TAKEN

Two princes. One princess. An empire built on desire.

NOVA HALE

Copyright © 2025 by Nova Hale

Taken

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of a brief quotation embodied in articles or reviews.

Cover Design by Marika Veil (Covers By Marika Veil)

Formatting by Avery (AveryxDesigns)

Editing and Proofreading by Stephanie Morales

Dedication

For my siblings, who have stood beside me from the very beginning.

We didn’t have the easiest start, but we’ve come so far, and this is just one more step towards the life we’ve always dreamed of.

Happy reading.

~ Nova Hale

BLURB

I’ve been taken—taken from everything I once knew, and forced into a world of power, danger, and passion.

Nikolai and Mikhail, twin brothers bound by blood, have taken me into their lives, and now, their love consumes me.

They’ve built an empire, an empire not just of wealth or control, but of desire.

An empire where every choice is made in the name of love, where loyalty runs deep, and where my heart is in its place.

With them, I am protected, cherished, and adored.

In their arms, I am safe.

Two men love me in ways I didn’t know were possible, and our future is one of love, strength, and endless possibilities.

I was taken—yes—but now I’m here to stay.

Together, we will build something unbreakable.

This is our empire, and I will stand at its heart forever.

Prologue

chiara

13 Years Ago, Aged 6

The air bites at my cheeks, sharp and cold, as I stare ahead.

I can’t believe it.

Mr. Buttons is pressed tightly to my chest. His fur doesn’t feel soft like it usually does—it’s wet now, damp with tears that won’t stop rolling down my face.

The sky thunders above, like it can feel all of our emotions too, ready to pour down on us with rain on the day of my Mama’s funeral.

Everything feels wrong.

All around me, people are dressed in black, their faces pale and grim. Barely anybody speaks. The women cry softly, their gloved hands holding tissues to their wet eyes that are now big and shiny as tears fall from them.

The men don’t cry.

They never do, not like how the women always cry.

Instead, they stand around us, protecting us, their expressions stony and unreadable. Their bodies are tense as they stand shoulder-to-shoulder, and their mouths set in hard lines.

Made men.

Soldiers.

Protectors.

When Papa walked by them earlier, they nodded at him in respect, but nobody spoke.

For some reason, that made the knot in my stomach tighten a little bit more.

I look away from the people to glance over at Papa, watching him as he stands at the edge of the grave.

Papa is trembling.

Dario, my older brother, stands behind me. His grip is tight on my shoulder, and it’s hurting me a little, but I don’t tell him to stop. He looks over my head at the wooden box—the one which Mama is in—as he clears his throat behind me. It’s obvious that he’s trying not to cry, but I wish he would. He hasn’t said anything ever since we got here.

The priest begins to speak as he blesses Mama’s soul. I really can’t listen to everything that he says, because the only thing I can hear are the sniffles of the crying women.

Suddenly, Papa steps forward, his fists clenched at his sides.

“No!” Papa booms, marching even closer to the priest. “This is not right!”

All around us, the people freeze.

Even the priest stops speaking, his mouth half-open as he stares at Papa with wide, terrified eyes.

“She was mine!” Papa roars as he storms forward, his chest heaving. “Serena was mine, and now she is gone! You all really expect me to stand here? To watch my wife be buried into the ground?!”

Two men—two soldiers whose names I can’t remember—move closer to Papa, their faces tight.

“Francesco.” One says, his voice steady but firm. “Now is not the time.”

The other man turns to look over at me, and as he meets my eyes, I look away from him.

My entire body trembles.

Papa turns on the two men, his face now twisted with rage.

“When is the time? When do we find the bastard who did this? When will we bring justice to my wife? My wife who was murdered? My wife whose dead body is being buried into the ground as we speak?!”

I shrink back into Dario, clutching onto Mr. Buttons even tighter.

My brother pulls me closer to him, one hand sliding protectively around my body as though he’s trying to shield me.

My throat tightens.

When one of the other underbosses steps forward—Umberto, I think—he raises both hands in a calming gesture.

“We will find the motherfucker who slaughtered Serena. I swear it, Francesco. But you need to—”

Papa only growls.

“I dare you to tell me to calm down. I dare you, Umberto!”

For a moment, it looks like he’s going to hit Umberto.

I whimper into Mr. Button’s damp fur.

One by one, other men step forward, not hesitating to grab Papa as they pull him back before anything can happen. I watch Papa struggle against the hold of all the men, his voice rising as he spits out at them, his words a mix of Italian and English now, his voice sounding so sharp and angry.

I don’t understand everything he’s saying, but I think Dario does from the way he chokes up behind me, his arm shaking around my body.

The men wrestle Papa backward, pulling him away from the grave, muttering reassurances that I don’t think they even believe themselves.

Papa finally stops fighting.

His shoulders slump, and his head drops forward, his breathing ragged.

I don’t want to look at Papa like this, but I can’t stop myself. He’s on his knees now, his hands clenched into fists on the ground. His head is bowed, and his shoulders are shaking now. He looks small, like the weight of everything is crushing him completely.

I have never seen Papa like this.

He has always been so big, so strong. He has always been the one who keeps calm, the one who fixes everything for everybody else.

I don’t like seeing Papa like this.

Again, Dario clears his throat behind me.

I glance up at him, but he won’t look at me. His eyes are fixed on the grave, his face pale. His chest shakes against my back, and his eyes are shiny with tears.

Like Papa, I’ve never seen Dario like this before.

He has always been my big brother, seven years older than me so he’s always been the stronger one out of the two of us; the one who always tells me that everything will be okay. But now, he’s holding me so tightly that I can barely breathe, and I don’t even know what to do.

Now, I hear the soft creak of the coffin being lowered into the ground.

I turn around, watching, and my stomach twists at the sight of it happening right in front of me.

“No.”

I whisper, the word barely audible.

My brother hears me though.

Dario holds me tighter, his voice cracking as he speaks softly to me.

“It’s okay, Chiara. I’m here, and I’ve got you.”

I shake my head, feeling my heart beginning to ache in my chest.

It’s not okay.

Nothing is okay.

Glancing over at Papa, I see how his hands are gripping the edge of the grave, his knuckles now white, like he wants to reach in, to pull the coffin back up, and Mama too. His face is crumpled, his cheeks wet with tears, as his lips move.

His voice cuts through the air like a knife.

“She did not deserve this!” Papa roars, his fists pounding down on the ground. “My wife did not—my Serena did not—”

A wrenching sob rips out from his throat, and a similar one rips out from mine.

I don’t like seeing Papa like this.

The men standing closest to Papa look over at each other, their jaws tight, and their hands fidgeting at their sides.

They don’t move.

They don’t offer to help.

Nobody knows what to do.

Papa is the underboss, and now, he’s breaking apart.

I want to run to Papa, I want to grab his hand as I tell him to stop crying, so he can be my Papa again.

But my feet don’t move.

I can’t move them even when I try.

Behind me, Dario’s chest heaves as he cries silently.

When I try to turn around to look over at my brother, he doesn’t let me.

“Look away, sorellina.” He says as the box disappears into the ground. Papa cries out, his head falling forward as he kneels onto the ground, begging Mama to come back to him. “Please, don’t look.”

The priest murmurs quietly, uttering words which only make Papa hurt even more.

Everybody watches us.

I hate it. I hate all of it.

Papa grabs soil in his bare palms, throwing it down.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

I don’t know what’s louder; the sound of the soil hitting the coffin carrying my Mama’s dead body, or my heart beating hard in my chest.

I squeeze Mr. Buttons so hard that I think I might tear him apart.

My tears fall faster now, hot against my cheeks, my chest aching like something sharp has been pushed inside.

And after a while, people begin to leave.

They murmur their condolences to Papa, and to us too, before they all leave the site.

Soon, it’s only us left behind.

Me, Dario, and Papa.

Slowly, Papa stands up, his movements stiff and jerky. His eyes are bloodshot and hollow, and his face is pale. As Papa walks over towards us both, his steps become heavy and uneven.

And when he reaches us, he kneels down onto the ground again, pulling us both into his arms.

“I love you.” Papa says, his voice rough and low. “I will always love you. I will always protect you.” Dario begins sobbing softly, his body shaking against mine, and Papa’s. “You are my heart, both of you, and I will give you both the best life from now on. I swear it.”

His arms are strong around us.

I don’t say anything to Papa—I can’t say anything to him—so I just cling onto Mr. Buttons with my face pressed into Papa’s dirty shirt. Even Dario doesn’t speak, he only holds onto me and Papa tightly.

Everything is quiet now.

All I can think of is Mama.

I think of her smiles, and how pretty she looked when she laughed. I think of the way she would tuck me in bed at night, and kiss my forehead, telling me how much she loved me.

And then I think about what I overheard Papa saying to Dario one day, and why it always made me think that I would be safe forever.

Women and children are to be unharmed.

It rings loudly in my head as I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling Papa’s shirt becoming wet with all my tears now.

Who would be so cruel?

Who would break the rules?

My heart aches.

Why would they ever hurt my Mama?

I sob louder with those questions in mind, barely able to open my eyes now that I’m safe in Papa’s arms.

Although it’s been weeks since we buried Mama, our house feels just as heavy as the day we left for the funeral.

Papa’s footsteps thunder down the hall, loud and sharp, almost shaking the walls. He’s been like this every single day, stomping through our house as he yells at people on the phone, his voice deep and booming. I don’t really understand the words he says—sometimes they are Italian, and other times they are English—but I do understand that talking to others only makes him angrier.

Pressing my back against my bedroom door, I clutch Mr. Buttons tight to my chest.

His fur still smells like Mama.

I asked her to spray my teddy with her favourite perfume, and she did, so I like having him close to me.

I still haven’t let anybody wash him.

Downstairs, I hear a crash—maybe a glass or a plate being thrown to the floor.

And when I hear Papa’s angry voice, I wince.

Dario talks to Papa, his voice calm, but firm.

Ever since we returned from the funeral, Dario is the one who tries to calm Papa down, but it never works. For the last couple of days, it seems like Dario’s voice only makes things worse for Papa.

I tiptoe to the top of the stairs, peeking down at them both through the bannister.

Papa is pacing around in the hallway, his hands running through his hair.

Everything is broken downstairs.

Dario has a frown on his face as he looks at it all—the shattered glass, the broken vases—and he shakes his head.

“You need to do something, Papa.” Dario says, his voice steady though I can hear the frustration that’s there too. “You need to find the people who did this to Mama.”

Papa stops pacing as he turns to face Dario, his expression full of anger.

“What do you think I have been doing all this time?!”

Papa finally snaps, his voice sharp.

I gasp, feeling my heart beat faster in my chest.

Dario takes a step forward, his shoulders squared.

“Well why haven’t you found anything?!” My brother argues. “You’re supposed to be the one in charge, Papa. You’re supposed to protect this family! All you’ve done is—”

Papa moves so fast, neither Dario nor I expect it.

He pushes my brother against the wall, his finger sharp in Dario’s face.

“Enough, Dario! You do not know what you are talking about! You are just a boy; you have no idea how this works!”

Frustrated, Dario puts both of his hands on Papa’s chest, shoving him backward.

“I understand enough!” Dario shouts back to Papa. “I understand that you’ve been sulking here, yelling at everybody, breaking all of our things, whilst the people who killed Mama are still out there, probably celebrating the fact that they haven’t been caught yet!”

Papa takes another step closer to my brother again, and this time, I notice the way his fists are clenched.

My lips part as I feel my eyes tearing up.

Papa has never hurt us, and I hope that he won’t start now.

“Watch your mouth.”

Papa tells Dario coldly.

For a second, I think Dario will; I think he’s going to back down.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, my brother stands his ground, his jaw tight, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Make. Me.”

The silence that follows is so thick, I feel like I can barely breathe.

Papa stares at Dario, his chest heaving as though he’s trying to stop himself from doing something stupid, his eyes wide as he stares at my brother. Finally, he turns around, running his fingers through his hair.

