Chapter Thirteen #2
“Chiara is strong. She will manage.” Though his voice is steady, I can hear the flicker of confusion beneath it. “We know now that her mother was killed under the order of a Russian, but we still have a relationship with them. Why?”
He takes a step closer to me, his arms folded across his chest, and his jaw tight as he looks at me.
I release a soft breath, shaking my head.
“I have no idea. The alliance was introduced around the time their new Don rose to power, and we haven’t had any issues with the Italians ever since.
I don’t understand it, either. If one of ours killed one of theirs…
why are they so eager to maintain this relationship?
What can possibly justify this level of involvement? ”
There’s a pause as we both think about all these questions.
It doesn’t make sense.
Nothing makes sense.
To be so heavily involved like this; to be blamed for it, without any solid proof…it isn’t the way that this is done.
Even for Mikhail and I to be sent all the way to Arizona just to look for her, it’s unusual.
Some things are being kept in the dark, I’m certain of it.
Mikhail’s eyes flicker back to mine, confusion clouding his gaze more now than I’ve ever seen before.
“She’s the daughter of an underboss; an Italian princess.
Her mother was murdered—because a Russian ordered it to happen—then her family moved to England.
Now that she’s supposedly missing, the Cartel is somehow rumoured to be involved, but before them, the blame was on us.
” He takes a deep breath in, running his hands through his hair.
“What the fuck, Nikolai? Nothing is making sense. Why does one girl matter so much? This doesn’t make any sense. ”
I meet his eyes, knowing that he’s right.
If Chiara is so important—which she is—then why didn’t her family remain in Italy?
If she has that much power over the Italians, why wasn’t she heavily guarded in England?
I have a feeling that we’re only scratching the surface, with so many more things to come to light.
“It doesn’t make sense. None of this does.” I murmur. “We’ve never heard about her before, or even her family. And now, all of sudden, she means everything to both the Italians, and to us too? This is madness.”
The corners of Mikhail’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smile.
It’s a grimace.
“I don't like this, Nikolai. This is going to be bad.”
I frown when I hear my brother say that, a pit beginning to form in my stomach.
If Mikhail is uneasy…it’s not good.
I look away from him, my mind drifting back to my darling.
At first, I didn’t care. Mikhail and I…we’re unstoppable. It didn’t matter if we took some random girl from the streets of London, dragging her back with us to New York City, moulding her into the perfect woman to make her ours.
But now, with everything that’s being revealed, I can’t help but feel uneasy.
This game is bigger than anything either one of us ever thought.
“Who do you think is pulling the strings behind all of this?”
My brother doesn’t respond straight away.
He’s still thinking, his mind working through every angle, just like mine is.
“I have no idea, Nikolai. None at all.”
The room goes quiet again, heavy with the weight of everything that has been spoken between us.
This isn’t only about Chiara now. This is about something bigger—something neither one of us has figured out yet.
Us Russians…we have no reason to be involved in the Italians’ matter purely based on a missing girl.
No.
That’s not how this works.
There’s no doubt that a bigger game is being played here, and we’re stuck in the middle of it.
“Let’s begin preparing.” I finally say, trying to get this over and done with. “Then we can explain things to her.”
Mikhail releases a heavy breath, nodding at me, then we both walk out from the gym.
It’s quiet as we both walk through the mansion, our eyes taking notice of each soldier we pass.
Usually, the high ceilings, and the dimly lit corridors are familiar, always a constant presence in our lives. But now, today, something feels different, something heavier as we finally approach the end of the hall—where our wing begins.
Our wing.
Mine.
Mikhail’s.
It’s where everything is kept, behind walls, and behind hidden doors.
It’s a secret, and it’s ours.
I glance over at my brother, his expression unreadable, sensing the same tension in him that I’m feeling too.
Neither one of us speak as we approach the place, the one that holds something valuable. It’s part of the stone wall, nobody would ever think otherwise, but as Mikhail reaches out, tapping a specific pattern on the smooth surface, a low click sounds.
The door, hidden seamlessly in the architecture, slides open slowly.
The wall, and the space behind it, is a well-guarded secret, one which has been designed to be opened by the right hands only, and we’ve never doubted its security.
