Chapter 15
ISABELLA
T he hand over my mouth tightened, and I barely had time to register the second arm that wrapped around my waist, hauling me back like a ragdoll. My boots scraped against the wet pavement, my lungs locking with a sharp breath that couldn’t make it out.
Rain blurred everything. I fought. I thrashed. But the grip didn’t budge—iron and cold and efficient. My back hit a chest, hard, and I felt the size of him. Whoever it was, he wasn’t just grabbing me. He was taking me.
No one said a word. No threats. No demands. Just silence and steel and the sound of my pulse hammering in my ears.
My fingers fumbled for the holster. I felt the cold kiss of the metal handle. I didn’t think. I didn’t need to.
I pulled the gun out and began to lift it—only for a hand to close around mine with bone-snapping force. My scream never made it past his palm. He shoved the barrel away, and the shot fired off into the night with a deafening crack, hitting somewhere far beside us.
We spun. And I was free.
I twisted, teeth bared, fury bubbling hot—and froze. “Rafael?” My voice was sharp. Disbelieving. “What the fuck?”
He stared at me through the rain, chest rising and falling, soaked shirt clinging to every inch of muscle I wanted to punch. His jaw clenched. “You were going to shoot me.”
“You grabbed me in the dark, Romanov!” I snapped. “What the hell did you think would happen?”
He didn’t even flinch. “Yuri said he saw you leave,” he said, voice rough, low, but not apologetic. “I figured I’d show you just how easy it would’ve been for someone else to do the same.”
I stared at him. Then my palm slammed into his chest. “You think this is some kind of fucked-up lesson?” I hissed. “You think dragging me through the rain, covering my mouth like you’re going to kill me is going to teach me a goddamn thing?”
His eyes didn’t waver. “It’s not about what I think. It’s about what’s real. You could’ve died.”
“And maybe I wouldn’t have,” I bit back. “Because I heard them, Rafael. I know who was involved in that ambush, and it wasn’t the Cartel like you think.”
His brows twitched. I stepped closer, my voice cold, sharp. “They said Viktor’s name. They talked about the Italians. They used the Cartel as a front. You’ve been looking in the wrong direction.”
The air thickened between us. Rain was falling, soaking into my clothes, my hair, but I didn’t feel any of it. Not with him in front of me like that. Not with the storm behind his eyes cracking open.
“You went alone,” he said, low, controlled. “Behind my back.”
“I did what I had to do,” I snapped. “Because you sure as hell weren’t going to let me do anything otherwise.”
“I told you to stay.”
“You don’t own me, Romanov.”
His jaw flexed.
“And what would you have done,” I continued, voice laced with venom, “if it wasn’t you who found me out there? What if it was Viktor?”
“I would’ve buried the bastard,” he growled, stepping closer. “And then I would’ve buried you right after for being so goddamn reckless.”
I shoved him again. He didn’t move.
I could feel the heat off his skin, the way the rain steamed between us like smoke off a fire that wouldn’t die.
“You think you’re the only one who bleeds?” I whispered.
And his answer was silence. Just that unreadable expression. A war behind his eyes.
I could feel the burn in my palms from where I shoved him—again, and again, and again. Rain streamed down my face like it was trying to drown the rage out of me, but it didn’t work. Nothing worked.
“I’m not one of your fucking men you can control,” I hissed, each word slashing between us. “You don’t get to leash me, Rafael.”
“You think this is about control?” His voice was gravel. Thunder in human form. “You think this is about me keeping you in line?”
I shoved him again. “Isn’t it?”
His chest rose and fell hard, soaked and shining beneath the moonlight and the storm. “You don’t get it.”
“No,” I snapped. “You don’t get it. I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask to be dragged into this world. But since I’m already neck-deep in it, I won’t sit quietly and let you decide when I’m useful.”
“You call going into enemy territory alone useful ?”
“I got information,” I shot back. “Real information. More than you had. And you’re pissed because I did it without your permission.”
His eyes narrowed, fire sparking behind them. “No. I’m pissed because I almost lost you without even knowing I should be looking.”
The silence cracked between us like lightning.
My breath caught, just for a second, but I didn’t let it show.
I kept pushing. “And whose fault would that have been? Huh?” I spat.
“You said it yourself—no one is untouchable in your world. But maybe you just don’t want anyone else to touch me but you. ”
His jaw clenched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“You’re a liar, Romanov.” I hit him again. Not hard. Just enough to feel it. Enough to push the edge a little further.
