Chapter 7 - Anton
I watch her as she walks away. It’s as though I’ve doused the fiery spirit inside her with just my words. She’s still trying to hold her head high and keep her expression strong, trying to hide the fact that I’ve hurt her, but I can see through it.
A few days ago, I started researching her brother. Illyin Toloff is a big name in Bratva, but I realized I knew little about him. Not specific things, anyway. I figured I should know my enemy. Know the man who is about to come after me.
So, I had my team start researching everything they could find out about him.
The thing is that I did learn a lot about how dangerous he is. I learned about his methods and his brutality. But we are all dangerous men in the mafia, so this information didn’t particularly intrigue me, as it felt like it was a given.
The things that I learned that captivated me were all the things that involved Izabel.
How her brother practically raised her. How close they are and how deeply they care for each other.
He was a father figure to her, explaining why he is overbearing and protective of her.
There is immense love between them. She adores her brother, even though she argues with him constantly over her need for freedom.
And he argues with her constantly over taking unnecessary risks and is always asking her to come back to Milwaukee, where he can keep her safe from the world.
Yet when she says no, he still funds everything she wants and needs.
He has never cut her off as a way of trying to control her, which says a lot about their relationship.
The thing is, Izabel, doesn’t want to be safe. She wants to explore, discover, and see whatever life has to offer her.
And while they love each other, that is not in question at all, they do constantly argue.
As she disappears down the stairs, I’m struck by a heaviness. Guilt weighs down my shoulders. I reach up and rub the back of my neck, massaging the tension from my muscles.
I shouldn’t have brought up her brother in that way. It was a low blow. It was never my intention to throw something like that in her face. As I said, we are all dangerous men in the mafia, and it wasn’t fair to push that information onto her.
Dammit. I’m trying to pull her closer to me, not push her away.
Well done, Anton. You’re doing a stellar job on that front.
***
Izabel moved to a different room. I had the men take all her things from that room and unpack them neatly in a new room that didn’t smell of smoke or have an ash-colored stain on the walls. I’ll get a clean-up crew into her old room in case she wants to go back into that one.
She muttered a lot about the chandelier, surprising me that she liked it so much, so I made sure they polished it and moved it into her new room.
My obsession with Izabel is consuming me.
Whenever I’m not busy, I find myself sitting on my phone or laptop watching the live security feed that is set up around the mansion.
I watch her.
I watch her reading.
Or walking around the garden outside in the cold.
I watch her making food in the kitchen and going to the gym on the top floor.
And when she's bored, I watch her walking up and down the hallways, looking at the art on the walls, studying it in great detail.
I know Izabel likes to draw. I hacked into her iPad and found her private collection of digital art that she has on there. It’s fucking magnificent. She’s a very talented artist.
Of course, I can’t tell her that, because firstly, she isn’t speaking to me, and secondly, I would also have to tell her I hacked into her iPad, which isn’t going to get me any points.
She doesn’t know I sent men back to her apartment to get the device. A risky move, in case her brother or Josiah was watching her apartment, but like I said, I’m obsessed with knowing everything about her.
It feels mean to keep it from her, seeing as she clearly draws on it a lot. But I can’t risk her using it to contact anyone.
I’ll ask the tech guys if maybe they can block off the device’s internet connection. She’d be thrilled to have it, I’m sure.
It’s late morning, and I’m drinking my second cup of coffee, watching her walk around the mansion.
She’s looking at the art again. She’s been staring at a favorite piece of mine by an artist that very few people have heard of, but I can already tell is going to be making big waves in the industry.
I’ve purchased three of his works so far and plan to buy more.
She reaches up and hovers her hand above the canvas, not touching it, but almost resonating with it, as though she can feel the energy of the painting vibrating from it.
She steps away from the canvas and looks up and down the hallway as though wondering what to do next.
Izabel sighs and rubs her hands over her face.
She’s bored. Of course, she’s bored, because she spent the last few years galivanting all over the place, living freely while avoiding her brother’s controlling nature.
Izabel is not used to being so cooped up like this.
Maybe that is one way to get her to connect with me!
Pushing away from my laptop, I head into the house to find her.
She’s still wandering the same hallway.
“Izabel, get ready, we’re going out,” I tell her.
“What? Where?” she says, eyeing me with suspicion.
“I’m bored and I need air. A different view from the mansion,” I say, knowing what she’s feeling.
“A different view does sound pretty good,” she sighs, but her eyes are still rich with suspicion.
“Come on, I’m leaving in ten minutes. Or if you don’t want to join me, that’s fine, too. I’m happy to go alone,” I say, hoping she’ll take the bait as I turn to leave.
“No, wait for me. I’ll just grab my shoes,” she says, turning to run towards her room.
I smile, then go back downstairs to wait for her.
***
“I think he could have diversified the color palette,” she remarks, scrunching her nose at the painting as she leans closer to it. “I do like how he mixed the oils together, though. People often mix oil paints when it’s so much nicer to have the colors sort of squished together like that.”
“Squished?” I laugh. “You were sounding so professional until you said squished,” I tease.
