the way she angles her heel against the floor, using the edge of the tile to nudge the blade free. The handle slides up just enough for her to hook her fingers around it, eyes fixed straight ahead as if nothing’s happening.
She catches my eye, a flicker of fierce determination flashing in her gaze. I nod, my pulse thundering.
“You won’t win,” I say to Tatiana, deliberately drawing her attention. “Konstantin will—”
“Konstantin will what?” she sneers, stepping closer. “Save you? His precious new wife? The woman carrying his child?”
The room goes silent, a collective intake of breath. Anatoly’s eyes widen slightly, darting between me and Yelena, who remains stoically silent, already privy to this secret.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Tatiana looks triumphantly at Anatoly. “Your son knocked up his contract bride. But don’t worry—I’ll take care of that little problem.”
Panic flares in my chest, not for myself, but for my unborn child. For the tiny life that has become the center of my world without anyone knowing—anyone except Yelena and, apparently, Tatiana.
“ Nyet ,” Irina says suddenly, stepping forward. “That wasn’t the deal. You said I would get my payment—five million. Where is it?”
“The deal has changed,” Tatiana cuts her off. “Did you really think I’d pay you after you failed to keep Konstantin distracted? You’re as disposable as she is.” She gestures dismissively at me.
Irina’s face twists with rage. “You promised me money! I didn’t come back for these children—I came back for what I’m owed!”
“Of course you did,” Tatiana says, as if speaking to a child. “You never cared about them. Only yourself. That’s why you were so easy to manipulate.”
The tension in the room shifts, fractures. One of Tatiana’s men mutters something in Russian, glancing nervously at his watch.
“We have a breach,” he says in rapid Russian. “They’ve entered the compound.”
Tatiana’s head snaps up. “What? From where?”
“Unknown entry point,” the man replies, switching to accented English. “Three teams. Heavily armed.”
“How is that possible?” Tatiana hisses. “We disabled all security protocols!”
The man speaks into his radio, listening intently before turning back to Tatiana.
“Mr. Volkov wants us out now. He says this wasn’t the agreement—a direct assault wasn’t part of the plan.”
Tatiana’s face tightens with rage. “Mikhail can’t back out now.”
“His men, his rules,” the guard replies flatly. “We need to move.”
Tatiana checks her own watch, nodding tersely. “Fine. Prepare the children for transport. Kill the others.”
Behind me, I feel Elena’s fingers brush against my bound wrists, the cold edge of a blade slipping between them. A quick, precise movement and the zip tie loosens. Not fully cut—that would be too obvious—but weakened enough that a sharp tug will break it.
I keep my body perfectly still, making sure the guards don’t notice. Elena shifts slightly, and I know she’s doing the same for Julian beside her.
“You’re making a mistake,” Anatoly says, his voice eerily calm. “If you harm anyone in this room, there won’t be a place on this earth where you can hide from my son.”
Tatiana laughs, though the sound holds an edge of hysteria now. “Your son? Your precious heir? He’ll be too busy mourning to hunt me down.” She pulls a sleek handgun from her jacket. “Now, who wants to go first? The old man? The first wife? Or perhaps…” her eyes land on me, “the pregnant bride?”
The gun swings toward me, and time seems to slow. I see Julian tensing beside me, ready to lunge despite his bound hands. I see Alya’s small face, eyes wide with terror.
“You bitch!” Irina suddenly lunges at Tatiana, her manicured nails aiming for the other woman’s face. “You promised me five million! You said I’d get my money if I helped you get to the children!”
Tatiana steps back, momentarily surprised by the attack. “Have you lost your mind?”
Irina’s gaze darts to the children, and her face twists with contempt. “What are you staring at?” she snaps, voice sharp and cold. “You think I give a damn about you?” Lev flinches. Nikolai’s jaw clenches, holding back tears.
Irina’s eyes return to Tatiana, wild and desperate. “I did what you asked. I didn’t come back for them. I want my payment!”
Tatiana’s expression hardens, her grip on the gun tightening.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Way,” Tatiana enunciates each word, the gun now pointed at Irina.
The sound seems to strengthen Irina’s resolve. “No,” she says simply.
For a moment, the two women stare at each other, a battle of wills that could end only one way.
The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space.
Irina stumbles back, a red stain blooming across her chest. Her eyes wide with shock, she falls to her knees, then crumples to the floor.
Tatiana stands over her, gun still raised, face twisted with contempt.
“Idiot,” she mutters. “Always were.”
The children’s screams tear through the air. Alya’s the loudest, a sound of pure anguish that will haunt my nightmares forever.
In the chaos that follows, Elena gives my zip tie a sharp tug. It snaps, my hands suddenly free. Beside me, Julian’s hands are loose, too.
One of the guards notices, shouting something in Russian. Gunfire erupts, the sound deafening in the enclosed space.
I dive for the children, my only thought to shield them with my body. Julian moves in the same instant, tackling one of the guards to the floor.
Everything becomes a blur of movement and noise. Elena somehow has a gun—taken from a fallen guard—and is firing with surprising accuracy. Oleg, somehow also free, has engaged another guard in hand-to-hand combat.
I reach Alya, pulling her and her brothers behind me, using my body as a shield. Lila is there too, having broken free in the chaos, her face streaked with tears but her eyes determined.
“Stay down,” I tell them, my voice steadier than I feel. “No matter what happens, stay down.”
The door to the panic room slides open with a pneumatic hiss. More gunfire. More shouting.
And then, cutting through the madness like a blade through silk, a voice I’d recognize anywhere.
“Bella!”
Konstantin.