His hand caught mine. Then the other. In the blink of an eye, he spun me—twisted me—my back slammed into the wall beneath the overhang of the resort. Cold, wet stone dug into my spine. His body pressed into mine, trapping me. Caging me.
His grip on my wrists was firm, unyielding, pinning them above my head. The breath tore out of me.
His face was inches from mine, eyes molten, unreadable, every muscle in his jaw working as he stared down at me like I was the storm and he was ready to drown in it.
“Don’t you ever—” His voice was low, dangerous, “—accuse me of wanting to control you just because I care if you die.”
I swallowed hard, rage still bubbling under my skin. “You don’t get to use that word.”
“What word?”
“ Care. ” My voice was sharp, bitter. “You don’t care. You protect what’s yours. You just haven’t decided what the fuck I am yet.”
His fingers tightened slightly on my wrists. “You think I haven’t decided?” he rasped. “You think that’s what this is?”
“I think you’re used to everyone falling in line. And I never will.”
His eyes flicked to my mouth, then back up. We were soaked through. The world around us thundered, lightning flashing across the black sky like a warning.
And neither of us moved. We breathed each other in like poison. Like it was the only thing we had left to feel.
“Go to hell!” I snapped finally, my breath ragged as I tried to pull my hands free, even though I couldn’t move. “That’s where you belong, isn’t it? Hell, Romanov? I’m sure they have a throne waiting for you down there with your name carved in blood!”
He said nothing. Just stared.
That infuriating stillness in his eyes—like he was studying me. Like he could read past every insult and into my marrow.
“And you think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?” I kept going, the words venomous now, crafted to stab. “Dragging me across the world. Playing this power trip. Pretending like you’re untouchable. You’re not. I’ve seen men better than you choke on their own blood.”
His jaw clenched. Still silent.
“You don’t scare me,” I lied. “You’re nothing. Just a spoiled little tyrant trying to play king with stolen pieces.”
His grip tightened. Just enough. But I didn’t stop.
“And all those women who fell for you? How many? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? All of them fucking stupid. If I’d let you touch me—if I’d actually let you in—you’d ruin it. You ruin everything, Rafael. That’s what you do. Because deep down, you’re just a monster in an expensive suit.”
His eyes darkened. Thunder cracked above us.
“Say something,” I dared him. “What, nothing left to manipulate? No lies to feed me this time? Or maybe you’re too busy wondering if I ever truly wanted you—if I ever would.”
The space between us was airless. My chest was heaving, soaked hair clinging to my cheeks, the weight of everything pressing into my bones.
He blinked once. Then his voice came—low, brutal.
“Shut up.”
And then his mouth crashed into mine—cutting off every bitter word I had loaded, locked, and ready to fire.
My hands were pinned, wrists still caught in his bruising grip, my body caged between Rafael Romanov and the stone wall behind me, and yet none of that compared to the fire roaring through my chest.
I froze. Just for a second. My mind reeled, trying to piece together what the hell was happening—what the hell I was letting happen.
And then it hit me. The fury. The betrayal. The truth.
I bit down—hard—on his lower lip, tasting the copper tang of blood between us as he hissed and pulled back just an inch, but didn’t let go.
His dark eyes burned like gasoline catching flame, the rain pouring down his face, catching in his lashes, soaking the strands of hair plastered to his forehead.
“Fuck you,” I snarled, chest heaving. “You think this makes you less of a liar? You think you can just grab me—drag me like some animal—and I’ll forget what you are?”
His hands didn’t loosen.
He smirked, lip bloodied, and leaned closer. “No, Isabella. I’m counting on you to remember exactly what I am.”
His mouth crashed into mine again, more violent this time. Less kiss, more warning. My body betrayed me. I hated the way I responded—how my back arched, how I twisted my hands, trying and failing to get them out of his grip. I hated the heat pooling in my stomach. I hated him.
And I needed more.
The kiss was war—teeth and tongues and bruising need. He pulled back just enough to breathe, lips brushing mine, voice a low, threatening growl against the rain. “You should’ve stayed in your room.”
“You should’ve stayed dead,” I spat, before I yanked him down again.
We stumbled back, his hands roaming over my ribs as if mapping every place he’d one day destroy, and I pushed back with equal force—fingertips dragging across his shoulder blades, arms wrapping around his neck like chains.
He didn’t ask. He didn’t beg. And I didn’t stop him.