“You do not understand, Dario.” Papa says in a quiet voice, though the anger is still clear in his tone. “This is not about what I want. An alliance is already in place. And besides, the Don has already made his decision. We are leaving.”

Dario blinks, a frown appearing on his face.

“What?”

Papa turns back around to face him, his expression hard.

“We are moving, Dario. England is where we will go in a month, or less.”

My stomach drops.

“No.” Dario says, his voice low and dangerous. “You can’t make this decision to pack us up and leave. Not now that I’ve made my life here. Not now that I’m so close to being inducted!”

Papa shakes his head.

“It has already been decided.”

Dario doesn’t like hearing that.

“You decided!”

He snaps at our father, stepping forward.

“No.” Papa repeats in a controlled voice. “The Don decided. Alessandro. He thinks—he says—that it is safer if we move there.”

Dario doesn’t understand.

“Who is it safer for? Mama is dead, Papa, and now you want to run away instead of finding the people behind it!”

Sobs bubble out of my throat at that very second, and I know I can’t take it any longer.

Running down the stairs, I clutch Mr. Buttons close to my chest, only stopping when I’m at the very bottom so I won’t get any broken glass in my feet.

“Stop it!”

I shout, hearing my voice crack.

Both Papa and Dario turn to look at me, their angry faces softening immediately.

“Chiara…”

Papa’s voice is quiet now, like he wants me to stop crying.

Dario steps closer to me, reaching out so I’ll take his hand in mine, but I don’t move.

“We didn’t mean to argue.”

I don’t care.

Feeling hot tears rolling down my cheeks, I continue shouting at them both.

“Mama wouldn’t want you both to fight! She loves you both, and she would hate to see you both fighting like this!”

For a moment, they don’t say anything, and they don’t move.

Then Dario crouches down in front of me, pulling me into his arms. His chest is warm and solid, and he places his chin above my head.

“I’m sorry for shouting at Papa like that, Chiara. I didn’t mean it.”

I cry louder as I wrap my arms around my older brother, letting Mr. Buttons fall to the floor.

Papa steps forward, wrapping his arms around both of us, pulling us closer into his chest. His hands stroke our heads, and I hear how fast his heart is beating in his own chest as he takes deep breaths.

“I am sorry, Chiara.” Papa says, his voice rough with emotion. “And I am sorry for how I spoke to you, Dario.”

My brother squeezes his eyes shut as he holds onto Papa, and for a long time, the three of us stay like that in each other’s arms.

I try to imagine Mama’s arms around us too, but when I do, I only cry harder, missing her too much.

When Papa tries to pull away from us, I don’t let him. I grasp onto him, desperate to have him close as I whimper into his chest. And as Papa realises just how much I need this, he doesn’t hesitate to stay like that, soothing me as he holds me tightly.

After some time has passed, I finally allow Papa to pull away from us both.

He keeps both hands on either one of our shoulders, looking between us both.

“We are going to be okay. This is what is best for us; this is what is best for our family.” I look over to Dario, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just nods, his jaw tight. Papa straightens up, and I miss the feeling of being safe in his arms immediately. After clearing his throat, he speaks again. “There are a lot of things I need to do before we leave. Can I ask you both to begin packing your things in the meantime? Only plan to take what is necessary. The rest will stay here, and anything else will be purchased once we are overseas.”

I look around the hallway, choosing to ignore the broken mess on the floor.

I look at the pictures on the wall, the pretty chandelier that lights up this space, and the shelves we put up for our little ceramic angels. The thought of leaving this all behind makes my chest ache.

But since Dario doesn’t say anything, neither do I. Instead, I just nod my head at Papa before I follow Dario upstairs.

He goes into my bedroom first, his eyes scanning all over my things.

“We’ll take a few of your teddies, and some clothes too. Like Papa said, everything else can be bought once we’re in England.”

My stomach tightens as he says that.

Instead of going to my toys, or showing Dario which clothes I want to take, I go to my bed. I pick up the photo I have of Mama, and I hold it close to my chest. In the photo, she’s smiling as she hugs Papa, and Dario and I are standing in front of them, smiling happily too.

My bottom lip wobbles as I feel my breathing begin to go all weird again.

Dario steps closer to me, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

“Everything will be okay, sorellina.” He tells me quietly, reaching out to hold my hand. “Papa is here, and so am I. We’ll help you tidy up.”

I look up at him, feeling my throat tighten up.

“Do you think Mama would want us to go?”

I have no idea where England even is, but if Dario was angry about it, then I’m guessing it might not be that good.

Dario doesn’t answer me immediately, instead, my brother hesitates.

“I think Mama would want us all to be safe, and if Papa says that England is the place to be, then we’ll go there.”

I don’t say anything to that.

I just hold the photo even tighter.

And exactly two weeks later, we leave.

We leave our empty house behind, and we get into Papa’s car. As we drive away, I can’t help but remember Mama, and I cry harder knowing that we are leaving her behind.

No matter what they say, it doesn’t help.

I can’t stop the tears from falling.

Chapter One

Chiara

Present, Aged 19

My flat is a mess; cardboard boxes are piled high in every corner, and a suitcase sits half-unzipped on the sofa with its contents threatening to spill out. The air smells like paint, and new carpet too, and I can’t help but grin widely.

“I think I might have overpacked.”

I say with a small laugh, glancing over at my brother who’s carrying in another box into my new place.

“Understatement of the year.” Dario says under his breath, setting the heavy box down on the coffee table with a slight huff. “Why does one person need so many things, Chiara?”

I bite down on my lips, trying to stop myself from laughing any further.

Papa, as he stands by the hallway, shakes his head as he adjusts his suit jacket. He’s dressed impeccably as always, even though it's a moving day for me, and this is just another one of our casual days together. His shirt is crisp, his tie is perfectly knotted, but his eyes carry a hint of weariness that never seems to leave him these days.

“I cannot believe this.” Papa mutters in a deep, rumbling voice. “My one and only daughter, living all alone in a flat. What kind of father allows this?”

I breathe out a laugh as I cross the room to wrap my arms around him, leaning into his hold.

“I’m only ten minutes away from you both, Papa. You’re acting like I’ve moved halfway across the world.”

He grumbles something in Italian which I don’t understand.

After moving here, Papa rarely spoke to us in Italian, and Dario and I didn’t know enough to continue speaking the language between ourselves.

I look up at Papa, noticing the way his expression softens as he hugs me back, his embrace warm and strong as I press my body against his, taking comfort in his hold.

“Ten minutes is still too far.” Papa says as he pulls away to press a kiss to my forehead. “If anything happens, you will call me immediately. No excuses.”

I smile, still looking up at him.

“I promise, Papa.”

He presses another kiss to my forehead, holding onto me a little bit longer.

“You better, Chiara.”

Papa says quietly, his words laced with a hint of warning, though his tone is gentle.

Dario’s voice rings out from somewhere in my new place.

“Chiara! Maybe you can come and help out, considering the fact that this is your new place?”

I roll my eyes as I pull away from Papa with a playful sigh.

“Your son is as dramatic as ever, Papa.”

He chuckles, giving me a small nudge in the direction of Dario’s voice.

“Go, Chiara, before your brother starts crying about me playing favourites again.”

I smile at Papa as I leave him, walking through my place before I find Dario in my kitchen, whistling a tune as he opens one box after another.

He’s surrounded by a mountain of mismatched mugs, plates, and utensils when I step inside.

“About time.” He says without even turning around. “I was starting to think that you lost the ability to move.”

I breathe out a laugh, shaking my head at my brother.

“I was too busy being the favourite child.” I retort as I step closer to him. “It’s not my fault that you can’t multitask.”

That makes him turn around.

Mouth wide, he stares at me like I’ve just slapped him across the face.

I swallow the bubble of laughter which threatens to move up my throat, and I step forward, opening up another box beside him.

Since Dario doesn’t know how to respond, he goes for another approach, one which makes me blush furiously.

“Since you’re bringing absolutely everything here, it’s only fair that I ask if you’re also planning to get married, pop out two babies, and move your new family in this place, Chiara?”

I turn on my heel, this time my mouth dropping open.

He. Did. Not.

Dario leans against the kitchen counter, a grin stretched along his lips as he folds his arms over his broad chest. 

“You’re so annoying, Dario!”

I shout, smacking his arm as I feel my face beginning to turn red.

Dario’s laughter booms around the kitchen as I shake my head, bringing my hair forward to cover my face.

I turn back around so my brother won’t see my flushed face as I start tidying up.

Even though Papa was the underboss back when we were in Italy, he drifted away from that part of his life after we moved to England. There are still the occasional phone calls here and there, but for the most part, Papa is no longer heavily involved.

Though, there are some duties both Dario and I are expected to uphold.

In my case, there are two main ones; to remain a virgin until I am married, and to marry a Made man.

It’s tradition.

Though Papa has never outright said anything, Dario has to me, and he’s always teased me with it ever since.

Just the thought of being back in that life makes my stomach feel weird—not with butterflies or even with dread—but with something in between.

It’s an odd feeling, that’s for sure.

“Come on, let’s finish up.”

Side by side, Dario and I continue tidying up, putting things in their places before we open some more boxes, repeating the entire process again.

It does take us some time to finish it all, but we do manage, and once we’re done in the kitchen, Dario slumps over, groaning when he spots a box that was hiding beneath the dining table all this time.

I stifle a laugh.

Papa steps into the kitchen from the hallway, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks at the kitchen.

“Good. I like that it is clean here.” He says as he surveys the space. “What about the hallway? There are many boxes left there.”

Again, Dario groans, almost ready to accept defeat.

Papa shakes his head, and I put both my hands on my hips.

“Hey! You were the ones who told me to buy all of this.”

I point out, my eyes darting between my father and my brother.

“They told you to buy everything but a mover.”

Tamana chimes in, stepping into the kitchen with a grin on her face.

She’s been helping me tidy up my bedroom before my family came over, so she hasn’t seen them until now. As she steps forward, she wraps her arms around Papa before pulling back, looking up at him.

“Papa F! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!”

Papa smiles at her, replying to her as she laughs.

Dario glances from her to me, raising an eyebrow.

“Is this the infamous Tamana you always speak of?”

I roll my eyes at him as I step forward, introducing them both.

“Mana, this is my very crazy, overprotective big brother, Dario. Dario, this is one of my closest friends from uni, Tamana.”

Tamana steps closer to Dario, extending her hand as her grin only widens across her pretty face.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, crazy, overprotective big brother, Dario.”

Dario reaches out to shake her hand, keeping his smile polite.

“Likewise. I’m sure I can count on you to keep an eye on my sister, yeah?”

Tamana’s eyes flicker to mine, and we both share a small, secret smile.

“Of course.” Tamana says for the sake of it. Then, with a wink in my direction, she adds, “But something tells me that your sister doesn’t need much looking after.”

Dario breathes out a laugh, then they both take a step back from each other.

Papa clears his throat, his deep voice cutting through the banter.

“Let us finish unloading, va bene? We should finish before it gets dark.”

I smile at him, grateful for his steady presence.

He’s changed in many ways, but he’s still my Papa; so strong, so protective, and he’s always there to keep me safe.

“I’ll finish up here.” Dario says. “You both can finish elsewhere.”

And with that, Tamana and I decide to hit the bathroom first, getting everything in order there.

It takes us almost another two hours, but finally, we’re done.

My new flat is already beginning to feel a lot like a home now.

Though it’s a little smaller than what I’m used to, it’s enough for me.

It’s perfect.

Papa takes another look around, his usual stern expression in place on his face, though I do see the faintest hint of pride in his eyes.

“This is beautiful.” He says as he moves to be closer to me. “You should be proud of yourself, Chiara. I know your mother would be.”

Just the thought of Mama being proud of me makes my throat feel tight.

I nod my head as I wrap my arms around his body, resting my head against his chest.

“Thank you, Papa.”

I say after a beat has passed.

He brushes a hand over my hair, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. 

“Of course.” He says, and as his arms tighten around me again, he adds, “Be careful, Chiara. Promise me that you will be careful, va bene?”

My breathing turns shaky at the emotion in his voice as I pull away, looking up at him.