We’ve never had a reason to.
After stepping inside, the air shifts as the door closes behind us.
It’s a narrow space, a little similar to a passageway, so Mikhail walks in first, and I follow behind him.
We walk down the spiral stairs, reaching the basement level, as we come face to face with the second door.
The same mechanism opens it, and we continue walking beneath the mansion, only stopping when we come across the third door.
All that matters to us is behind this.
Chiara.
We unlock the door, and I can't help but think back to the first time we brought her here, how she seemed so lost, so fragile. Now, she’s settling in well, finding herself in a place where she’s not quite so sure what’s real any more, but is content enough to be with Mikhail and myself.
Chiara is lying on the bed, her focus solely on the book in her hands, the pages flipping quietly under her fingertips.
I remember the way her face had lit up—so damn bright, so damn happy—when we gave her all the things she had asked us for, and some more things too. To us, it was something so small, something so insignificant. But to her, it was everything.
She was hesitant to make the request at first. We saw it in the way that she had bit down onto her plump bottom lip, and the way that she had fidgeted with her fingers. We saw it in the way that she had refused to meet our eyes.
After being taken, she never begged us. Sure, she cried a few times, and she leaned into our touch even when she knew better than to, but she never outright asked us for anything.
Even now, when there’s only a little left to do before she can belong to us in every sense of the word, she still holds onto those last shreds of defiance, and of pride.
That day, only a few days after she had made that video, and kissed us in return, she had faltered.
Just a little.
She didn’t hesitate to step forward, her arms crossed over her chest, her voice softer than usual.
“I would like a few things. Something to keep me busy when you’re both gone. I get lonely here, and a little bored too.”
My brother and I watched her carefully, studying the way she avoided our gazes.
“What sort of things?”
I asked, wondering what she meant.
She shifted on her feet, finally raising her eyes to look at us both, before she swallowed.
“I would like some books. Maybe a sketchpad, and some pencils. Some paints too.” She paused, and then, in a quiet whisper, she said something that made my chest tighten, and my heart race. “I want a few things to make this place feel more like…home.”
Home.
The word had struck something deep in me, something I wasn’t prepared for.
And neither had Mikhail.
We glanced at each other, saw the burning desire reflecting off of our gazes, and we felt that same sense of pride surging through us both.
She was no longer trying to fight her way out.
She was no longer trying to escape us.
She was settling.
She was accepting.
And maybe, she was even finding comfort in our presence.
As I opened my mouth to speak, to tell her we would give her everything if it meant that this place would become her home, she beat me to it.
With pink high in her cheeks, she released a shaky breath, her eyes darting between either one of ours, before she closed them momentarily, filling her lungs with air.
When she opened her eyes again, she took a step closer to us both, uncrossing her arms as she reached out to press her palms to the centre of our chests.
I didn’t dare to breathe.
And neither did Mikhail.
“I’ll kiss you both, if it means that you’ll bring me those things I’ve asked for.” And in an even quieter voice, she added, “And maybe, I’ll give you both something else. Something I should have given you both right from the very beginning.”
So after Mikhail and I had our fun, dropping to our knees to ravage that sweet pussy of hers, we got around to getting her everything she had asked us for, and some more.
And when we surprised her with everything only a mere few hours after she had made the request, she looked at us both as if we had given her the world.
Her eyes were watery as she took it all in, and her fingers trembled as she reached for the sketchpad first, flipping through the crisp, blank pages. She went for the paints next, the fine brushes, and the books too. We even put in some new clothes as well as pretty pieces of lingerie.
She stared at everything with her lips parted in stunned silence.
She looked up at us both, at Mikhail, and at myself, as something unreadable flashed in her gaze before she moved.
It all happened so fast.
One moment she was standing there in front of us, lost for words, and then, she had rushed forward, both her arms thrown around either one of us, holding us both close to her body.
Mikhail and I immediately wrapped our arms around her body on instinct, gripping her softly, feeling the warmth of her body against ours.
And then…
Her lips.
Soft.
Sweet.
Still a little uncertain, but still willing.
Chiara had kissed me first.