She snubs her nose at me, then scrunches it in that cute way that I am really starting to love. So much attitude for such a tiny little pixie.
“Why are you taking me to all of these galleries?” she asks, making sure that I’m still fully aware of her suspicion.
“These are some of my favorite places,” I remark, gesturing around. There is a wide variety of unique art around us. Sculptures, paintings, mixed media on oddly shaped canvases.
In the corner, there is a life-sized ceramic orange parking cone, splattered with graffiti in neon colors.
“Okay, so this is about you?” she says.
“Actually, I thought you might want to pick something out. Anything. Your choice.”
“You mean I might want to buy some art?” she asks. “This work is clearly some of the most expensive art in the city. You just casually brought me here to buy a few pieces?” she scoffs.
“I’m not blind, Izabel. I’ve seen you enjoying the artwork at home. I know you have an eye and an appreciation for it.”
I cock my head to the side. If she knew the truth, that I had stalked every aspect of her life, that I had gone through her browser history and her gallery and her sketches and notes…
She might appreciate the effort I’ve made for her.
Then again, she might call me a creep.
Izabel lets out a sharp, annoyed breath and folds her arms across her chest. She shoots me a stern look of disapproval.
“You can’t win me over by manipulating me with things I like,” she huffs. “It has never worked on me before, and it won’t work on me now.”
“What do you mean? Worked on you before?” I walk quickly to follow her as she storms off, further into the gallery. Reaching out, I take her arm and turn her to face me. “Hey, answer me. What do you mean? I wasn’t trying to manipulate anything.”
Okay, to be fair, I was. I was trying to get her to be more receptive to me.
“Buying me things doesn’t make me happy. It doesn’t impress me. What impresses me is when people see me for who I am and not who they want me to be. I’m the type of person you win over by being genuine with me, holding a real conversation, not throwing money around,” she snaps.
There is a moment of silence, and I realize I’m still holding on to her arm. I let my fingers drop away and she takes a small step back, rubbing her hand over what I'd gripped her a moment ago.
I clench my jaw, closing my eyes for a moment and realizing my mistake.
Her brother funds everything. He showers her in money, taking care of every financial need, but he doesn’t give her the one thing she craves—freedom to be herself without his influence and control.
He doesn’t let her just be, and one would probably find that all of their conversations revolve around him demanding things from her instead of asking her how she’s doing and what she’s been up to. Or what her dreams are.
“Look, I’m sorry if it came across that way. It’s not what I intended.”
She rolls her eyes, not convinced.
“I brought you here because this place, and the other galleries we’ve been browsing today, are all special places to me.”
“How so?” she asks, still with coldness in her tone, but also an edge of intrigue.
“Art was and is the thing that has kept me sane. Ever since Josiah started hunting me…he’s been relentless.
It’s affected my life in ways that other people would struggle to understand.
I was forced into hiding, hoping it would blow over, and it never did.
I would spend weeks locked up in my mansion, not going out, staying out of the public eye.
And the one thing I had was my art. My collection grew, and in it I found a certain kind of peace.
Art has a way of speaking to a person if they are willing to listen. ”
Her eyes soften slightly. “It does speak, doesn’t it,” she half-whispers.
She glances around the gallery at the beautiful pieces. I study her face while she studies the art, and I think to myself that nothing more beautiful could possibly exist in the world.
“What happened between you and Josiah?” she asks after a while, her eyes drawing up to meet mine.
I don’t want to get into it, but she just warned me that what she longs for is real conversation. Genuine connection. And I want the same thing, so I can’t hold back when she asks a direct question like this.
I shove my hands into my pockets and pull my mouth tight as I think about how to word it.
“Josiah and I weren’t always enemies. I wouldn’t call us friends, but we weren’t at war with each other.
But a man like Josiah has that kind of hunger that becomes dangerous.
He’s the type of man that has to be number one no matter what.
When I started getting more power and a stronger footing in the city, he didn’t like it.
I watched him break other people, push them down if he thought they were trying to take his place at the top.
And then he turned his eyes on me, and I realized he saw me as the next threat. ”
I sigh, taking a moment to gather my thoughts while she watches me with patience and interest.
“Before Josiah began to interfere with my life, I did things properly. I worked hard. I was honest. I never played dirty with anyone. But he taught me that it will only get you so far, and if you don’t kick up some dirt then someone like him will come and snatch everything you’ve worked so fucking hard for right from under your feet.
I only played dirty to defend myself against his arrogance.
But then so much started happening all at once, and I had no choice but to cut my losses and go into hiding.
I needed time to think. To pull myself together again. ”
I speak honestly, sharing things with her that I don’t talk to anyone about.
Admitting the weakness of fear in my world is a death sentence, but I want her to see the real me.
The real person I am. I’m fully aware that Josiah has spoken about me.
She knew who I was when she heard my name the first time.
He’s had his chance to paint me in a bad light.
Now she needs to understand that there are two sides to every story, and while she is best friends with his wife, his side might not be the right one.
Izabel pulls her mouth to the side in disapproval.
“Really?” she scoffs.
I’m taken aback by her response. It immediately spikes my annoyance.