Isle of Redemption (The Moretti Chronicles #4)

Prologue

“Dad, tell me you’re not going to give in, and ship your own son to our enemies,” I say as I pull on my father’s arm to get his attention.

He whirls around and punches me with such force, my head snaps to the side and my cheek flares in pain.

I stumble into the wall of the narrow corridor of our flat.

My right shoulder takes a hit where I’m already bruised from this morning’s beating.

I don’t even remember what I did to deserve it.

Probably just asked what was for lunch. Anything can trigger Dad.

I’m used to it by now, but each time, I have to remind myself that though my father is fifty-five, he’s still an underground fighter for the Moscow Bratva. They’re ruthless criminals, and he’s no exception.

I’m only eighteen. Barely an adult. He’s still stronger than me, definitely stronger than Igor, starving us on purpose, keeping us under his thumb.

“Don’t you dare think you know better than me,” he bellows, spittle flying off his mouth.

He turns towards the front door again, and I straighten up, following as he walks ahead of me, leading Igor out of our childhood home.

The staircase to the ground floor smells of piss and mildew but we're all so used to it by now, we don’t cover up our noses anymore.

Some days, it almost permeates the walls of our flat.

My brother seems resigned to his fate. He’s not even fighting or wincing despite the death grip our father has on his bicep.

I can already make out the red bruises shaped like finger tips on his skin, over the more recent purple ones and the fading yellow ones.

A tapestry of our life. Dad didn’t even let him dress fully.

As we step outside, Igor shivers in his white cotton tank top and grey sweats that used to belong to me.

The beaten-down sneakers have holes and barely protect his feet from the ice covering the pavement.

Our shoes crunch on the frozen snow. The shutters of the entire facade of our building are closed.

No one will see or hear what happens here.

And if they do, they’ll keep quiet. Everyone here knows what happens when you talk about Bratva business.

A boy taken in the middle of the day is just another secret.

Just another day. Igor is one more victim of my father’s mistakes.

Our Pakhan, Dad’s boss and ultimate leader of the Moscow Bratva, waits by the joke of a gate with a sombre face.

Only his bodyguard accompanies him. That’s how of little importance this all is to him.

The Pakhan is a tall and lean man, always nicely dressed and serious.

I don’t even know his name. Only his title.

I’ve seen him only twice before since I’m just a low-level soldier for my father, who’s not even that high in the ranks himself.

Each time, the Pakhan made me feel like he could see all I ever did and all I’ll ever do. And none of it pleased him.

“Your second son?” he asks my father with a bored tone, lifting his chin in Igor’s direction.

His eyes shift to me. He gives me a once over with the unimpressed look of someone who gives kids as cannon fodder to our enemies on a regular basis.

My knuckles whiten as I clench my fists. That doesn’t escape his notice.

My father nods and drops his head down with reverence. And fear. It clings to him, bitter and soiled.

I meet our Pakhan’s gaze straight on. He raises an eyebrow. His piercing brown eyes hold something in them, dark and malicious. Even in my own father’s eyes, I’ve never seen anything like it, and I think my father is one of the worst of the Bratva.

I want to defy him, but I don’t want to make it worse for Igor. Everything I do is to protect him, always has and always will be. In the end, I bend my head down too, my ears red with humiliation and shame.

“Your eldest needs better discipline,” the Pakhan states coldly before opening our steel gate.

My father shoots me a glare that promises retribution.

If I weren’t so angry at him, I’d be afraid.

After all, the reason Igor is being sent to Kalliste—wherever that is—is because my father thought it wise to beat a woman to death while trying to steal drugs from whoever runs that island.

She was high up in the ranks, too. If he can kill a woman he doesn’t know with his bare hands, there’s no limit to what he will do to me if I displease him.

My only consolation is that he won’t touch Igor ever again. Though, I’m scared how our enemies will retaliate on my brother after the loss of one of their own. I’ve heard they value women there. I don’t know what that means, but it can’t be good for my brother.

On the other side of our gate, five men I don’t recognise stand on high alert, armed to the teeth. Their faces are hidden behind black ski masks.

Smart. I’d have committed their features to memory and scoured the Earth to kill them. That’s what I’ll do if this goes through. I’ll never let Igor go.

He’s an inch taller than I am even though I’m older than him by a year, but he’s still my baby brother. The kid I fed with a bottle I stole from a local shop when our mother passed out from all the drugs she used, the child I protected with my own body when my father used his belt to strike.

Through this entire ordeal, he hasn’t said a word. He usually doesn’t. I’m the one egging our father on to make sure I take the beatings and Igor doesn’t. I’m not always successful. We both bear the marks. And no one bats an eye. I alerted a teacher once. I was eleven. We never went back to school.

One of the mercenaries steps forward and addresses our Pakhan in a language I don’t understand. English, I think. It’s hard to know for sure without any education.

Igor and I have no prospects outside the Bratva, but we always had each other. No matter how shitty our life has been, we knew we’d climb up the ranks. Together. And now they’re taking the only thing that matters to me. I can’t let that happen.

I grind my teeth with frustration, incapable of making out words except Igor’s name, and that of his new captor, Moretti.

Our Pakhan nods and the leader of the mercenaries gestures for my brother to come through the gate. I jump in front of him as he steps forward, using the only English I know.

“Please,” I beg the mercenary. Then to our Pakhan, in Russian, I ask for time to say goodbye.

“Five minutes,” he says, then relays the information to the group of men.

Igor and I are surrounded. Five enemies, our father, our Pakhan and his bodyguard.

I’d never choose the man I’ve known my whole life to protect us out of all of them.

He’s the reason Igor is being taken. He made a mistake and is paying the price with his second son.

I begged him to send me instead. Our Pakhan refused.

Dad refused, too. Something about legacy and the importance of a first-born son. As if that saved me from pain.

“I can’t leave you,” I tell Igor before embracing him in a bear hug. The side of my cheeks feels wet. He’s crying. He’s trying to be brave for me, but even he can’t hold the proof of his fear. My throat clogs. “You can’t go with them.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Igor says, his own voice wavering. He’s breathing hard, trying not to have a full blown panic attack. Our father beats him the worst when that happens. We both know Igor can’t afford to look weak in front of anyone but me.

We can’t trust anyone. We never have. We’ve only ever had each other.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have fought harder for you.” A sob makes its way past my lips, and I hear my father snarl.

“Enough!” he yells, separating us even as we try to cling to each other. We fuse our arms around each other’s bodies, holding on. I tighten my grip. So does Igor.

“I’ll come for you. I won’t let them break you,” I whisper as he clings to me. “I love you!”

“I love you, Misha.”

In the end, it’s useless.

My father slithers an arm around my throat, holding me in a vicious chokehold.

He cuts the flow of breath and I think he might kill me, right there in the open, in front of the Pakhan and our enemies.

In front of Igor. Yet, I don’t let go. Not until I hear the click of a gun being engaged and the muzzle presses at Igor’s temple.

Our Pakhan holds my gaze, his eyes bored despite the clear threat of his posture. He looks dead inside. “Let go, or he dies. Your choice.”

I release Igor immediately. The fight leaves my body, and I fall to my knees. Tears shroud my vision as I watch my brother being pushed into a sedan and taken away from me.

Hope dies as the car’s silhouette disappears.

The only way to get my brother back is to become worse than all of them.