Taken

Chapter Nine

Nikolai

T he heavy door creaks shut behind us as we step into the heart of the mansion.

The main part of our place is filled with warmth, the kind that comes from years of history, of power, and of ruthless ambition.

Here, the floors are polished marble, shining under the light of the chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling.

The air has a faint whiskey scent to it, and I know that my father is the reason why.

I glance around, looking at our family’s estate. The main hall stretches before me with tall windows lining the walls.

The sunlight shines through, and for one second—one solid second—I feel pity for Chiara.

She has moved from her beautiful home country into dark and gloomy London, and now that the sun is bright here over in the outskirts of New York, she is still forced to remain in a dark and gloomy room.

But when I remember that she’s here now—with us—I no longer feel pity. Instead, I feel pride.

Mikhail walks beside me as we both make our way towards our father. We have lived in this house throughout our entire lives; we know every nook, every corner, and every shadow of this place.

This is our kingdom.

This is our birthright.

This house has held generations of us, fulfilling the legacy of the Bratva, and it will soon hold our children too.

My cock stirs with the thought of Chiara so swollen with our child. She will be a wonderful mother, and Mikhail and I will learn to be good fathers.

The best fathers.

Our own father has taught us well.

As we reach the first floor, his voice calls us from one of his offices. I step forward first, my mind already running with the details of what needs to be said to him, and what needs to be discussed. Behind me, Mikhail follows, and together, we make our way towards him.

His voice is steady, cold and commanding as he speaks into his phone, and as soon as he spots us, he cuts the line.

I breathe a little easier now.

Our father is a calm man.

And in this house, his word is law.

As we both approach him, my eyes glance over the glass bottles of liquor on his oak desk, and the half empty crystal decanter.

Our father leans back in his leather chair, his eyes sharp as he waits for us to finally approach him.

Once we do, both Mikhail and myself settle into our seats across from him.

Immediately, a subtle smile appears on our father’s lips as he looks between us both.

“My sons,” he begins to say. “How are you today?”

It’s a routine question, one we’ve heard countless times, but it’s a question he always asks us, using the same tone he uses when he addresses us about matters of the Bratva, or when he’s simply making sure that we’re not slipping up.

“We’re good, Otets.”

I reply, glancing over at Mikhail who nods in agreement.

We don’t say anything else for now.

Our father looks between us, his expression focused as though he’s about to say something important. His fingers drum across the table, his ring catching under the light in the room. There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again, this time, his tone more serious.

“There’s been an unfortunate situation within the Italian mafia. A princess has been taken from them.”

Every word that leaves his mouth is deliberate, and measured too.

I straighten up slightly, the mere mention of her piquing my interest. Beside me, Mikhail shifts in his chair, leaning forward a fraction.

“A princess?” My brother asks, his voice low. He’s always been the more curious one of the two of us, and he’s always been quick to question anything, and everything. “Why do we care about an Italian princess?”

Our father’s eyes harden.

“She’s the daughter of a former underboss, and word is that she’s been taken. The Italians are losing their patience now trying to find her. They’ve tried to keep it quiet, but it’s slipping out into the open now.”

I glance over at Mikhail, but he’s too busy looking at our father.

The mention of the Italians immediately sends alarm bells ringing. We have an alliance in place with them to ensure peace on both sides, but now that one of theirs has gone…missing, and people are slowly finding out about her…

Trouble. For all of us.

“Again, how is this our problem?”

My brother is blunt with his words, but I can see the flicker of emotion shining through his eyes.

We know what this means for us. This has become bigger than anything we’ve ever imagined.

Our father exhales slowly, leaning forward now, folding his hands on the desk.

“This is where it becomes interesting. This girl…” He trails off as a smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

“For some reason, we are being blamed for what has happened. There is no proof, but whispers are being shared, and rumours are flying around. The Italians are blaming us Russians for the princess being taken, though I haven’t instructed any soldier to make that move. ”

This time, I feel Mikhail glancing over at me.

It doesn’t make sense that the Italians have blamed us straight away, not when we haven’t given them any reason to.

Something in his tone makes me question him. He smiles at me, pleased that I’ve caught onto it.

“Keep an eye on things, and keep an ear out too. Keep me informed on how you both plan to handle this. The Italian princess must be found at once, and I want our names cleared from this mess. Understood?”

The room closes in as I try to process what he’s asking us.

This mention of the Italian princess—our princess—is a complication we never expected, and now, it’s our responsibility to figure out how to manage this mess it’s caused.

I lean back into my chair, the heavy weight of my brother’s gaze unrelenting as he waits for me to respond on behalf of us both. I nod at once, and so does Mikhail.

“Of course, Otets. We will both deal with it, and handle this situation too.”

Mikhail, ever the impatient one, shifts slightly in his seat.

I open my mouth, uncertain how to phrase the question that’s been flashing in my head ever since our father first began speaking about this Italian princess, when I finally find all the right words.

My voice is controlled as I speak.

“Why does the Italian mafia think we are behind this? What proof do the Italians have, Otets, or are they simply pointing fingers?”

The atmosphere changes.

Our father’s face hardens as his expression turns cold. His jaw clenches tight enough that we can see his muscles moving beneath the surface. After looking away briefly, he meets our eyes again.

“There is history.” He reveals, blowing out a heavy breath.

“When you both were younger, there was an incident which resulted in an Italian woman—one of the famiglia’s—being murdered.

She was brutally slaughtered under the direction of a Russian.

Although being Pakhan, I had no idea this was carried out until it happened. ”

Mikhail and I exchange a look, both of us clearly surprised by what we’re hearing.