“I promise, Papa.”

Dario takes a step forward, throwing his arm around my shoulder as he tugs me to his side.

“Don’t forget to update us.” My brother says, his tone light, but his expression serious. “Wherever you go, at whatever time, you let us know. Okay?”

I smile up at him.

“I know, Dario. You’ve only told me this about a million times now.”

The corners of his lips twitch.

“I’ll tell you the same thing a million more times.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “And if you think you’ll get away with not telling us, I’m going to turn up unannounced, haul you over my shoulder, and take you back home myself.”

I nudge him with my elbow, making him laugh, then I fold myself against his body.

“Thank you, Dario.” I say softly as I throw my arms around him. “I’m lucky to have you.”

He hugs me back, squeezing me so tightly that my memories take me back to the day of my mother’s funeral, when my brother had taken on the role of protector too.

“You don’t need to thank me, sorellina. Just please promise me that you’ll call if you ever need anything, no matter how big or small it may be.”

Dario tells me softly, pulling away to look down at me.

He holds my face between both of his hands, looking down at me like I’m the most precious thing he has.

I smile at my brother.

“Of course, Dario. You’re the best big brother, even if you are a little bit crazy, and majorly overprotective too.”

He smirks at me.

“Obviously.”

Papa breathes out a laugh behind us.

Turning around to face him, I notice the way his expression softens as he looks at us both again.

“Come on, Dario. Let Chiara settle in.”

After a little while, both Papa and Dario leave my new flat.

I feel a pang of sadness as I wave them both goodbye, watching them both walk away. And as I shut the door once they’ve both left, I look around my new place, and I smile to myself.

Tamana flops onto my sofa, scrolling through her phone as I finish putting on covers for all my new cushions.

She’s been glued to her screen for at least an hour now. I narrow my eyes, pretending to glare at her.

“You know, Mana, you could help a girl out here.”

She waves a hand in the air, her gaze fixed on her phone.

“Why would I do that when you’ve got it all under control? And besides, look at what I’ve found; this is way more exciting.”

She sits up, showing me the screen, but I don’t look at it.

Instead, I look at Tamana with a small smile playing on my lips.

“Even more exciting than my new place?”

The corners of her lips twitch.

“Way more, Chiara.” She says with a grin, standing up to take a step closer to me. “A new bar has opened up about two streets down, but there’s also a club in the basement of the place. It’s called Club 67, and from what I’ve seen, it looks like the place to be.”

I look at her phone, scrolling through the site as more photos, and deals, pop up.

They even have drink deals going on for university students too since it’s freshers week right now, and the start of the new academic year.

“It does look fun.” I tell her, my eyes scanning over the neon colours on the site, and the bold text advertising all the best deals too. “I wouldn’t mind going, but…”

I hesitate as I bite down on my bottom lip.

Clubbing has never been something I’ve really been into. Dario has taken me a few times to a couple of clubs, and I’ve gone to some others with a few of my friends, but I’ve never really understood the appeal of clubbing.

“Come on.” Tamana coaxes as she throws her phone to the sofa. “This is a day to celebrate your big move!”

I laugh softly, shaking my head at her.

“You aren’t going to drop this, are you, Mana?”

Her grin stretches wider along her lips.

“Never.”

Sighing, I take a look at the clock on my wall.

It’s not super late, and Papa and Dario will know about my whereabouts every minute that I spend at the place.

And Mana is right—I should celebrate what I’ve accomplished today.

“Fine.” I say at last. “We can go, but only for a little while. I still have things left to tidy.”

She cheers, jumping as she wraps her arms around me.

“Yes! Let’s get ready to party!”

We both laugh as we walk into my bedroom, and I’m glad that we decided to tidy up my room first.

I look through my wardrobe, wondering which outfit to wear tonight, when I suddenly remember something.

“What will you wear?”

Tamana pulls her handbag from my bed, flipping it over as she dumps the contents of it onto my bedding.

My lips part open as I spot what she’s brought with her to my place, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m always prepared for these things.”

She says.

Tamana walks through my room as she heads on over to my en-suit after blowing me a kiss.

I shake my head as she leaves, laughing as she begins singing in my bathroom. Reaching out for my phone, I quickly type out a message to Dario.

CHIARA: I’m going out to Club 67 now. It’s only a couple of streets away from here.

My brother replies to my message immediately.

DARIO: It’s a good place. Send me a message once you’re home, and be safe outside.

Just as my eyes finish reading over it, I spot the little blue dot blinking up at me from the top of my phone screen.

My lips pull up at the corners as my brother already begins to track my location, then I go back to get dressed for my night out with Tamana.

Tamana and I walk together with our arms linked as we make our way towards Club 67.

The streets of London are alive with energy; the city seems more alive at night, more electric too. People stroll all around us, chattering excitedly as they pass us.

When I hear the sounds of men howling with laughter, and the sounds of heels clicking against the cobblestones, I know we’re close.

We round the corner, and there it is.

Club 67.

The music is loud, the beat bouncing off of the walls inside as we can hear it from outside, and it makes my stomach flutter.

“Look at this place!” Tamana exclaims excitedly. “It’s packed already!”

There are floor to ceiling windows, and although it looks dark, there’s no mistaking how many shadows of bodies we can see inside under the coloured lights.

There’s a long line which snakes around the road, people slowly inching forward as the security at the front slowly lets them in, one person at a time.

I hesitate for a moment, turning to look over at Tamana.

“Maybe we can come back another day? There’s no way we’ll be getting in anytime soon.”

Tamana ignores me, deciding to pull me even closer to the entrance instead.

“Don’t even think about convincing me to leave now, Chiara.”

She says with a flick of her hair.

I keep my mouth shut as we both approach the front.

The line looks even longer from here, and I know that there’s absolutely no way that Tamana will ever be able to convince me to stand around in here with heels, waiting to be finally let inside. But before I can voice anything, Tamana tugs me even further towards the front of the line with a confidence I can only envy.

A few people glare at us, and some others even give us dirty looks. We both ignore them as Tamana drags us both to the security guard at the front. He’s dressed in all black, and a smirk appears on his face as the two of us step closer to him. His hair is light, and his jaw is sharp. His eyes sweep over us when we stop directly in front of him.

“Good evening, ladies.” He says in an accent so deep, it sends a shiver through me. “How can I help you both?”

Tamana is the one who leads the conversation.

She flashes him her most dazzling smile, offering her hand to him as he takes it without a sound of complaint, raising it to his lips before he presses a kiss to her knuckles.

“My friend here is new to the city.” She lies, her voice honey-smooth as she pulls her hand away from him. “I was hoping we would be able to show her how hospitable London can be for a beautiful woman like herself.”

Stepping to the side, she lets the man eye me up, and I feel my face burning up.

His gaze lingers long enough that my heart begins to beat a little bit faster, but he finally breathes out a soft laugh, stepping aside for us both.

“Two more beautiful women won’t hurt.” He says with a wink. “Enjoy your time here at Club 67, ladies.”

Tamana giggles softly, and I can’t help but smile, a little surprised that this even worked.

As we slip past the velvet rope, we thank the security guard, finally stepping inside the place.

And as soon as we’re in, the world shifts.

This place is alive in a way that makes my skin tingle, all my sensations already heightened. The air is thick with the scent of perfume, alcohol, and even the faint smell of cigarette smoke. The lights pulse in time with the music, and the room is covered in flashes of neon pinks, blues, and greens.

I love it already.

“Let’s head downstairs!”

Tamana shouts into my ear, the music around us too loud for us both to be able to speak normally.

After nodding at her, we walk further into the place before we find the stairs, making our way downstairs as the music here only seems to grow louder.

People are screaming here, laughing too, and the dance floor is a sea of bodies. Soon, Tamana and I join in, moving and swaying to the beat of the music. I feel the vibrations moving through the floorboards, sending a low buzz through each of our bodies.

“This is amazing!”

I shout out to Tamana over the music, watching her face light up with excitement.

“I told you this is great!” She shouts back, dragging me through the sea of bodies as we make it out the other end, finding ourselves at the bar. “Two mojitos.” She tells the bartender as she leans over the counter. “Thank you!”

He nods at her, his hands already moving as he begins making our drinks.

Sitting on one of the barstools, I look all around the place. The beat is even louder here now that I’m sitting down, and the crowd looks wilder. Everybody dances closely together, bodies pressed, faces lit up with excitement under the shifting lights. Despite my initial hesitation about coming to this place, I find myself smiling, turning to look over at Tamana.

“To a night we’ll never forget.”

She says with a grin, sliding me a drink as she clinks her glass to mine.

“To new beginnings.”

I reply, raising the glass as I bring it to my lips.

At first, the drink is sweet. I take a few more sips, and when I notice that Tamana has almost downed her glass in one go, I don’t hesitate to follow, swallowing every drop before I set the empty glass back down on the counter, already feeling a little more at ease now that I’ve got some liquid courage swimming through my veins.

Tamana grabs my hand again, already up from the barstool as her eyes gleam with pure energy.

“Come on, let’s dance!”

I laugh at her, shaking my head.

“We’ve just come back from dancing, Mana!”

She pouts at me.

“That’s not an excuse!” She insists, tugging me off as she pulls me towards the dance floor. “We look too good to just sit around tonight!”

I can’t argue with her, not when I know she’s right.

Before I know it, we’re both weaving through the crowd, finding a spot to have to ourselves towards the centre of the floor. Together, Tamana and I begin dancing, our hands up in the air as we sway our hips to the beat of the music.

The crowd around us moves in even closer, and I catch the eye of a man dancing nearby.

He’s at least a foot taller than me, with a confident smile that’s impossible to ignore. He steps closer towards us, his dark eyes locked on mine, an eyebrow raised as he presses his hands to either side of my hips. A thrill runs through me as I let him rest his hands there.

Dancing beside him, Tamana gives me a knowing look, winking as she spins around to find a partner of her own to dance with. I laugh when she wraps her arms around the first attractive person she sees, not even hesitating to begin dirty dancing with him.

Turning my attention back to the man in front of me, I notice the way his eyes travel all across my body; over the swell of my breasts, the narrowness of my waist, the curve of my backside. He leans down, his voice low as he says something I can’t quite understand over the loudness of the music.

I shake my head as I point towards my ear, and the man grins. He leans in even closer, only stopping when his lips are brushing against my skin as he speaks.

“You’re beautiful.”

He tells me, his voice warm and smooth.

I feel my cheeks heating up at his words.

“Thank you.”

I say, lifting my eyes to his.

We both dance together for a little longer, the stranger finding the confidence to move his hands to my backside, squeezing me firmly there. I can feel the electricity between us, and something wild stirs inside me, an urge to tease, an urge to push a boundary.

Both for his sake, and for mine.

I roll my hips against his, swaying in beat with the music, catching his gaze as I offer him a little smile. Placing my hands above his, I remove them from my body as I take a slow step backward, enjoying the way his eyes seem to follow me, almost desperately.

I throw my hair backward, stepping closer to him again, pressing my body to his. He shifts, rubbing his crotch against my front, and I gasp. I find myself grinding against him, feeling the rush of heat flood between my legs as he responds.

At first, it’s only playful; the music, the alcohol, the flirtation.

But when I lean in, tiptoeing although I already have heels on, I brush my lips against the side of his lips, feeling how he slides his hands up either side of my body, squeezing my flesh between his palms once again. I breathe out a soft laugh, barely giving him a chance to adjust before I throw my hands around the back of his head, pulling him down close until our lips are touching, our kiss fast and hungry. I deepen the kiss as my arms wrap tighter around him, the heat of his body matching mine.

Before this can lead to something else, I pull away, my breathing short and choppy. His eyes are darker now, his chest rising and falling as he tips his head down even lower.

“Careful.” He murmurs breathlessly. “Or you’ll get me hooked.”

I laugh as I drop my hands from around him, taking one step backward, and then another.

“Maybe that’s the plan.”

I tease with a wink, flashing him one last smile before I turn on my heels, scanning the ground to find Tamana.

