Chapter Fifteen
Isabella’s POV
The next morning felt heavier than the night before. I could still feel Mikhail's touch somewhere under my skin, burning. I tried to scrub it off in the shower, but it lingered. Just like thoughts of him lingered in my mind.
By the time I met Emilia and Liza at the café, my smile widened. The place smelled of roasted coffee beans and sugar, but all I tasted was metal.
Emilia waved at me the second I walked in. "You look tired," she said, frowning as I sat down.
"I didn't sleep much," I lied, stirring the foam of my cappuccino though it didn't need stirring.
Liza studied me over the rim of her glass. The kind of stare that cut straight through the skin. "Did something happen?"
I shook my head. "No, nothing."
Emilia leaned forward, her eyes soft but curious. "It's about him, isn't it? Mikhail?"
My jaw tightened. "It's not always about him."
"It usually is," Liza muttered.
Emilia ignored her. "Isabella, maybe you should try to trust him. I know what people say about him, but–"
I gave a sharp and humorless laugh. "Trust him? He probably lies for a living, Emilia. That man wouldn't know the truth if it bled out in front of him."
Emilia flinched at my tone but didn't back down. "You don't know that. You've only seen the worst of him."
I gripped my cup tighter. "That's the part that matters."
She opened her mouth again, and before she could say another word, I whispered, almost to myself, "He is lying."
The words hung between us, low and bitter. Liza set her cup down with a small clink. "You sound like someone who's already been burned."
I looked up at her, ready to snap, but she kept talking. "Men like him," she said quietly, "they don't fall in love. They consume, and when they're done, you'll have nothing left but ashes."
I swallowed hard, pretending her words didn't land.
"Then maybe I'll be the first to burn him," I said softly.
Liza gave a short, humorless laugh. "Good luck, sweetheart. Just make sure he doesn't enjoy watching you do it."
I glanced at Emilia staring down at her coffee, torn between hope and fear. "He has no reason to lie to you. If he said he’s not responsible for your brother’s death, then he isn’t.”
I wanted to believe her. God, I did. But the image of Giovanni's blood wouldn't fade.
"I can't believe," I whispered. "Not yet."
None of us spoke after that, and the silence grew heavy, pressing against the walls until even the soft café music felt too loud.
But outside, the cold wind hit my face, and I took a deep breath, pretending it helped and that I felt fine. But inside, I already knew I wasn’t just playing with fire. I was standing in it.
The city felt louder than usual. Horns blared, people shouted, and the hum of life refused to stop even when mine felt stuck somewhere between love and hate.
I drove with no direction, just trying to outrun the noise in my head. Mikhail's voice kept coming back, calm and cold, the way he said it that night. "I didn't kill your brother."
I gripped the wheel tighter, and my heart twisted because part of me almost believed him.
No answers came, and I thought about my father, Marco Moretti. The man who taught me how to lie before I learned how to love. He used to say, 'In this world, trust no one. Especially not the ones who look you in the eye when they say they love you.'
He was a coward, but what if, just this once, he's right? Mikhail looks me in the eye, too. He touches me like I'm both his sin and salvation. He says words that sound too much like the truth. I know men like him are men who know how to make lies feel like comfort.
My fingers drum against the wheel. I whisper, "I won't fall for him, no, I can't."
But my voice doesn't sound strong. It sounds like I'm begging myself to listen.
I remembered his rough and careful hands on me, his breath against my ear, and the way his eyes softened after everything we did last night.
It wasn't love, I know that, but it wasn't hate either.
It's something worse, the light turned green, but I didn't move.
The cars behind me honked, and someone yelled, "Move, lady! "
I wiped my face, realizing I'd been crying. "Get it together," I muttered, pressing the gas.
Mikhail's face flashed in my mind again, the bruise of his jaw, the way he looked at me and saw me through everything I tried to hide.
He said, "Your blood killed mine."
And maybe that's what scares me most, not that he might be lying, but that he might not be. I whispered to myself, "If he's telling the truth... then I've been hating the wrong man."
The thought hit deeper and sharper than I expected, and I gripped the wheel until my knuckles ached. "No, I won't fall. I won't."
But deep down, I already am. I'm falling for a man I swore to destroy. And I don't know which one of us will burn first.
The night air felt heavy when I arrived hours later at the Bratva estate. I told myself I came for answers, for Giovanni, but my heart knew better. I was there because I couldn't stop thinking about him.
The guards at the gate bowed when I passed. Inside, the courtyard lights cast long shadows on the ground, and voices echoed. Men talking, boots hitting gravel, and the sharp sound of orders being followed.
And then I saw Mikhail standing in the middle of them all. He was calm and steady, like he owned the night itself. His sleeves were rolled up, his veins were visible, and tattoos snaked over his skin. He spoke low and firmly in Russian, and every man listened because no one dared interrupt him.
I froze behind one of the pillars, watching.
"Check the eastern side again," Mikhail ordered. "No mistakes this time. And I want reports by dawn."
"Yes, Boss," one of the men said before rushing off.
His tone wasn't loud, but it carried weight, and it was the kind of power that made everyone obey. I'd seen dangerous men before, but Mikhail was different. He didn't need to shout to be feared because his silence said enough.
I bit my lip, angry at myself for staring too long.
"Don't forget who he is," I whispered under my breath. "He's the enemy."
Still, my eyes didn't move. He turned slightly, and his profile caught in the courtyard light. His jaw was still bruised, maybe from me. I remembered how I felt under my hand, the heat of his skin, and the breathless chaos between us last night.
"Damn it," I muttered. "Stop thinking about that."