Neither one of us have heard about this incident before. As we both sit up straighter, we keep our faces focused on him, wanting to hear the rest.

“After it was revealed that a Russian was behind this, the Italians still chose not to retaliate. Instead, they chose to remain silent. It was a gesture of respect, a sign that they valued peace, even with all the pain we had forced upon them. After that, I made sure to maintain a good relationship with the Don, and his soldiers too. It was my way of making things right after unnecessary violence had spiralled out of control.”

This is news to me.

The respect we had, the fragile peace with the Italians…it’s a part of Bratva history, and we were kept in the dark about it.

It's even more complicated than I ever thought.

Mikhail, unable to keep his mouth shut, decides to speak up. His voice is strained as he tries his best to remain calm, and if I’ve noticed it, then I know that our father has too.

“All this time…we’ve been civil with the Italians because of some old incident? Why allow them to continue like this? It’s unforgivable what happened, I know it is, but in our world, we’re all at risk of becoming casualties of war. Men. Women. Children. Why not let it go, Otets?”

Though our father’s expression doesn’t change, there is a slight tightness in his eyes as he responds to my brother’s questions.

“There’s so much more linked to this incident, my sons.

I wish I could tell you everything, but that will only cause more pain for us all.

” He releases a shaky breath, his hand reaching out for his glass, as he throws back the liquor.

Once the glass is back on his desk, he continues speaking.

“The Italian Don and I have worked hard to keep peace, but I’ve always known this day might come—when somebody would try to disrupt this peace, to cause conflict between us once again. ”

I swallow hard.

All this time, the Italians have had the upper hand, and now that they need to blame somebody, they’re hellbent on blaming us. And even though their suspicion is right, only my brother and I are aware of that.

To be suspicious…to point fingers without any solid proof…it’s a dangerous game.

“So, then.” Mikhail says, shaking his head as he leans in even closer. “This Italian princess, why has she been taken?”

My fingers curl into fists as I glance over at Mikhail, schooling my expression.

Why the fuck would he ask that now?

Our father, who is completely oblivious to the reasoning behind his son’s question, answers him happily.

“Perhaps it is connected to the old incident, or maybe this is somebody new trying to use it as leverage against us. I don’t know why she has been taken, but she needs to be found. Safe. Alive. If not, everything will be ruined.”

My thoughts race as I control my breathing.

All of this—from our father suddenly revealing this situation, and this Italian princess being taken by Mikhail and I—feels like one big trap.

I know it’s not possible though, not when nobody knows the truth behind her disappearance except for us both, but I can’t help but feel like we’ve now been caught in a web of lies.

Now we know that Chiara—the Italian princess we took—is so deeply tied to our history, there’s no telling how bad this could all become.

“Otets.” I finally manage to say. “What should we do?”

He stares at us for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Then he exhales slowly, his voice growing firm with every word that falls from his mouth.

“You handle it, as you both always do. Be smart. Be calculated. Don’t give them any reason to suspect us. If they publicly point fingers at us, then we will deal with it. For now, look for the princess, and return her back to her family safely.”

My stomach sinks, though I do nod my head at him.

The situation isn’t looking good, but even that isn’t enough to return her. Like I told Mikhail, she would be ours to keep, and nobody would be taking her away from us. It didn’t matter how much history was involved, or how many past stories we’ve dug up by taking her; Chiara is here to stay.

“And if it’s found that the Russians are indeed responsible for this…”

My voice is laced with caution as I trail off, unaware of how to finish my sentence.

Leaning back into his leather chair, our father takes a sharp breath in. His eyes dart between us both again, then he shakes his head.

“If that happens to be the case,” he begins.

“I will deal with the one responsible myself.” His voice now drops to a low, dangerous growl, and a dark look flashes across his face.

“What this person has done—daring to take a woman, and forcing her into captivity—is cowardly. A mere soldier wouldn’t even stoop so low.

It is disrespectful, both to themselves, and the Bratva.

I will not show mercy if it’s found that a Russian is behind this. ”

I have seen him in many ways; as a father, as a Pakhan, but I have never seen him like this.

The tone in his voice isn’t just from anger, there’s a deep hurt in it too. There’s something personal. He sits up straighter, clearing his throat before he continues to speak.

“As a father…” his voice falters for a moment as his throat tightens, as though the mere thought of it pains him. “I can’t even imagine what Francesco must be going through right now.”

I feel like my heart stops beating altogether.

Francesco.

Fuck.

And considering what he has just said, this isn’t good at all.

I force myself to continue breathing as our father’s eyes narrow in our direction.

“You need to understand this, my sons: we have a long history with the Italians. We cannot risk this relationship. If this situation escalates, I will not allow anybody to drag my own into this mess. We need to find this girl, and we need to do it as soon as we can. If not, we’ll be putting our own in danger. ”

My insides are knotted with tension.

Whatever happens next will change absolutely everything.

“I understand, Otets.”

I say, my voice steady despite the unease inside me.

Mikhail, up until now, has been able to keep quiet. He's still processing this all, I can tell, and there's no doubt that he’ll have questions for Chiara once we’re back down with her.

“We will deal with this swiftly, my sons.” He says, his voice strong and certain. “And if it is discovered that a Russian is behind it, make no mistake; I will personally deal with the individual myself.”

Together, Mikhail and I stand from our seats.

After speaking one last time with him, we both begin to move towards the door. I glance over at Mikhail, noticing how his jaw is clenched in the exact same way that mine is, and we both share another knowing look.

There’s a purpose now; no space for hesitation.

Take her.

Keep her.

Claim her.

Chiara is ours now.

And there’s no going back.