I find her almost immediately, talking away to someone who looks just as interested in her as she does in him. When she spots me making my way towards her, she walks away from the guy, meeting me in the middle with a small wave.

“Having fun, Chiara?”

She asks me, her grin wide, and her eyes all too knowing.

I nod, brushing a strand of hair out of my face.

“You know I am!”

Laughing, she throws an arm around my shoulders, pulling me back into the dance floor.

As the night continues, Tamana and I dance away, losing ourselves in the music. We move, we drink, and we laugh until we can’t bear it any more, our sides aching, and our feet hurting. It’s only after that we’ve noticed the crowd beginning to thin out that we both decide to call it a night.

“We need to do this again.”

Tamana says immediately as we both step out from Club 67, the streets of London a little quieter now, but still alive with the hum of the city.

I nod my head at her, wrapping my arms around myself as we both begin walking back to my place.

“Thank you for convincing me to come here tonight.”

I say to Tamana, bumping my shoulder against hers.

“Anytime, Chiara.”

She replies with a grin.

As we soon approach my place, I take a look over my shoulder at the city, watching how the stars all seem to twinkle against the dark sky. And for the first time in a while, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Chapter Two

Chiara

Tamana steps out of her heels the second we step through the door, her face scrunching up as she looks down at herself.

“Why the hell would someone do such a thing? I can’t believe I’m the only one who got splashed!”

I stifle a laugh, shutting the door behind us as I lock it before turning back to look at her.

I slip my own heels off as I bend down, rubbing my sore feet.

“Consider it an early shower, Mana.”

I say, thinking back to what happened only a few minutes ago, with a car deliberately speeding too close to a puddle, eager to get us both wet.

The look she sends me makes me laugh out loud.

“I’m going to take a shower.” She says, groaning as she looks down at her dress again. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

I nod my head at her—she already knows where everything is—and then she’s off.

I hear the door click, and the faint rush of water as she starts the shower.

Standing back up, I walk towards my sofa as I take a seat, stretching my legs along the length of it. I yawn, pressing my hand to my mouth, as I unlock my phone to send Dario a quick message.

CHIARA: We’re home now. Today was fun :)

Hitting send, I leave my phone on my coffee table as I shut my eyes, sighing softly.

I’m exhausted.

Packing in the day, and partying in the night.

Who would have thought?

I’m able to relax for a few moments, and then I hear it.

It’s a faint sound, low and muffled.

A thud.

My eyes snap open as my heart lurches in my chest. Sitting up straighter, I glance towards the hallway, but my front door is still locked. The shower is still running, but I know the sound didn’t come from there. The sound I heard had been much deeper, heavier too.

“Tamana?”

I call out, my voice a little shaky.

There’s no reply, and I know it’s because she probably can’t hear me from the bathroom.

I swallow hard, feeling my heart beat faster as I glance all around the room. Everything looks the same—all the doors are locked and bolted exactly how we left them—but the sound remains in my mind, sending all sorts of thoughts rushing through my head.

As I reach for my phone, I glance at the screen. Dario hasn’t replied to me yet. I take some deep breaths as I debate whether to call him or not, but ultimately decide not to after checking the time.

Maybe I’ve just heard something from outside.

That’s the only reasonable thing I can think of.

Still, I feel uneasy. I finally stand up from the sofa, all of my nerves frazzled, as I make my way towards my front door. I test the handle, and let out a deep sigh of relief when I find that the door is still locked.

I check all the rooms in this place, and although my flat isn’t that big, every small step feels like a massive journey now.

I can’t find anything in any of these rooms.

Nothing in my kitchen.

Nothing in my bedroom.

Nothing in my hallway.

There’s absolutely nothing.

Shaking my head, I rub at the tension in the back of my neck.

“You’re being ridiculous.” I mutter to myself. “Completely and utterly ridiculous.”

Just as I’m about to head back to my living room, I hear it again.

Another thud.

This one is louder.

My chest feels tight as I gasp, turning around, noticing the way the curtains are fluttering with the window cracked open, exactly how I left it. Wind blows through, chilling me to my core. I step closer to the window, peering out cautiously.

Nothing.

Closing it, I rub a hand over my face, forcing myself to breathe.

But I can’t.

And my chest feels tighter than ever now.

I head back to the living room, hearing the shower still running as I sink into the sofa, clutching my phone in my hand as I desperately hope my brother will reply to my message. If he does, I’ll have an excuse to call him, and I’ll make something up so he can come over.

Dario will take care of this; I know he will.

Suddenly, Tamana steps into the room, and I just about stop myself from screaming bloody murder when I spot her standing at the front of the flat in only a towel.

“That shower was great!” She says, flashing me a grin. When she sees the look on my face, her face drops. “What’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I force a smile as I shake my head at her.

“No ghosts, Mana. I’m just tired.”

Though she does raise an eyebrow at me, she doesn’t press me for anything else.

She turns around as she heads on towards my bedroom to change, and I tell her to give me a shout once she’s ready to sleep.

As the flat becomes quiet again, I can’t help but look back at the window, feeling my stomach tighten with nerves.

Something feels wrong—I just don’t know what.

Releasing a shaky breath, I try to push the unease away, but the tension in my chest only seems to grow. I try to shake it off, try to convince myself that it’s nothing, but I can’t.

Something. Is. Wrong.

Finally, my phone buzzes in my hand, and I jolt. The vibration of the notification sends adrenaline rushing through me, and I glance down at the screen, reading my brother’s name, as my thumb hovers over to click on the notification.

But before I can, I feel something cold and hard press against the back of my neck.

I freeze.

Every single nerve in my body locks up, the shape of the item unmistakable.

A gun.

My breathing hitches, my throat becoming tight as my phone slips from my fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. I hear footsteps behind me, measured and deliberate, as the gun is pressed harder against my body.

I feel like I’m going to pass out.

There’s another set of footsteps, and the sound makes my head jerk. I gasp when I realise there’s a figure there, and as he steps into view, his presence dominates the room.

The man is tall, easily broad, and is dressed in black from head-to-toe. A black jacket stretches across his muscular build, and his shoes thud against the floor as he moves, each step purposeful. At first, I think his face is hidden by the shadows at the edge of this room, but I soon realise that he has a balaclava on, concealing his entire face except for his eyes; pale, sharp, and as cold as ice. They lock with mine, and I feel him stripping me bare with just a single look.

I can’t breathe.

My chest tightens, and my lungs fail me.

As he crouches low in front of me, he plucks my phone off from the floor, barely tipping his head back to look at me. Gloved fingers glide across my screen as he studies the notification, then he places it down on the coffee table, looking at the person standing behind me with a gun pressed to my neck.

My stomach flips.

“Her brother has sent a message.”

He says, his voice low and smooth, an accent I recognise as Russian falling from his lips.

I feel tears pricking the back of my eyes.

The person standing behind me shifts, and the barrel of the gun digs deeper into my neck. I feel my breathing becoming uneven, becoming shallow.

“She’s a smart girl.”

The person—the man—standing behind me says.

He breathes out a laugh, and then all attention is back to the man who’s crouched in front of me.

“Stay quiet.” He says in a sharp tone. “It’ll be easier for all of us that way.”

My body refuses to move, frozen in place as his words settle over me.

They are going to kidnap me.

I can’t breathe.

Eyes filled with tears, I try to process what’s happening, to figure out who these men are, and why they’re here.

They. Are. Going. To. Kidnap. Me.

All I can do is sit on my backside, trembling, as the man’s piercing eyes stare into mine, stripping away any sense of control I once thought I had.

Papa moved us all the way here to England so we would all be safe, but now…

“She’s not moving.” The man behind me grits out. “Tell her to move before it’s too late.”

The man in front of me leans in closer, his chest touching my knees, and his eyes boring into mine as my stomach flips.

“If you don’t move now,” he says, his voice a low, measured threat. “That girl in the other room will die.”

My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I stop breathing entirely.

I feel my lungs burn with the need to breathe, but I can’t inhale, nor can I exhale. His awful words echo all around my head, becoming louder and louder until they drown out every other single thought.

Tamana.

One of my closest friends, the girl I now consider my sister. Her smiles, and her laughter. The way she always keeps me happy, always excited to show me around the city, and how she’s so ambitious and brave.

I blink rapidly, feeling fat drops of tears rolling down my cheeks.

I want to scream—want to do as my brother and father have always told me to do—but I can’t.

I can’t make any noise, and I can’t waste their time.

But if I do, then maybe Dario will realise that something is wrong, and maybe he’ll come bursting through my door with Papa hot on his heels.

They both said they would protect me, always, and I know that it’s true.

But the thought of Tamana being harmed…

Her life is in my hands, and if I do anything reckless—she’s gone.

I can’t be the reason behind another person’s death…another person’s murder.

A broken sound escapes me, part sob, part whimper, as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Okay.” I whisper, my voice trembling as my hands begin to shake too. “Okay, I’ll move.”

The man crouched low in front of me looks behind me, and the man holding the gun at my back releases a pleased hum, the sound of it rumbling deep as though my surrender is everything he’s wanted to hear.

“Good girl.” He says, his voice curling all around the words like smoke. “Let’s get moving now.”

My stomach twists as I clench my hands into fists in my lap.

Standing back up to his full length, the man in front of me rises, reaching into his pocket. When he pulls away, my chest tightens as I see the strip of fabric between his fingers, and I already know what’s coming next.

“No!”

It’s a cry, a plea, but it’s barely audible, and it makes no difference.

He doesn't care to hear me.

Wrapping the blindfold over my eyes, he thrusts me into darkness, forcing more sobs to leave me. The world closes in around me, and all I can focus on is the sound of my own ragged breathing, and the soft scuffle of their movements.

Something cold snaps around my wrists, and I flinch as I realise that handcuffs are being locked into place. As soon as they’re on, the man behind me moves, his hand coming up to cover my mouth. His palm feels rough against the soft skin of my face, and his grip is firm as he forces his hand even tighter around me, trying to stop me from breathing altogether.

I jerk against him, becoming desperate to be able to breathe properly, but he doesn’t care.

“Shush.”

The man behind me murmurs quietly, his voice filled with dark amusement.

As quickly as his hand is moved away, something replaces it, silencing me completely. It’s invasive, and it cuts off any chance of being able to call for help.

A gag, I realise, as my tongue is forced further into my mouth, bile rising in my throat as the urge to throw up only grows.

My mind spirals into a panic, and my breathing is short and choppy, my chest feeling tight.

Hands grip my shoulders and neck, forcing me down onto the ground as my knees hit the floor. The trembling becomes worse, tears hot as they slip down my cheeks, my mind spinning with the realisation of what’s about to happen to me.

Then suddenly, a sharp pain.

A prick felt at the side of my neck.

Slowly, the world tilts, even in my state of total darkness, as my entire body becomes heavy, my limbs unresponsive. My body sways, and my heart rate picks up. Something in my vision changes, and then—pure darkness. It swallows me whole, taking me under, before I can even think another coherent thought.

Chapter Three

Chiara

Everything is spinning all around me.

I’m vaguely aware of movement, the low hum of an engine vibrating beneath me, but even then, I’m not too sure. My thoughts are too confusing now, and my memory is hazy.

There’s a voice, deep and low, as it bounces all around. I can’t understand the words, some English, and others not, but the dark rumble of his tone is familiar. My head rests against something solid, and I feel the gentle pull of fingers running through my hair.

I wish I could move, I wish I could speak, but my limbs are useless now, and my lips won’t part open. My eyelids are impossibly heavy, but I fight to open them, and slowly, I feel my lashes flutter.

The first thing I see is him.

Under the faint glow of street lights flashing through the car windows, I see him.

Pale blue eyes like shards of ice lock onto mine, and a smirk tugs at his lips—barely there—but it’s enough to make my heart skip a beat.

I moan softly.

At that sound, his fingers tighten around my hair. It’s not enough to hurt me, but it’s enough to force me in place against his body.

As he leans down, I notice the way his smirk grows dangerous, his lips parting as he speaks, his words sending a shiver through me.

“Good morning, beauty.”

