Lobanov Bratva Prize (Lobanov Bratva #2)

Chapter One

Isabella’s POV

The day was finally here. As much as I wished a blizzard would happen, and the whole event would be postponed, it wasn’t.

Regardless of how I had refused to be involved in planning and organizing, even to the point of not choosing from the options my tailor sent, I could not run away from the reality of this day.

My brother’s funeral. A funeral I never thought would come, at least, not until I was a senior citizen. Yet, here I was, just a few months after my 25th birthday, about to witness the funeral of my only brother. Hell, Giovanni was only three years older than me.

An unwilling sigh left my lips as I looked out the window from the side of my bed.

Today is going to be a lot.

I shifted until my feet touched the cool floor, my palms digging into the mattress, making it dip on either side of me. My heart tightened with pain as a memory played out in my head.

“Bella! When did you become such a criminal?!” Giovanni exclaimed, his brown eyes widening in mock surprise.

“What? You thought you were the only one with brains?” I questioned, laughing delightedly at him.

He rose up on his haunches, leaning forward. Knowing what his intention was, I protectively held my cards to my chest, still grinning.

“What now?” he asked, dropping back down to the floor, across the table from me.

I gestured for him to play.

He took a moment looking through his cards, trying to decide on what to play.

When he eventually dropped a card, I simply stated, “Now, I win.”

I dropped my card and looked up at him with a victorious lift of my eyebrow.

“Wow,” he mouthed.

“Hm-mm,” I muttered, dusting imaginary lint off my shoulders.

He dropped his cards and stretched his legs under the table, relaxing backwards with a small smile on his face.

Mirroring him, I shifted on the floor, away from the large center table, resting my back on the couch.

“I’m proud of you, though,” he remarked, chuckling.

“Right,” I answered. “Or you’re just trying to play it cool now that you lost.”

He gave a small laugh before saying, “Nah. I’m not talking about the game.”

“Okay...”

“I’ve missed you, Bella. So much,” he revealed, letting out a sigh.

“I think I missed you more. Do you know how tiring it gets being alone in this big house?”

“Alone?” he repeated, lifting a doubtful brow.

“Dad and the staff don’t count, you know that,” I clarified, resting the side of my face on my folded arms.

“When does this end, Giovanni?” I inquired, my tone low. “I mean, does it ever end? You traveling here and there because of dad’s dealings, and me being n restriction. Do we not have a choice in how we live?”

“Baby girl, you might hate me for saying this. But I know you’ll hate me even more later if I lie to you. You’re an adult now, soon to be twenty.”

I lifted my head from the table, blinking at him in silence before he went on.

“We were born into this. If there was any choice, it was for Dad. He made the choice to enter the mafia world. We don’t have the choice of leaving.

The mafia is both a nectar and a poison; no one just leaves after getting into it, no matter how indirect.

Dad isn’t even a soldier, but he was so invested that he ingrained mafia ways into us from when we were kids.

He already put us out there; the world knows us.

So, even if we’d like to pull back, they will find a way to drag us back in. ”

“If Mom were here, would she have stopped Dad from revealing us to the world?”

“I don’t know, Bella. There’s no way to know. She’s not here,” he answered, his eyelids drooping.

A silent moment passed before his gaze left the table and found mine.

“But you have higher chances of leaving this life behind. That is, if you don’t marry a mafia man.”

“I’m never doing that!” I disclosed. “I’d rather remain a spinster for life than marry another version of Dad.”

“Knowing Dad, he’s probably joking with his fellow mafia men about his lovely daughter being ripe for marriage,” he uttered, chuckling. “Time will tell, I guess.”

“He won’t force me into anything. Nobody can.”

“I know.”

“Besides, the worst Dad can do is suggest someone.”

“Honestly? I wouldn’t be so sure,” he started, his eyes on the wall far behind me.

“I’ve sat at tables where Dad made decisions that shocked me.

In many instances, he has made me wonder where his head’s at in terms of moral upstanding.

He only knows what’s currently in front of him, and that’s putting it mildly. ”

“I…I don’t understand. Are you saying Dad is corrupt? Like, those traitors or double agents?”

“Not that. Slow down,” he clarified, chuckling. “I’m not saying he’s involved in secret deals. All I’m saying is that he can be unpredictable in some situations.”

“Unpredictable,” I repeated.

