Chapter Three
Isabella’s POV
The church bells still echoed in my head long after the funeral. Giovanni's name haunted the streets, but no one said it like they meant it. Of course, his loss was personal; he was my only brother.
My dad barely waited for the car to be parked before he stepped out, heading straight into the house.
I slammed the car door and stormed into the house.
"Dad!" I yelled after him, but there was no response.
I stopped following him, taking off my hat and tossing it to one of the living room couches.
I went into the kitchen and grabbed a cold bottle of water out of the fridge.
I needed my strength to battle the weird creature that was now my dad.
I wouldn’t leave him until I got answers.
The answer Viktor Lobanov hinted at back at the funeral.
I kicked off my heels and headed to his study. The door creaked open. There he was, my dad, once feared in New York's underworld, now slouched, tie loose, eyes bloodshot. A half-empty glass sat next to a pile of bills and a gun.
He didn't look at me. "You probably shouldn't have gone, Isabella. I warned you to keep calm and not say anything to the Lobanovs if they showed up. Look what you did instead."
I laughed, bitter and sharp. "You're telling me I shouldn't have gone to my own brother's funeral? What's wrong with you?"
"I said, drop it."
"No," I stepped closer. "I won't drop it. You've been hiding since he died, and I'm done pretending not to notice. Everyone's whispering that Giovanni's death wasn't an accident. So you're going to tell me the truth, or I swear–"
"Enough!" he snapped, slamming the glass down so hard it shattered. "You think you know how this world works? You think you can handle the truth?"
"I can handle it better than you," I shot back.
He rubbed his temples, shaking his head. For the first time, I saw something I never expected from him. It was not anger or pride, but fear.
"What did you do, Dad?" I asked, quieter now.
“What did I do? They set your brother up, and you’re here asking me what I did?”
"Was it the Lobanovs?" I whispered. “What dealings were they talking about back there?”
“It’s not something I can explain to you, Isabella,” he muttered, detached.
He looked at me then, and I almost wished he hadn’t. His eyes were hollow, like something inside him had already given up.
I sighed, not just in resignation but in disappointment.
“Giovanni is no more, Dad. What more do you have to lose if you tell me what exactly is going on?”
“There’s so much more to lose,” he countered. “So much more.”
He didn’t utter a word as I slipped out of his study.
I’ll find the answers myself.
**********
I had been sitting in front of the television for so long that, when the door opened, I stood just to feel my body. I was still in the dress I wore to the funeral, but everything else in my outfit had been discarded.
“Who is it?” I asked the two men who entered the house.
“They pulled up in a black car. Said they had a massage for the boss,” one of the men revealed.
That was when my dad joined us at the doorway.
“A letter, boss,” the other guy informed him.
I yanked the letter out of his hand before he could hand it over to my dad.
“Bella, hand that over to me. Right now,” my dad commanded.
Ignoring him, I rushed back into the living room.
The first thing my eyes caught was the Lobanov crest.
I read the concise letter once. And then I skimmed it with my eyes again. I turned to my dad.
“You’ve been summoned to appear before the Pakhan? A sit-down to discuss the payment of your debts? To answer for your dealings with the Italian factions?”
“I already told you. This isn’t something for you to get involved in.”
“And if you refuse to show up, they’ll take your daughter instead,” I went on. “And you call this none of my business?! Do you have another daughter?”
“Stop yelling. Be calm. I’m arranging the papers as we speak. We’ll be out of the country in a few hours. They won’t find us.”
“Are you joking?” I inquired, a sardonic chuckle leaving my lips. “I’m to forget about my reputation or the life I have here and just…uproot everything and run away with you because of your debts?”
“You have no other choice, Bella. So, quit overreacting and start packing your bags.”
I nodded.
“I have a choice. You can be weak and run away. It’s all your fault, anyway. But I’m not going anywhere with you.”
I left the living room, walking towards the hallway to my bedroom.
“And you’d better start packing before it’s too late for you,” I called out to him.
**********
Before I zipped the last bag, I took a long look at myself in the mirror.
"I'm going to get inside," I said. "I'm going to learn his rules, and I'm going to be the thing he never saw coming."
I repeated the promise in my head until it truly felt like armor. I paused, hand on the zipper as sounds cut through the quiet outside. I could make out the sound of tires, slow engines, and the hum of something big coming awake.
I didn’t need to go to the window to see the reflection of the headlights.
They’re here.
This is it.
I stepped out of my room with my bags.
As I descended the stairs, the main door was thrown open. One of the guards stood wordlessly by the door. Of course, my dad’s men wouldn’t dare resist their boss’, boss’ men.
I looked towards my dad’s study on instinct. I hadn’t seen him since the previous night. And I didn’t ask any of his men if he had traveled as I stepped out of the house.
Three men stood outside, their black suits telling me I was right—they were from the Lobanov Bratva. The man in front, tall and bald, looked down at me with surprise.
"Miss Moretti?" he asked, his Russian accent thick.
"Yes."
"We’re from–"
"I know who you are," I cut in. "Mikhail Lobanov sent you."
The man exchanged a glance with the man to his right. "Mr. Moretti has run away instead of showing up. We’re to escort you to the boss."
It was funny how these Bratva soldiers knew my dad wasn’t in the house while I had no idea if he was inside or on a plane.
"Then escort me," I said. "My bag is ready, as you can see."
They blinked at me like I'd broken some invisible rule. Maybe I had, but I didn't care.
They led me into the car, and I sat still, hands in my lap, my heart steady. The engine started with a deep growl, and the house Giovanni and I grew up in began to fade behind me, along with my father, his silence, and his shame.
As the gate closed, I leaned toward the window and whispered to myself, "I'll end him."
Not because he was taking me for my dad’s sins; only heaven knew what the hell my dad had dabbled in.
But he killed my brother, or at least, had a hand in it.
He was so confident of his actions that he didn’t deny my accusations at the funeral.
Even though he and Viktor pointed at something my dad was surely bent on hiding from me, it didn’t change the fact that my brother was now dead.