He murmurs, his accent curling around each of the three words, smooth and distinctly Russian.

His voice makes my head swim as I blink sluggishly at him, trying to focus on everything that’s happening now.

He breathes me in, his eyes closing shut, and he groans.

My heart races.

They open again, his jaw sharp and clenched, as he leans in to nudge his nose against mine. My breathing catches in my throat. He looks at me—his eyes darting between either one of mine—and that’s when I spot the predator’s gaze in his eyes.

As he pulls away from me, I spot the edge of a tattoo snaking up his neck, and the scar that appears from his stubble stretches along to the bridge of his nose.

I gasp softly, and he chuckles in response. The sound is low and dangerous, and as he begins to play with my hair again, he brings his other hand to my mouth. My chest squeezes with panic, remembering the way his fingers were pressed against me to keep me quiet, but he only brushes his thumb along my bottom lip.

“Back to bed, beauty. We’ll be home in no time.”

My mind spins.

“Home?”

I manage to croak, the word barely able to escape my dry throat.

The man doesn’t answer me. Instead, he looks away from me, and over towards the front of the car. The weight of his palm on my head is almost soothing, and against my will, I find my eyes fluttering shut.

The fight drains out of me.

I don’t know how much time has passed.

Everything aches, and my mind…my mind won't stop. I drift from thoughts to memories, a cycle of terror and fear that won’t let me rest. As a tear slips down my cheek, a small sob escapes me, sounding weak and broken as it leaves me. 

There’s one question blaring at the back of my mind.

Did she feel this way too?

The thought of my mother slams into me like a blow to my chest. I feel my heart twisting painfully as the tears fall even faster now, and I begin to gasp for air, desperate to finally breathe.

Was this how Mama felt?

When she shoved me away, and she ordered me to hide, and she told me to never come out until Papa was the one to call for me, did she know she was going to die?

Did she cry for us when the first shot was fired?

My shoulders begin to shake as my sobs grow louder, my head moving from side to side as I curl my arms around my middle, desperate to hold onto myself.

There’s a shift in the air, then fingers—rough, calloused—brush against my check. A soft murmur is heard as the touch startles me, but I can’t move away. I can’t even try to.

“Don’t cry.” The voice mocks me in its calmness. “Crying will not do anything.”

The hand wipes away the tears which streak down my cheek, slow and deliberate, as though he is slicing into the soft flesh of my face.

I open my eyes, sobbing harder when I see the same man there. He looks down at me, his face void of any compassion, as he continues swiping at my tears.

My thoughts only spiral further. 

Will my family even have the chance to find my body?

With Mama, we were able to hold a funeral.

Will the same be possible for me?

“I want to go home!”

I choke out, my throat tightening as a flash of anger washes over his face.

His fingers tighten around my jaw as he breathes out sharply, eyes dark as they bore into mine.

“You will go home, beauty.” He murmurs softly, his thumb moving higher as he presses the soft pad of it to the corner of my lips. “Save your tears for then.”

His words terrify me.

All I can think about is Papa and Dario.

How will they react?

Losing our mother almost ruined them both, almost ruined their relationship too.

If they lose me too…

I take a deep breath in, hiccuping as fresh tears flow down my cheeks all over again.

“Stop crying.” He says again, his voice sharper this time. “You won’t die, beauty. Not now. Not with us.”

The promise—the threat—hangs heavy in the air.

As I’m pulled into the dark again, my thoughts drift to my family once more.

Papa.

Dario.

This will ruin them.

This will be the end for them.

As my protectors, they will do everything to save me.

What happens if they can’t?

The question is drowned out by the haze as I slip further into unconsciousness.

Chapter Four

Chiara

My chest heaves as I jolt into consciousness, waking with a gasp. My body still doesn’t move the way I want it to, and my limbs still feel like dead weight.

Blinking, I try to adjust to the dark room, but it’s not helping. I release a deep breath knowing that I’m no longer in the moving car.

As my head moves to one side, I feel the ache in my neck—the space where I felt that scratch—and it makes me wince. When I try to raise my hands to touch that sore spot, I realise that my wrists have been bound together.

A whimper escapes me, quiet and raw, as I try to pull against the restraint. It only digs even deeper into either one of my wrists, forcing my hands even tighter together. My breathing becomes uneven, the sharp gasps bouncing between the walls of this room.

It’s then that I hear it.

Footsteps.

The floor creaks beneath the sound of heavy shoes making their way towards me. The sound is measured and deliberate, and every step makes my stomach twist painfully harder, fear exploding in my chest as I squeeze my eyes shut.

I pray that this is just another one of my fucked up nightmares, but I’m not that lucky.

When I open my eyes again, the footsteps are closer, and louder too. Two shadows appear in the doorway of the room, both bodies broad as they tower above me, their presence suffocating me in this dark room.

Not one word is uttered as they step inside. Still dressed in their clothes from before—how many hours, or even days, has it been now?—they don’t stop moving until they’re standing right in front of me.

The one on the right reaches up first, his gloved hand lifting to tug the mask away from his face, and my heart stops.

It’s the same man from before…but it’s also not.

Their features are the same; high cheekbones, a strong nose, a sharp jaw, and full lips. His hair is cropped short, blond, and there’s a faint scar along his hairline.

My breathing stutters as I look away from him, and over at the man standing on the left.

When he pulls his mask off next, I recognise him.

I look between both men again, feeling bile rising in my throat.

Twins.

Identical.

They share the same dangerous aura too.

But there are some differences too, subtle ones. Like their scars, for example, and the areas where they’re pierced too.

The man standing on the left has a small lip ring, opposite to where the scar appears from, as well as a few different studs all along his ear.

The man on the right only has two piercings; a small stud on his nose, and another in his ear.

They both take a step closer towards me, matching smirks on their identical faces, causing my blood to run cold. The wicked curves of their lips does nothing to keep me calm. My breathing becomes faster as my chest tightens, and the sound of my beating heart in my ears drowns out everything else.

I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. My throat is too raw, too dry, and the words die before I can even form them.

“Good morning, beauty.” The one with the lip ring says again. He steps closer to me, crouching low so he can meet my eyes, his cold eyes scanning all over my face. “We were wondering how much longer it would be before you finally woke up again.”

I drag my eyes away from him to look over at the other man.

He watches me silently, his gaze unrelenting as the corners of his lips twitch.

My lungs feel tight as my chest heaves, struggling to draw in air.

I can’t breathe.

“Easy, easy.” The man crouching in front me says, his hand reaching out to grip my chin. His touch is firm as he tilts my head to the side slightly, forcing me to meet his cold eyes. “Don’t pass out on us now, beauty. That would ruin all the fun.”

I feel tears blurring my vision as I try to pull away from him. His hold on me only tightens as he brushes his thumb lightly against my jaw. I swallow a couple of times, noticing how quickly his eyes drop down to my throat, watching me, before I’m able to open my mouth.

“W-Who are you both?”

I manage to whisper.

Lifting his eyes back to mine, he smirks.

“You’ll find out soon enough, beauty.”

I flinch at his words, flinch as he calls me that—beauty—as I try to push up onto my bottom.

My head spins as I move, and I hear them both take a sharp breath in.

Finally, I’m sitting upright, my back pressed to the wall.

The second man steps forward, and now, both brothers are completely invading my space. Under their watchful eyes, I feel myself shrinking. My thoughts race back to my father and my brother, my stomach sinking as I think of Tamana.

I hope she’s safe, and I hope she’s able to get to my family if she hasn’t already.

I hope my father and my brother are on their way to save me now.

My body begins to tremble uncontrollably, a mixture of both fear and exhaustion, as the other man crouches down too. Both pairs of icy blue eyes study me, scanning every inch of me as they strip me bare with only their gazes.

I become paralysed under their stares.

“How are you feeling?”

The man who has just moved asks me, his voice low and deep, each word measured and deliberate as he speaks to me.

I take a few deep breaths in, forcing my throat to work, but the air in this room has become too thick, and I find myself choking on the sob that’s lodged in my chest. My heart beats violently against my ribs, and my blood rushes through my veins, each beat of my heart slamming into every part of my body.

The man in front of me—not the one who spoke just a second ago—tilts his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“What’s happened? Cat got your tongue, beauty?”

Beauty.

I’ve lost count of how many times he’s called me that now.

Swallowing hard, I try to shake off the panic that’s threatening to drown me.

“W-Why am I here?”

I ask both men in front of me softly, my voice small as it trembles.

I hate how weak it makes me sound.

Neither one answers me.

Instead, they simply stare at one another. The sound of deep breathing fills the silence of the room, and the same man who’s been speaking suddenly reaches out, his fingertips brushing against my cheek in a soft way, clearly a mockery of gentleness.

I flinch instinctively, pressing back into the wall, but there's nowhere to go, and nowhere to escape.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about that, beauty.”

He murmurs, his eyes locked on my lips which have now curled into my mouth.

As my breathing grows uneven, I feel tears blurring my vision when he begins stroking along my cheekbone.

The other twin leans in closer, his eyes narrowing as he watches the scene unfold in front of him.

Something is muttered under his breath to his twin, but the words aren’t in English.

My entire body freezes as the foreign words bounce in the air between us, sounding harsh and guttural.

I know I heard it before.

The accent.

But after waking up, they sound a little different.

And now that they’ve switched languages…

I’m able to confirm exactly which language it is that they’re speaking.

Russian.

My heart races in my chest.

Even though we’re not really involved in the Mafia any more, I know Papa still talks to some of the members, and I know that there are others he absolutely refuses to speak with; those who argued that the alliance between the Russians and the Italians should be respected even after all that was done.

I don’t know the full details, but I do know this: The Russian Bratva had a hand in our family relocating to England.

“W-What are you saying?”

I whisper softly.

They’re both too focused on each other now to pay me any attention. The man in front of me murmurs something as his hand drops from my face, and his twin chuckles darkly. The sound sends a shiver through my body.

They’re both too close, their presence is too suffocating, and the way that they’re looking at me…it doesn’t seem like I'm their captive; it seems like I’m something precious, something that they can’t let go off.

My breathing hitches as I force myself to speak again.

“Tell me what you want with me.”

A glance is exchanged between the pair of twins, a silent conversation passing between them both.

When they turn to look back at me, my heart sinks.

“You.” The one who’s been talking all this time says, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “We want you.”

The other brother breathes out a laugh, a dark edge to his low chuckle.

“And now, we have you.”

Tears continue falling down my face.

“Hush, beauty. There’s no need to cry.”

The other twin murmurs, his voice quieter now, and in a twisted way, even a little soothing too.

His gaze softens slightly as he reaches out, swiping his thumbs over my cheeks as he brushes the tears away.

My chest tightens painfully as both strangers continue staring at me.

More Russian words are murmured between them, and fear consumes me. I have no idea what words are being said, but the way that they’re both looking at me makes it obvious enough.

They want me.

They have me.

My stomach hurts.

“Are you hungry?”

My eyes meet his again—the one who’s been talking all along—as I blink at him, now feeling more disoriented than ever.

Hungry?

I don’t know if I’m hungry.

My stomach is hurting, but that’s not from hunger; it’s from the deep, gnawing fear which hasn’t left me ever since I woke up in this awful nightmare.

The other twin—the quieter one—scoffs softly, shaking his head at his brother.

“Our darling needs to empty her bladder first.”

He mutters, his tone sounding so clinical.

As soon as the words are said, I feel a sharp pulse of wariness through my body, and I realise he’s right. I do need to go. The pressure has been building, and I’ve been so busy trying to protect myself from them that I haven’t paid it any attention.

I squeeze my legs together, almost whimpering too, praying that the sensation will go away, but acknowledging it only makes it worse.

I need to go now.

“Come on.”

The loudmouth grips me by my arm, yanking me up to my feet as I let out a startled sound.

My legs are weak, and I feel myself stumbling towards him, my body falling into his chest. His strong masculine scent fills my nose as I jerk back, trying to free myself from him, but I ultimately fail.

His grip on me is too tight.