“Forget it,” he dismissed. “Last one to get to the kitchen makes lunch.”

“You cheat,” I yelled, dashing towards the kitchen after him.

A knock on my door pushed me back into reality. Albeit a harsh one.

“Come in,” I called.

The door opened, and Sasha, my tailor’s apprentice and occasional delivery lady, walked in. She shut the door behind her, a black dress covered in transparent film flowing from the hanger she held up.

“Good morning, ma’am,” she greeted, a polite smile on her face.

“Morning, Sasha.”

“She said she’s sure this is the perfect choice. That you’ll love it.”

“Right,” I uttered, gesturing for her to place the dress on the edge of the bed.

“I heard about…” she started as she carefully laid the dress on the bed. Rising back to her full height, she continued, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” I answered in a monotone.

“I’ll leave now.”

I had to give it to her. She did know how to read the room.

I nodded, and she turned, quickly exiting the room.

If any of my dad’s men had seen her, which was almost unavoidable, since she’d have to pass through those stationed at the main entrance doors, chances were that my dad would send for me soon.

Well, that was assuming he was now in the mood to speak more than monosyllables.

Since my brother died, he had been distant and…

absent. He barely answered my questions, hardly had anything to say to or around me at all.

While I had easily chalked it up to some masculine grief mechanism or logic, I couldn’t deny that it bothered me. It was unusual.

Anyway, I should start preparing.

I picked my phone up from the nightstand to check the time.

7:46.

But there was also a missed call.

Liza.

I didn’t have time to deliberate between calling her back now or later because my phone started ringing.

“Bella!” Liza’s voice filled the room just as her face filled my screen.

“Gus was over at the bar last night, and he was rambling about Giovanni dying and shit,” she rushed. “I shot you a DM immediately, but you didn’t reply. So I called. Tell me it’s not true. He was shot, but he’s okay, right?”

Her frantic speech made it harder for me to attempt speaking casually like I’d been doing for days.

I swallowed, breathing out through my mouth.

If the way her eyes widened and her scared expression were any indication, my reaction was a clear tell that what she hoped wasn’t the case.

“Today is the funeral,” I divulged.

Her wide-open mouth contrasted with her shut eyes as she made a sound somewhere between a cry and a wail.

“No! No! Giovanni is dead?!” she blubbered.

I had to look away from her tearful eyes. I had done more than enough crying.

“I’m so sorry, Bella. I can’t begin to imagine…” She broke off again.

“It’s fine,” I claimed, sniffling.

“Was it really a hit?” she asked, her voice steadier.

“Yes.”

“Who was it?”

“The Bratva, of course.”

“Bratva? But why? He worked with them right beside your dad. What reason would they have to kill him?”

Liza and I have been friends for years, and our families’ affiliations with the mafia were one of our common grounds. She understood how things worked in the underground world.

“I don’t know. And, really, I don’t care. One thing’s for sure. I will avenge him.”

“I’ve got your back, babe. But be careful. I’ll be in New York in a week or so.”

“Yeah,” I breathed.

“You sure you’re okay? You know you can always join me here in Moscow, just say the words.”

“I’m fine, Liza,” I insisted, nodding at her.

“Okay,” she replied, a sympathetic smile on her face. “Take care, girl.”

“Gotta go. Can’t be late.”

“Sure. Call me anytime you want to talk, okay?”

Of course, she could relate to my aversion to frequent, sympathetic calls at a time like this. She was like that, too.

“Yeah. Bye.”

“Bye,” she answered just before the screen went dark.

I rose to my feet, dropping my phone on the bed.

It was time to go say goodbye to my only brother.

**********

Smoothing down the fabric of my black dress, I got into the back seat of the waiting car.

The viscose material was a soft comfort, but the dress wasn’t the typical, low-key funeral style.

The sleeves were large puffs, and there was no cleavage, but the low back gave it an undeniable sultry touch.

Even the wide bow that covered the lower back area did nothing to conceal it.

It was totally my style, just that today wasn’t a party.

Thankfully, my hair came down to my lower waist; I wasn’t in the mood for an updo, so I just wore a black hat over it with wine red lipstick as the only iota of color in my ensemble.

Not that I was one to talk. I had asked my tailor to just choose the most reasonable option.

“Isabella,” my dad stated, his face blank as he got into the car beside me.

“Dad,” I answered, turning to partially face him.