But I couldn't because every time he moved, something inside me stirred. The control, the danger, and the calm fury all pulled at me. It was wrong, and I knew that. Mikhail was everything I swore to destroy, but he was also the only one who ever looked at me like I was more than a weapon.
One of his men approached him. "Boss, do we handle the shipment tomorrow?"
Mikhail nodded once. "No mistakes, I'll deal with it myself."
His voice was colder this time and sharp enough to make the man flinch. My chest tightened. I didn't know if it was fear or fascination or maybe both.
Then, he looked up, and his eyes found mine. For a moment, neither of us moved. The space between us felt like it might break. The noise around us faded, and the men, the footsteps, and the night all disappeared.
Mikhail didn't speak; he just stared at me, calm and unreadable. But I felt it, the pull, and that dangerous thread tying is closer with every heartbeat.
I took a shaky breath and turned away. I couldn't let him see what was in my eyes. Because if he did, he'd know I wasn't just watching him, I was falling. And falling for Mikhail Lobanov was the one sin I wouldn't survive.
**********
The city outside the penthouse was quiet, but my mind wasn't. I had been pacing for almost an hour, waiting for Mikhail to come back, and every sound, from the ticking of the clock to the hum of the air conditioner, felt louder than usual.
When the door finally opened, I stopped. Mikhail walked in with his coat still on and his expression unreadable. He didn't say a word at first. He just went straight to the bar, poured himself a drink, and stared out the window.
The silence stretched, and I finally broke it. "You're late," I said finally in a sharp voice.
He didn't look at me. "I had to meet with the council."
"What council?" I asked, crossing my arms.
He took a slow sip, then turned. "Marco has been summoned."
My eyes narrowed. "Summoned? For what?"
"The Bratva council," he said, setting his glass down. "They've called a final tribunal. They want him to answer for what happened during the last shipment."
I frowned. "That was months ago. Why now?"
"Because he ignored their warnings. They think he's trying to cut a deal with the Italians behind their backs."
My stomach twisted. "And if he refuses to go?"
Mikhail's cold and steady eyes met mine. "Then it means war."
I blinked. "War? You can't be serious."
"I'm always serious," he said quietly. "If your father doesn't face them this time, they'll strip him of his position."
"Good," I snapped. "Let them. He deserves it."
But Mikhail didn't flinch. "If that happens, the seat falls to you."
For a moment, I didn't breathe. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, his tone calm but firm. "You're his blood and his only heir. If he loses his place, they'll come to you."
I shook my head quickly. "No, no. That's not happening. I want nothing to do with that man's empire."
Mikhail stepped closer, and his voice was low. "It doesn't matter what you want. Blood decides, not choice."
My heart pounded. "You think I can just sit in his seat like nothing happened? After everything he's done to me?"
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You don't understand how this world works. The council doesn't care about feelings; they care about loyalty."
"Then they'll be disappointed," I said bitterly. "Because I have none left."
Mikhail looked at me for a long time, and something dark passed through his eyes. "Then you'd better hope he faces them," he said softly.
I swallowed hard. "And if he doesn't?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Then you'll have to."
The air between us turned heavy, and I took a step back, shaking my head. "I can't do that. I won't."
Mikhail's voice dropped to a whisper. "You might not have a choice."
For once, I couldn't find an answer. The thought of being forced to replace the father who abandoned me chilled me more than any threat of war ever could.
And in that silence, I realized the real battle was only just beginning.
I couldn't sleep. The clock kept ticking, loud enough to remind me how restless I'd become. Mikhail's words replayed in my head over and over again, "Marco has been summoned. If he refuses, the seat falls to you."
I wanted to pretend it didn't matter, that none of it could touch me anymore, but it did.
It always did. The air in the penthouse felt heavy, too thick to breathe, so I stepped out onto the balcony.
The city stretched below, glittering like broken glass.
The wind was sharp against my skin, carrying the scent of rain and the echo of sirens far away.
I closed my eyes and let it sting. Maybe I deserve it, or maybe I deserve the cold for even thinking of trusting a man like Mikhail.
I thought of Giovanni, his laughter, his stubbornness, his blood pooling on the floor the night everything ended. I thought of my mother's voice fading like smoke. I thought of the girl I used to be before power and death became the only language I understood.
The door opened behind me, but I didn't have to turn to know it was him. Mikhail stepped beside me, silent at first, and his presence was enough to make my chest tighten. For a long moment, we just stood there, two people tied together by everything we refused to say.
He finally broke the silence. "If this war begins," he said in a low and steady voice, "you'll have to choose which side you're on."
I didn't look at him. "And if I don't?"
He turned slightly, his reflection catching in the glass beside mine. "Then you'll be swallowed whole."
Something in the way he said it, not as a threat, but as a truth, made my throat close.
"I don't want to stand with my father," I whispered. "But I don't know if I can stand with you either."
Mikhail's gaze lingered on me, unreadable. "Then stand with the truth," he said softly. "That's all I ask."
The words hung in the air, fragile, like they could break if either of us breathed too hard. He left before I could respond, and the sound of the door closing echoed through the penthouse. I stayed there, gripping the railing until my hand ached.
The truth... if only I knew what that even was anymore. My father's blood ran in my veins, cruel, deceitful, and unrelenting. And yet, Mikhail's dark and unshakable shadow had found its way into my heart.
Two men, two worlds, and I was caught between them, between what I'd lost and what I could never have. The city lights blurred as my eyes filled, and I whispered to no one, "What if there's no right side? What if I'm just another pawn in their games? What if I don't know what to do?"
The wind carried no answer, just silence and the reminder that I was already too far gone to turn back.