He holds me in place as his palm slides down my back, freeing my hands as I gasp, my skin so sensitive as he runs his fingertips across my sore skin.

“Don’t even think about fighting me, beauty.”

The man murmurs into my ear, his voice sharp as he jolts me slightly, steadying me onto my feet.

He begins to walk, and I have no other choice but to follow behind him. His grip is painful along my arm. As he leads us out of the dark room, I feel my heart hammering in my chest. Footsteps sound out behind me, but as I turn around, I see the other twin retreating into the hallway, his eyes sharp as he watches me being taken away.

As I’m tugged into another room, the first thing I notice is how clean this one looks compared to the one I was in before. There’s a toilet here, a sink, a bathtub too, and a mirror that’s placed on the far wall. The white tiles gleam under the dim light in the bathroom, but there’s nothing comforting about this space. It’s too clinical, and the man standing beside me is making it impossible to relax.

“Go, beauty.”

He orders, releasing my arm as he folds both of his across his broad chest.

I hesitate as I look up at him, feeling my throat bob as I swallow hard.

His icy blue eyes narrow down at me, and his lips press into a thin line.

He’s already losing patience with me.

“Do you need me to guide you all the way to the toilet?”

My face burns as he asks me that question, amusement clear in his tone.

I shake my head as I take a step forward, followed by another, and another.

“N-No.”

Though my legs are shaky, and his presence is unmistakable at my back, I shuffle closer to the toilet.

My mind races as my eyes dart all over—thoughts of escape playing in my head—but there’s no chance of escape. There aren’t any windows, or any other doors here.

There’s only the suffocating presence of my captor.

“Move before I make you, beauty.”

It’s a throaty growl, another order, as my entire body trembles.

I look down, finally taking notice of myself after being conscious again, and my stomach twists. I’m still dressed in what I was wearing out to Club 67 with Tamana, and I have no shoes on. My feet suddenly feel cold against the tiles.

Keeping my eyes on the ground, I drag my underwear to just below my knees, and I lower myself to the toilet.

I hate this.

I hate how powerless this makes me feel.

I hate how exposed I am.

I hate how his gaze burns into me.

“I’m not leaving until you’re done.” He mutters impatiently. “Do what you need to do, beauty.”

Again, another wave of humiliation washes over me, but I have no choice.

It needs to be done.

Closing my eyes, I try to ignore everything; the situation, the fear, and the shame.

My fingernails dig into the soft flesh of my thighs as I only focus on getting through this moment.

Finishing up quickly, I flush before moving to the sink, desperate to wash my hands, but also to do something that feels relatively normal. The water is cold as it splashes against my skin, and I barely waste time before I’m scrubbing at both hands, trying to get myself all cleaned up.

When I look up, and I spot my reflection in the mirror, I freeze.

It looks like there’s a stranger staring back at me.

Her eyes are bloodshot from exhaustion, and her face is pale and drawn. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, and this only deepens the hollow look in her expression. Her hair falls messily around her face, and there’s a faint bruise appearing on the side of her neck.

I swallow hard, my throat becoming tighter with every second that passes, knowing that this stranger staring at me is me.

Panic fills my chest as all sorts of thoughts race through my head.

How long have I been out?

How long have these psychos kept me here?

I try my best to remember everything, but my mind is hazy from whatever it was that they used on me. After their appearance at my new place, and the journey in the car, I can’t remember much else.

I blink a few times, my fingers gripping onto the sides of the sink to hold myself steady, when the reflection of a man appears behind me in the mirror.

My stomach immediately drops.

His figure stands behind me, observing me silently. His presence feels like a heavy weight pressing against me, and I immediately look away, tearing my eyes away from him. I turn the tap off, shaking my hands, allowing the droplets of water to fall down into the sink, as another thought hits me; I’ve been knocked out for hours now, if not even more. My heart races as my breath catches in my throat, fear filling every space inside me.

What if Papa and Dario think I’ve left on my own accord?

What if they never find me?

My chest tightens as I force myself to breathe out, my eyes closing momentarily as I fill my lungs with a mouthful of air. When a hand darts out to grab my arm again, I flinch as my eyes fly open. His grip on me is firm as he tugs me backward, my back touching his front. My heart pounds as we walk away from the mirror together.

“Let’s get moving, beauty.”

I have no choice but to comply.

My legs are still unsteady from everything that’s happened, but he doesn’t seem to care. And I’m too terrified to open my mouth again.

When we step into another room, I hear the muffled voice of another person first—his twin. He steps forward, his eyes locking with the man pressed behind me, and he nods. Almost immediately, the atmosphere in the room changes; now becoming more quiet, and cold.

A chill runs down my spine.

I look around this room, recognising it as a kitchen of sorts. There's a dining table in the centre, and a few dishes and utensils scattered all around the countertops.

It looks like everything has been put together at the very last minute.

The man holding onto me pushes me forward, forcing me further into this space. His twin steps closer too, and as I look up to glance over at him, I’m met with the same cold intensity. His expression is unreadable as my heart thuds painfully hard in my chest. I try to steady my breathing, but I can’t stop shaking.

“Take a seat, darling.”

He tells me, pointing to a chair at the table.

I don’t argue with him. I can’t argue with him.

So I do the only thing that I can do, and I move.

My legs feel numb as I pull the chair out, forcing myself to take a seat at the table.

The man who’s been holding onto me finally pulls away, moving to stand beside his twin.

Both men stand there, silent as they watch me, but I can’t look up at them.

I. Just. Can’t.

My mind is still racing with thoughts of my family.

Where are they?

Will they come for me?

Do they have any idea what’s happened?

I want to scream for help, but I know that it’ll do nothing.

I’m trapped here, completely at their mercy, and the realisation of this awful situation makes my stomach drop.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to push down the panic, but it’s too strong, too overwhelming.

The twin who was already here in this room steps forward, pushing a plate of toast in front of me. My mouth waters as I notice the thick spread of jam on both pieces of bread. My stomach tightens too as a sharp pang of hunger gnaws at me.

I hesitate as I stare at the toast, unsure if I can trust it after everything that has been done to me, when my body betrays me. The hunger is too much, and I can’t hold back any longer.

Reaching out for a slice, I bring it to my lips, fingers trembling as I move it closer.

I take a bite of the toast, chewing mechanically, the sweet taste of jam overpowering the bland bread. It’s hard to swallow, but I force it down, taking another bite. The hunger inside me only intensifies, and I’m desperate to satisfy that ache. Though the food sits uncomfortably in my stomach, I continue eating.

For a moment, a small part of me wonders whether this might be poisoned, whether they wanted me to give in to this so they can watch me die slowly, obviously masters in this twisted game of theirs. The thought floats around in my head, and I almost welcome it.

With death, I’ll be free.

With death, I’ll be reunited with my mother.

The pain of this nightmare will end, and these men will never be able to have me.

But the other part of me—the part that’s desperate to fight to survive, that refuses to give up—tells me that I can’t think like this. I can’t give these men the satisfaction of seeing me break. I need to stay alive, and I need to return to my family.

My Mama would want me to survive, she would want me to keep on going.

Taking another bite, I feel both gazes burning hot into me. They’re speaking softly again, languages changing between Russian and English, voices low so I’m not able to make out what they’re saying. I raise my eyes, noticing the way they both have their eyes on me, and it only makes me squirm uncomfortably in my seat.

Choosing to ignore them both, I focus on finishing the food in front of me. I force myself to finish both slices of toast, my stomach twisting with every swallow that I take. I don’t care if I’ll be sick later—I need to eat now. As I finish my last bite, I can’t shake off the feeling of dread crawling up my spine.

My fingers shake as I rest my hands back down on my lap. My legs tremble beneath them, and I notice the dirt smeared all along my skin. The silence in the room is thick with unspoken tension. Neither one of the twins have said anything to me yet; they still haven’t told me what they want, or why they’re doing this.

Not knowing their intentions behind this is the worst part.

The twin who fed me speaks first, and my eyes glance up at him, noticing the way his eyes flicker all over my face as his jaw tightens when he speaks in Russian. I don’t understand what he’s saying, but the intensity of his gaze, and the weight of his attention presses down on me. His twin leans back slightly, his arms now folded across his chest. They’re standing so close together, it’s almost as if they’re waiting for something—waiting for me to react, waiting for me to break.

I won’t.

Not yet.

I’m not giving them that satisfaction.

My mind races as I continue thinking of a way to escape, but the reality of this situation is suffocating.

How can I run?

How can I scream?

They’ve taken me, and now I’m trapped.

The worst thing is I have zero idea of their intentions behind this.

Glancing back down to my lap, I notice how white my knuckles have become. I force myself to relax, releasing a heavy breath out, trying to keep my composure. Every nerve in my body screams at me to do something—anything—to make this stop, but I can’t. It’s useless. Right now, I’m at their mercy, and the only thing I can do is wait.

Wait for them to tell me their reasoning behind this.

Wait for whatever it is that comes next.

When I glance up again, I spot the twins still watching me, like predators who are waiting for their next move. Without warning, they both stalk towards me again, their movements fluid and predatory. One twin steps forward, taking hold of my arm as he guides me up from the chair. Again, I stumble, my legs still shaky, but I manage to stay on my feet.

Together, we walk back into the room I woke up in, and I can’t help but sink down onto the floor once we’re inside. My breath is coming out in shallow gasps as the exhaustion hits me hard, then both brothers drop down to their knees in front of me.

My chest squeezes, and my eyes widen.

“Please tell me.” I whisper breathlessly. “Why have you taken me?”

One laughs, but it’s not a pleasant sound.

It’s low, and it’s dark, and it sends a shiver down my spine. The other brother only shakes his head, his lips turning up at the corners, almost like he finds this all amusing.

The brother with the lip ring speaks first.

“Like I’ve already said, beauty, we want you.”

The other brother continues speaking.

“And we have you. What don’t you understand, darling?”

My bottom lip trembles as I blink furiously, trying my best not to cry.

“But why?” I whisper, feeling my throat becoming dry. “Why me?!”

They refuse to answer me.

Swallowing down my sobs, I shake my head slightly, the dizziness making my thoughts scatter all over. Slowly, the vision in front of me begins to split, like I’m seeing double now.

Two men become four; two pairs of identical faces staring straight at me, the same cold expression on all four faces.

I find it hard to breathe, because why would they ever want me?

Russians…Bratva…

There may have been an alliance between the Russians and the Italians, but I have no idea why they would risk breaking that by taking me. Even if we’re no longer part of it, I still grew up in the Mafia as a princess, and there’s no way the Don would ever let this slide. .

It’s betrayal.

“You’re Bratva.” I croak out, my eyes soon filling with tears. “What use am I to you?”

Their expressions harden at the sound of that word falling from my lips.

The silence that follows is deafening, and my heart skips a beat as fear rushes through my veins, seizing my lungs.

I should have realised it sooner.

I have no idea why I didn’t.

The Bratva.

The Russian mafia.

They’ve taken me, and now I’m trapped.

I’m a prisoner of theirs.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think.

I can’t move.

My body begins to tremble.

When I open my mouth again, my voice comes out shaky, and unsure.

“Why do you want me?” I ask. “I thought the Russians and the Italians were at peace. The men in my family are no longer involved, so whatever it is you think they have done, they haven’t. They are innocent, and so am I.”

My words are laced with fear as I rasp them out.

Jaws tighten as fingers curl into fists. The men look at each other, soft murmurs of Russian words passed between them.

And when they look back at me…

I can barely breathe.

This is bad.

So. Very. Bad.

Please God, don’t let me die the same way Mama did.

One opens his mouth to speak, but before I can hear what he has to say, the world around me begins to blur. My vision darkens at the edges, and the room spins. Again, my body betrays me.

I’m falling, falling, falling.

The last thing I hear is their voices, low and unintelligible, as my consciousness slips away.

The darkness claims me again. 

Chapter Five

Nikolai

The Bratva is a world which has been built on blood, loyalty, and ruthless violence. It is not a world for the weak, or the soft-hearted.

The Bratva is a world where power is the only currency that matters, where loyalty to the family—my family—is paramount, and where enemies are disposed of swiftly, with absolutely zero hesitation.

