Chapter Seventeen
Isabella’s POV
The photograph lay between us like a curse.
Mikhail's jaw was tight, his eyes were dark enough to swallow the light in the room.
His hand gripped the edge of the table until the veins in his arm stood out, trembling with barely controlled rage.
He didn't look at me at first; he just stared at the photo like he could burn it to ash with his anger alone.
"This means they're watching you," he said finally, in a low, dangerous voice. "They're close. Too close, Isabella."
I leaned back against the sofa, crossing my legs slowly. "Then maybe they want to remind you what happens when you make too many enemies, Mr. Lobanov."
He lifted his gaze, and for a second, I saw fear, not for himself but for me. And that made something twist deep inside my chest.
"I'll find them," he said, every last one of them. They won't get near you again."
"You sound confident," I said, my tone cool and teasing. "But maybe this is exactly what you deserve."
His head snapped up. "What did you say?"
I smiled, small and sharp. "Maybe this is your punishment, Mikhail. To marry a woman who will bring your empire down. Maybe that's the price you pay for every man you've killed and every lie you've told."
His nostrils flared. "You think you finally met someone who plays it better."
The air between us was heavy. He took a slow step closer, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to strangle me or pull me against him. His eyes burned with that same fire that scared most people into silence. But I wasn't most people anymore.
Inside, my heart was pounding. The photo, the proof that someone wanted me dead, should've made me crumble. But instead, it woke something else, a strange calm that comes when you realize fear doesn't protect you but power does.
Mikhail slammed his hand on the table, making the frame rattle. "You think I'll let them touch you?"
"I think you'll try," I said. "And maybe that's enough for now."
He stared at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve. Like he wanted to read every thought behind my calm expression and couldn't. That bothered him. He was the man who controlled me, and I had just stolen that power from him without lifting a finger.
He reached out suddenly, with his fingers brushing my jaw. "You're not afraid?" he asked quietly.
I met his gaze. "Should I be?"
He didn't answer. His thumb lingered near my lips before he pulled away, with his eyes unreadable. Good, let him wonder, let him try to guess where my fear went, because the truth was my fear died the day Giovanni did.
I pushed back my chair and stood, smoothing my dress like nothing had happened. "You should get some sleep," I murmured. "You'll need your strength to hunt ghosts."
He didn't move, just stood there staring at the photo, then at me.
"Mikhail," I said, pausing at the doorway. "You built your empire on fire and ashes. Maybe it's time you learn what it feels like to burn."
And with that, I walked away, slow and deliberately unshaken.
He thought he saw defiance. But what he didn't see was what I made sure he wouldn't see, and that was the tremor in my hands once I was alone.
Because the photo wasn't just a threat, it was a reminder.
That every emperor falls, especially the one I was sleeping beside.
**********
The city outside was quiet, but inside me, nothing was still. I sat by the window, with my legs folded beneath me.
Mikhail had gone to his office downstairs.
But now, sitting in the empire of that same Russian man, I didn't know what to believe anymore.
Because the monster I'd come here to destroy had protected me with his own body.
He'd taken bullets meant for me. And when he looked at me, God, when he looked at me, there was no victory in his eyes. Only something raw, human, and broken.
I pressed my palms to my face, exhaling hard. "Get a grip, Isabella," I whispered. "He's not the hero, he's just another liar wearing a different suit."
But the word felt hollow. Because deep down, I knew what terrified me wasn't the thought of him being my enemy, but the thought of him being innocent.
If Mikhail hadn't killed Giovanni, then who had? And where did that leave me, a daughter built from deceit, and a wife built on revenge?
I walked to the mirror, and the woman staring back didn't look like me anymore. Her eyes were colder, and her smile was sharper. She looked like someone who could destroy kingdoms just to uncover the truth buried under their ruins.
Maybe that's who I was now. Not Marco's daughter, not Mikhail's wife, just Isabella, the woman who would stop choosing between men and start choosing herself.
The clock struck three, and the room felt colder and emptier. I grabbed my coat from the chair, slipped my pistol into the inner pocket, and checked my reflection one last time.
By morning, I would see Liza. She'd know things my father wouldn't tell me, and things Mikhail couldn't. The truth was out there, and I was done waiting for men to feed it to me in pieces.
I turned off the lights and stood at the doorway, the city's reflection still flickering in the window behind me. The ground beneath me might have cracked, but I'd learned something important: that even on fractured ground, I could still walk.
***********
The next morning came with fog and silence. Mikhail was already awake, standing by the window, with his shirt half buttoned, and his jaw was tight.
"You're not leaving the house today," he said without looking at me.
I slipped on my earrings slowly. "You don't get to decide that."
His voice dropped low. "After last night, I do."
"Then you'll have to chain me," I said, picking up my coat. "Because I'm going."
He turned, with his eyes sharp. "Where?"
"To see Liza."
"No."
"Yes," I said calmly. "You can send your men if it makes you feel better.
He didn't answer, but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes. I wasn't sure if it was anger or fear. Finally, he called Yuri. "Follow her, and don't let her out of your sight."
"Understood," Yuri said, already checking his gun.
As I walked out, I felt Mikhail's gaze burning into my back. Maybe he thought control would keep me safe, or maybe he didn't realize control was the very thing I was learning to destroy.
**********
Liza's apartment smelled like cigarette smoke and coffee grounds. She opened the door barefoot. Her hair was messy, and her eyes were as sharp as ever.
"You look like hell," she said, waving me inside.
"You always know how to make a girl feel welcome," I muttered, sitting down.