He was dressed in his usual black suit and pants with a white shirt. His black bow tie was the only ceremonious addition.

“Giovanni’s death is painful for us all,” he uttered.

Where is this headed?

“So, I wouldn’t want you to overreact or draw any type of attention to yourself.”

“Why would I overreact? I don’t understand what you’re driving at, Dad.”

He let out a short sigh like he was tired of a very long conversation.

“Just be calm and focus on the funeral. I don’t want you to utter a word if the Lobanovs show up.”

“Nah, that’s not happening. That’s so not happening,” I negated, turning to completely face him.

“The Lobanov Bratva killed Giovanni. They probably did it to send a message. I won’t sit still if they come within an inch of me.

And, when this whole funeral affair is over, I’ll find out all about the hit that killed him and punish whoever was responsible. ”

Surprisingly, he didn’t say anything.

“Mikhail is the executioner of the Lobanov brothers. I’d bet my all that he killed Giovanni. I’ll get to the root of it and make him regret it. Nothing can stop me.”

My dad’s lack of expression was the direct opposite of the fury I was trying to subdue. If anything, he looked lost.

It was similar to the way he’d been acting lately. Detached. Undecipherable.

I’d be lying if I said his reaction wasn’t confusing.

But his silence must mean he agreed with me that the Lobanov Bratva killed Giovanni.

**********

The funeral had gone smoothly, so far. The sermon wasn’t verbose, and the few friends of Giovanni’s that attended didn’t venture into tear-inducing comments. In an hour, the funeral had ended, and we were walking towards the graveside.

As the glinting casket was lowered into the grave, I couldn’t help the hopeless whimper that left my lips at the thought of never seeing my brother again. I wrapped my hands around my middle as I swallowed my tears.

I’ll avenge you, Giovanni. Even if it’s the last thing I do.

I turned, and my eyes landed on the proudly smirking, pale face of none other than Mikhail Lobanov. All my pain transformed into anger as his suited-up form approached, flanked by his soldiers.

“Marco,” he uttered, making me realize my dad was beside me. “Please accept our condolences.”

His tone and demeanor showed anything but sympathy; it was more of a calculated show of power. Something about the mask of civility he wore infuriated me even more.

“You must really have guts to show your face here,” I spat, moving closer to him.

“What do you mean?” he asked, the smirk back on his face.

“You murderer!” I yelled. “You were behind the hit, weren’t you? You fucking killed him!”

He leaned in, his tone level as he answered, “I did not kill your brother.”

“Of course, denying it is the most convenient thing to do,” I retorted.

“Your brother must have been killed for all the sins committed by your father,” he revealed, his pointed gaze on my dad.

I looked to the side to find my dad looking away.

“What do you mean?” I asked Mikhail.

Just then, Viktor Lobanov, the Pakhan of the Lobanov Bratva, appeared beside Mikhail. Although both brothers were dressed in black suits, Viktor’s cold and controlled aura distinguished him as the absolute leader.

“Giovanni broke Bratva code, that’s all the truth you need to know,” he declared, his tone unapologetic.

I kept my lips pressed together, my fury restrained.

His eyes swept over my hat and moved to the side as he addressed my dad.

“Marco, the Bratva is aware of your dealings. For your own sake, you should make the full payment due,” he warned, his right hand casually slipping into his pocket. “Else, the result will be something you won’t like.”

My dad didn’t make a sound as Viktor turned around, leaving his brother with us. I took a step closer to him, unleashing my anger in my quest for a fucking answer.

“You guys killed my brother, and now you’re trying to corner my dad, huh?”

He smirked, looking down at me as he answered, “Your father has the answer you’re looking for.”

He turned like he was about to leave before adding, “And you’d better be ready to pay up for him if he decides to default.”

And then he was gone, his men in tow.

I had no idea what to say or do. Turning around, I asked my dad, “What are they…”

“We need to leave,” he interrupted, walking away and leaving me standing by my brother’s graveside.

I was alone, in every sense. It was confusing and frustrating.

Mikhail’s words echoed like a prophecy.

Finding out how exactly my brother died and plotting my revenge was the clear item on my table just a few minutes ago. It was a straightforward plan.

Now, I had no idea what was going on. It felt like I had been thrown into the midst of chaos, with no sign of how it came about. There was only one certainty in my bones.

A storm is coming.