The Bratva is a world where nothing stands in the way of ambition.

And make no mistake, the Bratva doesn’t play by the rules of the outside world.

In our world, it’s kill or be killed, betray or be betrayed.

I was born into this world, born into a legacy that has been carved from the darkest depths of human nature.

As the eldest sons of the Pakhan, the leader of this ruthless empire, my brother and I have been trained from birth to take over together once our father steps down.

There has never been a question of if, only when.

My brother, Mikhail, and I, were born to be rulers. And we have never questioned our fate.

We’ve trained together, fought together, bled together. We’ve survived the very worst of the worst together, and we’ve emerged stronger, smarter, and more dangerous.

Together, we’re the perfect pair; two halves of the same whole, two minds that think alike, two bodies that move in sync. There is nobody I trust more than him, and there never will be.

Mikhail and I have always known what is expected of us.

To become Pakhans.

To rule this empire.

To take control of the Bratva.

To maintain its power.

It’s all we’ve ever known.

It’s all we’ve ever wanted.

Until her.

Chiara.

The girl who’s thrown everything we’ve ever known into chaos.

Neither one of us expected it. Neither one of us saw her coming.

How could we?

She wasn't part of our world.

But the moment I saw her, I knew. I knew that something inside me had broken, had become irreparably shattered.

I’ve never been one to feel much, or to show emotion.

I saw how the sudden death of my mother affected my father, and how it made him falter, even though they weren’t the perfect couple. He sunk into the chaos, and it took years before he was able to rule with an iron fist once more, remaining detached as he stayed above it all.

But with her…it’s different.

With her, I feel something I’ve never felt before.

It terrifies me.

And I know that Mikhail feels it too.

I notice the way his eyes follow her, the way he watches her when she’s not looking, the way his breathing changes when she looks at us. He doesn’t say anything, but I can see it in him, the way he’s always on edge whenever she’s around.

My brother and I have been with numerous women together, but Chiara is nothing like those women. They were all distractions, used for moments of pleasure that meant nothing when the morning sun rose, but Chiara…she’s different.

So innocent. So untouchable.

She’s someone that calls to us both.

Someone we shouldn’t want.

Someone we can’t stop ourselves from craving.

She’s someone who’ll be forced to stay.

Mikhail and I have been careful, calculated with each of our actions.

We’ve waited. We’ve watched. We’ve studied.

We’ve seen her laugh. We’ve seen her frown. We’ve seen her move.

We never meant to take action so soon, never wanted to show ourselves to her like this, but we had no choice.

When we followed her that night, finding her in that damn club, grinding up on men, offering them a piece of her that belonged to us, we knew it had to be done.

Something inside us both just snapped, and that night, we made our move.

We didn’t even care.

I still remember how frightened she looked when we took her.

The shock. The fear. The confusion.

Finally being able to be so close to her…finally being able to kneel for her…finally being able to take her…

My cock ached, and my mouth watered.

Chiara had no idea who we were.

Chiara had no idea how long we had been waiting for her.

It didn’t matter though.

All that matters is that she’s ours now.

And even though she may not know it yet, she soon will. She’ll come to understand who we are, and what we can offer her. When that finally happens, she’ll have no choice but to accept it.

Chiara will be ours.

The Bratva never loses, and neither do we.

But it’s not going to be easy.

Chiara has already begun to question everything. She has already seen more than we thought she would, and she is smarter than what she presents herself to be. I can already see her struggling, trying to pull away so she can distance herself from what is unfolding between us—between myself, her, and my brother too.

She’s afraid, and it’s only normal that she is.

Chiara doesn’t understand why we’ve done this.

Why we’ve taken her, why we’ll be keeping her, and why we’re treating her like this.

But with time, she will understand. She has to.

And as soon as she does, everything will fall into place.

My brother is just as obsessed with Chiara as I am. We didn’t think we would move so quickly, but what’s done is done. And although we’ve never been in a situation like this before, I know we’ll manage.

Chiara is ours now, and we’ll do everything it takes to make her see that.

Even if it means breaking everything we’ve ever known.

I turn to face Mikhail.

My chest is tight, and my jaw is clenched so hard it aches.

“Bratva.” I spit out in a way I never once have before. “How the fuck does she know?!”

My mind goes into overdrive, my blood hot in my veins.

How the fuck does Chiara know about us; know about the Russians, and the Italians too?

As far as we’re aware, she’s only another London girl.

She’s lived in the city since birth, and has attended all her schools, and even her university, in the same city.

She’s never even left her goddamn city.

She comes from a small family too; a father, and an older brother. There’s no mother in the picture. She has no extended family either.

So where the fuck did that come from?

My hands are shaking, but I force them to stay still as I curl my fingers into fists to steady myself.

She fainted not too long after she uttered that word, and after checking her over, Mikhail and I thought it would be best to let her rest.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to know.

As I inhale deeply, I force fresh air into my lungs, forcing the anger back down, desperate not to lose control like this.

“Who the fuck have we taken, Mikhail?”

The words are sharp, low, and dangerous as they leave my lips.

There’s a fire starting deep in my gut, but there’s also something else.

A tightening in my chest that I can’t shake. A deep throb at the back of my head.

Chiara shouldn’t know. Chiara shouldn’t be part of this world.

Yet somehow, she is.

Mikhail takes some time to respond. I don’t blame him for it, not when my own mind is spinning too.

Chiara is not like the others. There’s something about her, something that makes my gut twist.

I take another breath in.

And for the first time, I wonder who she really is. I wonder which tales of the past I might have opened up by bringing her here. If she knows about both—about the Russians as well as the Italians—I can only wonder who she may be.

What woman would know about something like that?

Glancing to where Chiara lays unconscious, I feel something stir inside me, an unease that won’t go away. Chiara is nothing like all those other women, but this is no longer about control, or even power either.

This is about something bigger than us. Something older, and something more dangerous.

My heart pounds harder in my chest as I pull my eyes away from her, choosing to look over at my brother once more.

Mikhail’s face remains stony, unreadable. He doesn’t say a word. The same confusion is clear in his gaze as it is in mine when our eyes lock together. Finally, my brother speaks.

“Do you think she might be a princess?”

There’s a pause.

I freeze, hating how that question makes my stomach tighten.

Together, we have spent days—weeks—watching her. We have followed her every move. We have seen the way she presents herself to the world.

And it’s only now that my brother has asked the question that things seem to make much more sense. The pieces shift, slowly clicking into place.

Rumours I have heard over the years, how the Russians were involved in an attack, leaving the Italians defenceless. How an internal affair within the higher ranks of the Italian mafia almost resulted in a full-blown war. There were whispers, some which have never made sense until now.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I groan.

Could she be?

Could this girl really be a princess?

Could she be the daughter of a soldier in the Mafia?

Chiara.

An Italian name, but no proof in place to link her to the Mafia.

If she is, then everything will change. This will no longer be some random girl we’ve taken from the streets. My brother and I have made a move that might possibly ruin everything.

The weight of it presses against my chest, suffocating me.

What will this mean for us?

For our future?

Will my brother and I be trusted to take over after this?

My mind races with endless possibilities. If she is who Mikhail thinks she is—an Italian princess—then our actions have just opened a floodgate; a war we never intended to start.

Her face appears in my head again, so limp and vulnerable before us.

“What the fuck have we done, Mikhail?”

I mutter under my breath, breathing out heavily, my knuckles turning white from my tight grip.

Again, Mikhail doesn’t say anything for a long time. When he does finally speak, his voice is low, and thoughtful too.

“We put ourselves right in the middle of something bigger than us, brat. But have no doubt. We’ll get through this together.“

I swallow hard, my throat tightening as I force myself to continue breathing.

We can’t walk away from this. What’s done is done.

If Chiara really is a princess…if Chiara really is part of the Italian bloodline…

Mikhail and I are in too deep.

My brother looks down at his phone again, his eyes scanning over the screen, his lips curling into a grim expression. He doesn’t need to say anything else—his words already speak volumes.

“If Chiara really is a princess, then she’ll have people looking for her. We’ll find out soon enough if she is who we think she is.”

I exhale sharply, the weight of the situation crushing me like a slow, inevitable collapse.

Before anybody can look for her, Mikhail and myself will ask her our own questions first. There must be a reason why she knows all of this information, and we’ll be sure to get to her before anybody else can.

Mikhail snaps me out of my thoughts, tugging on my arm as his fingers clasp tightly over my forearm, the bond between us always present. Turning to face him, I find our bodies instinctively leaning into one another as we both speak the same unspoken language. My brother looks at me, the same storm that rages in my eyes reflecting in his gaze. His jaw clenches, then he shrugs his shoulders backward.

“Will we give her away?”

My blood surges as I feel fury rising in my chest.

Nobody will touch our property.

Nobody will touch what belongs to us.

Not now.

Not ever.

I shake my head as I grip his forearm even tighter, feeling the strength in both of our bodies as I lean in closer to my twin, lowering my voice.

“Never.”

Mikhail’s shoulders relax, but the dark fire still remains in his eyes.

He understands me. He always has.

“We’ve taken her.” I rasp, the certainty in my words wrapping around us both. “And she’s ours. We will fight and kill anybody who dares to come our way.”

There is no room for doubt in my mind, no question of weakness.

Our bond is forged by blood, and now Chiara has been caught in this web we’ve spun.

Chiara will become ours in ways she cannot even imagine.

Mikhail nods slowly at me, his expression hardening as the darkness in his eyes only seems to deepen.

“Nobody will ever take her from us.”

My brother agrees.

I think for a moment as my thoughts go to where they always go in times like this; the next move, the next place, the next step to getting things done.

We’ve taken her, and now we’ll shape her into becoming someone who belongs to us.

Chiara will depend on us, not only for survival, but for everything.

Her heart.

Her mind.

Her body.

And when she finally accepts that she is ours, when she finally understands that there is no escaping from us, only then will she fully belong to us.

The thought of her accepting us both freely without any fear sends my heart soaring. It’s what I want. It’s what Mikhail wants. We won’t break her—not yet—but we will soon. If she doesn’t cooperate, then we will do it in a way that pains her, slowly, carefully, until she sees no other world but us.

As my brother moves, so do I.

This is just the beginning.

It may be a dangerous game we’re playing, but I don't care.

She’s ours now. And nobody—absolutely nobody—will ever dare to take her from us.

Together, we walk towards our captive.

We will not let her go. Not now. Not ever.

Chiara is here to stay.

As our captive.

And as ours.

Always.

Forever.

Chapter Six

Mikhail

The air in the room is thick, heavy with silence. The only sound here is the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. The faint light spills over her, casting shadows across her pretty features. They’re soft now in her slumber, so different from the tense, cautious expression she always wears when she’s awake.

At this moment, Chiara looks as though she’s at peace.

But I know better. I know this is only a mask. These moments of deep sleeping allow her to shield away from the reality she’s been forced into. Her small frame curls inward, her arms wrapped around her middle as though she’s trying to escape, even when she’s fast asleep.

When Chiara shifts slightly, I almost think she’ll wake up. But she doesn’t. She must be terrified, but it’s unfortunate that she doesn’t know half of it yet.

She has no idea that her life is no longer hers to control.

I can’t stop watching her.

It’s impossible; every small movement of hers demands my attention. It’s always been like that. Even when she was just a shadow, just a distant figure in the buzz of the city of London, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She caught my eye immediately, and I knew from then that I would never be able to let go.

I kneel down beside her.

Taking a slow breath in, I think back to Nikolai. His absence weighs heavily in this room. A part of me says that I should be relieved, grateful even now that he’s gone and left me with more control, but something about his sudden absence unsettles me. I can feel it in my chest, and I don’t know if it’s because of her, or because of what’s to come.

I shake that thought away, deciding to focus on her instead. My eyes are drawn to her. Her dark hair is spread across the pillow, and her lips are curved up into a small smile. Her chest rises and falls with every breath that she takes, and a soft sigh escapes her lips.

I smile to myself, reaching out to trail my fingertips along the side of her face.