She poured coffee into a chipped mug. "You shouldn't have come. He's got eyes on you, doesn't he?"
I nodded. "Yuri's parked outside. Probably checking every window for a sniper."
Liza snorted. "Paranoid men make the worst lovers."
"I wouldn't call him that," I said quietly.
She raised an eyebrow. "You're sleeping in his bed, aren't you?"
"That doesn't make him mine."
Liza sat across from me, her expression softening. "So, why are you here, Isa?"
I stared at the steam rising from the cup. "I don't know who to trust anymore. My father keeps lying, Mikhail hides things, and every truth I find feels like another lie waiting to unfold."
Liza leaned back. "That's because, in this world, truth is a luxury and lies are what we trade to survive."
I frowned. "You sound like him."
She smiled bitterly. "Maybe because he's right. You can't play clean in a world that's already dirty. You think Mikhail's where he is because he's honest? No, baby. He just lies better than anyone else."
I looked away, my stomach twisting. "Then what do I do?"
Liza's tone softened, but her words cut deep. "You learn to bend him, not break him. Men like Mikhail, if you fight them head-on, you'll lose. But if you make them believe they've already won? That's when you take everything."
Her eyes locked on mine. "Don't let him cage you. Let him think he already has."
I sat there quietly, while her words sank like stones in my chest. Maybe I didn't need the truth to win. Maybe I just needed control, and control was something I could take back piece by piece.
Liza smiled faintly. "You always had that fire, Bella. Don't waste it trying to love a man who only understands war."
As I stood to leave, I realized she was right. Truth didn't save anyone in this world, but power did. And I was finally learning how to use mine.
**********
The car waited by the curb when I stepped out of Liza's building. Yuri stood by the door, with sunglasses on, even though the sky was gray. He didn't speak, just nodded toward the back seat.
"Had fun gossiping?" he asked once we started moving.
I gave him a small smile. "I’ll call it survival, not gossip."
He grunted. "You shouldn't be out here. The boss isn't happy."
"Mikhail's never happy," I said softly, looking out the window.
The city blurred past, and rain fell against the glass, neon signs, and people rushing like that all had somewhere better to be. Everything looked normal, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something in the air had changed. Maybe it was me.
Liza's words still echoed in my head. Don't break under him, but bend him until he thinks you've already fallen. I touched the cold glass beside me. For so long, I thought survival meant pretending to be helpless. But now, I was done pretending.
"Something on your mind, Mrs. Lobanov?" Yuri asked after a while.
I looked at him through the reflection. "Do you ever get tired of watching people who don't trust you?"
He didn't blink. "My job isn't trust but loyalty."
"And what's the difference?"
He hesitated before answering. "Trust is a choice, and loyalty's an order."
That silence that followed was heavy, the kind that hides more truth than words ever could.
I leaned back in my seat, my fingers brushing the pendant around my neck. Mikhail said it was for protection, but did he mean from the world or from himself?
The streets grew quieter as we neared the penthouse district. The car stopped at a red light, and for a moment, I caught my own reflection in the window, seeing my calm eyes, painted lips, and a face that didn't belong to the girl Giovanni used to protect.
No, this was someone else. Someone who had learned to hide her fire until it burned at the right moment.
Yuri's voice broke the silence. "We'll be home soon."
I nodded. "Good."
But the word felt wrong, and home didn't sound safe anymore. The car turned into a private drive, and the guards outside straightened as we pulled in. Everything looked normal, too normal, and that kind of stillness felt rehearsed.
"Something's off," I murmured.
Yuri's hand went to his gun instantly. "What do you mean?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. Just a feeling."
He frowned but didn't argue. When the elevator doors opened, he followed me in. The ride up was too quiet; even the hum of the cables seemed to hold its breath. I stood beside him, staring at the numbers climbing on the screen, and my reflection stared back at me, sharp and calm.
Liza was right; truth didn't matter, but control did. But as the elevator neared the top floor, my chest tightened. Because control or not, something waited on the other side of those doors, and I wasn't sure I was ready to see it.
The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped out first. The hallway was too silent. "Yuri?" I whispered.
He scanned the area with his hand on his gun. "Stay behind me."
But I didn't. I walked straight to the door, and it wasn't locked.
"Mikhail never leaves it open," I muttered, pushing it in.
My heels hit the marble, sharp and lonely on the floor, and the sound bounced off the walls.
"Where are the guards?" I asked.
Yuri didn't answer; he was already checking corners. The living room looked untouched with fresh flowers, the light dimmed, and everything was in his perfect place, but it felt wrong, too neat and too quiet.
Something in me then twisted.
"Wait here," Yuri said.
"No," I said, in a low voice. "If they wanted to scare me, I'll see it myself."
I walked through the corridor, toward my dressing room, and the door was open.
And then, I froze because my gowns were torn into ribbons. The mirrors cracked like spiderwebs, and the air was thick with perfume and something sharp, metallic.
"God," I whispered, stepping inside. "What... what is this?"
Yuri swore under his breath. "We need to call him–"
But I wasn't listening. My eyes had found the vanity. Carved deep into the wood were the words STRIP HER BARE.
I touched the letters with trembling fingers.
The door slammed open, and Mikhail stormed in with his eyes blazing. "What happened here?!"
I didn't turn. "You tell me," I said softly.
"Who did this, Isabella?!"
I looked at him finally. He was barefoot and standing in ruins.
"A calling card," I said, my tone grave. "From the Italians."
My eyes lifted to his. "They're promising to strip me bare.”