Chiara is ours now.

Nikolai and I, we’ve taken her.

And with time, we’ll mark her, and publicly claim her too.

There’s no going back after this.

Even if she wants to escape, it’s never going to happen.

Sitting there in the shadows, I watch her sleep. I’m not sure how long I’m there for, but it feels like hours with her. I memorise every movement, every breath, and every sound she makes. My fingers slip down to her lips, my thumb pressing into her plump bottom one.

My body reacts to the touch.

Shaking my head, I allow my thoughts to drift to my father, the Pakhan. The thought of what he might do if he finds out about this makes my stomach drop. My father has always been the one who remains unmoved, unfazed by all the violence that surrounds us, all the blood that has stained our hands over the years.

But this?

This is different.

My brother and I have crossed a line.

We’ve taken her; Chiara.

And if our old man finds out, there will be consequences.

If Chiara is who we suspect she is—an Italian princess—this will open up a whole new world of problems. A world we never intended to deal with.

Though us Russians have remained civil with the Italians for over a decade now, with an alliance holding both sides together by the weight of mutual interests, there’s no telling what this will do. Any breach of trust will shatter everything.

The tension builds inside me, like the slow ticking of a clock, as it counts down the minutes before everything can be destroyed.

If my father ever finds out what we’ve done, it may ignite a war that we’re not prepared for.

The cost of it might even be our lives.

I know my father would see this as a betrayal; a reckless act which could ruin everything he’s spent years building, but the worst part of this—the part which gnaws at me in the quiet hours of the night—is the possibility that he might see Chiara as a pawn. He might see her as a valuable asset, as a tool to use in negotiations to make things happen in the way he wants them. He wouldn’t care about her; he would only care of the power she might represent.

And as for my brother and I?

Well, I’m not too sure about how this will affect us.

Looking back at Chiara, I release all the air from my lungs. She breathes softly against my fingers, her body exhausted from the drugs we’ve injected into her system, and her mind restless as she desperately tries to think of ways to escape.

The corners of my lips twitch.

Now that she’s here, there’s no going back.

Even if Chiara is who we think she is, we’re still not letting go.

She’s too important, too valuable, to ever let her go.

If Chiara truly is a princess, the consequences of our actions will be far more worse than anything Nikolai and I have ever dealt with. The Italians will come for her, that much is clear enough. They will send their best men to find her, and to take her back.

And when they find out our role in this…

My mind races with endless scenarios of how that might play out. Their soldiers can try, can come to our territory and fight, can find Chiara safe and sound here. But they won’t be taking her back. That much I’m sure of.

We will never let her go.

We will always keep her safe.

We will always protect her.

And if anything else is to happen, we will deal with the consequences.

We always do.

When her eyelids twitch, the first sign that she’s waking up, I find my lips stretching into a smile across my face. I lean in slightly, watching the subtle shift in her expression, as she stirs. A small gasp escapes her lips as her eyes finally flutter open, meeting mine.

Fear flashes through her eyes a little, softer now that she’s been here for a while, and a little hesitant too. I see the recognition settle in her features when she realises which twin brother I am, and her lips part open.

I lean in closer to her, my breath warm against her skin. She grows tense, but she doesn’t pull away. Not yet. Her chest rises and falls a little quicker than usual, and she blinks up at me a couple of times.

“Morning, beauty.”

I murmur low, my voice a playful taunt.

She flinches slightly, her body trembling under my touch as I brush my thumb across her rosy cheek. Her eyes remain locked on mine as she swallows hard, her fingers twitching as if she wants to push me away, but can’t quite bring herself to do it.

I give her some time to process the confusion. Her mind must be a fuzzy place to be stuck in, and our mind games are only making things worse for her. My smile transforms into a smirk, knowing that Chiara has nowhere else to go from here.

Suddenly, she scrambles backward as she presses herself against the wall, curling into herself as if she’s just realised how close we are beside one another. Her chest rises and falls with every panicked breath she takes, and I can only watch her, amused at the way she’s reacting, as the dark thrill of control sweeps through me.

A deep chuckle echoes through the quiet room as Chiara tries to make herself even smaller, but there’s no point.

There’s nowhere to hide.

There's nowhere to escape.

Not from me.

Not from Nikolai.

She should know that by now.

“Are you trying to run? Are you trying to leave us, beauty?”

She flinches as she whimpers, her eyes dropping down to the ground.

I stand up before moving towards her slowly. With every step that I take, I watch the way her body desperately tries to shrink into nothing. When I’m in front of her again, I crouch down, reaching out to touch her hair, curling a strand of it around my finger.

“You belong to us now.” I whisper, tugging on her hair so that she’ll meet my eyes. “You can fight us, and you can struggle all you want. But the truth is, Chiara…” I lean in closer, my breath fanning against her lips. “You’ll never be able to leave us. Not now. Not ever.”

She swallows audibly as she looks away from me, tears already rising in her eyes.

“You belong to me. You belong to Nikolai. And now that we have you, we will never let you go.”

The words suffocate her with their truth as they settle over her like a thick fog.

I watch her body tremble in response, her gaze fixed on everywhere else that isn’t me, as she desperately tries to hold herself together. But as the seconds pass, I see it; the crack in her confidence as her walls crumble, piece by piece as one teardrop falls after the other.

I pull my hand away before standing up once more.

We’ve taken her, so now, she’s ours.

Chapter Seven

Chiara

I'm losing my mind.

The days—if you can even call them that—blur together into one endless stretch of suffocating silence.

My captors still haven’t told me why I’m here, and they haven’t told me what they want.

Nothing.

Every time I find myself drifting off to sleep, I wake up not too long after, finding either one, or even both, of them there, looming over me like a shadow that clings too tightly. They watch me at all times. It’s a maddening cycle—wake, exist, sleep, repeat—with absolutely no meaning or explanation.

I’ve tried to count the hours in my head, but it’s impossible.

Is it morning?

Or is it night?

I don’t know.

There aren’t any windows in here, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, or even the hallway.

I have no idea how I haven’t just suffocated to death yet.

And I know that they’re trying to break me.

At first, I was strong. I knew I wouldn’t give in to them, wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of ever seeing me like that. I made sure to refuse to speak to them, to refuse to move whenever they wanted me to, and to never acknowledge them in any way.

But that didn’t last long.

It left me trapped in my own head, spiralling deeper and deeper into my own thoughts, questions of whether I’ll ever be able to escape this place floating around in my mind.

I wrap my fingers around the duvet, sitting up on the bed now. They brought it in a day or two ago, and as much as I hate them for the situation they’ve put me in, I’m also a little bit grateful for this since I’m no longer sleeping on the cold floor.

My stomach growls loudly in the silence of the room as I press my hand to my stomach. It’s been a while since they last brought me anything to eat, and my hunger gnaws at me, twisting my insides into painful knots.

I need to eat. I need to move.

Before I can talk myself out of doing it, I find myself standing up on shaky legs, walking through the room. I take hesitant steps into the hallway, and I continue walking until I’m near the makeshift kitchen. It’s pathetic—I know it is—but the thought of food is the only thing drawing me forward.

And as I step inside, I spot the twins.

They’re always here with me.

Nikolai sits at the table, his posture relaxed, yet also commanding. His eyes track my every movement as I walk towards him, his gaze sharp and calculating. 

Mikhail leans against the counter, a slight smirk playing at his lips as he watches me approach them both.

Ignoring them, I focus on the plate of food already on the table, and my stomach growls louder.

My face flushes with embarrassment but I don’t care.

I’m too hungry to care.

Two slices of bread, both slathered with a thick layer of strawberry jam, are waiting for me.

I sit down opposite Nikolai, reaching out for the plate. The ache of hunger overpowers the sickening feeling in my stomach, so I don’t hesitate to take a bite of the food, chewing before I force it down. As I continue eating, I feel their eyes all over me.

Their stares are heavy and relentless, like weights pressing down on my shoulders. It makes my skin crawl, knowing that my every movement is magnified under their scrutiny. I want to shout at them, to demand that they stop staring at me like this, but I can’t. The words are stuck in my throat, trapped by fear and exhaustion.

The silence in this room is unbearable.

When I’m finally done eating, Mikhail passes me a plastic cup filled with water, and I greedily drink it all. I glance between both men, suddenly feeling my throat become dry.

Nikolai leans forward in his seat, both elbows resting on the table, one eyebrow lifting to look at me.

“Good girl.”

He says, his voice smooth, almost like a predator toying with its prey.

I quickly look away from him, feeling heat blooming in my cheeks.

I can’t keep living like this, trapped in this endless loop of fear and uncertainty, but there’s no other choice.

Discreetly glancing over towards the hallway, I wonder how they even leave from here. I’ve looked all over, but there’s no sign of a door, or even any windows I can crawl out of.

There’s no way to escape this hell.

Mikhail chuckles softly, the sound dark and mocking. I look over at him.

“Don’t even think about it.” He murmurs. “We’ll just find you all over again, and tie you up too if that’s what you want.”

A shiver runs through me.

I drop my eyes to the table, my heart beating hard in my chest.

They’ve taken everything from me—my freedom, my sense of time, even my dignity—and I hate them for it.

But more than anything, I hate myself for being so weak, so afraid to even attempt to fight back.

The only thing I can do now is sit here, giving them the satisfaction of being able to watch me, and dissect every little move of mine. It terrifies me to think that this might be my new normal.

Nikolai speaks again, his steady voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

“Tell me something, darling.” I take a deep breath in before I even think about looking up. When I do meet his eyes, the weight of his gaze as it bores into me is enough to make my heart stop beating altogether. “How do you know about the Russians?” Nikolai asks, his tone calm yet also dangerous in a way. “How do you know about the Italians?” My stomach flips. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck as my heart rate picks up too. “You’re from London.” He continues, tilting his head slightly as he watches me. “You’re a London girl, Chiara. How the hell do you know about things like that?”

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat refusing to go down.

I force myself to breathe as my eyes dart between both brothers in the room. Mikhail is still leaning against the countertop, his arms now crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable. Glancing back to Nikolai, I somehow manage to find my voice, opening my mouth to speak.

“I…I thought you were Bratva…”

His eyes narrow as his gaze sharpens.

He doesn’t even move, and he doesn’t even blink, but his presence feels larger, heavier as it closes in all around me.

“And why,” he says slowly, “Chiara, would you ever think that?”

My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, but I force the words out anyway.

“They way you look…” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “...your accents…the way you both speak to each other sometimes…” I look over to Mikhail, noticing him shift slightly. “I thought you were Bratva the minute I realised I would be taken.”

My heart is beating so hard, I’m sure they can both hear it.

For a moment, neither one of them speaks.

Nikolai leans back into his chair, his lips pressing into a thin line. His expression is impossible to read, and there’s a sharpness in his eyes, a glint of something dangerous. Mikhail stalks towards us, and I see a flicker of a glance being exchanged between both brothers.

It’s quick—so quick that I almost miss it—but it’s there. A silent conversation is passing between them, something unspoken, but something understood.

They don’t confirm what I’ve told them, and they don’t deny it either. The uncertainty of their identities only makes my stomach hurt harder.

What does their silence mean?

Am I right?

Are they really Bratva?

I squeeze my hands, ignoring the way it hurts when my fingernails dig into my palms. My head spins, making me feel a little lightheaded, as my thoughts run wild.

Finally, Nikolai looks back to me, letting out a quiet, and almost amused, hum.

“Interesting of you to say that, darling.”

Mikhail chuckles at his brother’s words, the sound of it dark and humourless.

My chest tightens as both brothers share another look, one I can’t decipher passing between them. The tension in the room thickens as I wait for them to say something—anything—but they don’t.

They look at me, mockingly, and deep down, I know that I’ve only made things worse for myself. It takes all of me to continue forcing the words out, desperate to get to the bottom of this.

“I thought…” I lift my head, looking between both men again. “I thought you planned to take me for a reason. That maybe, you both would use me for a ransom. I thought things would move quickly from then.”

The scrape of a chair being pushed back is heard, and as I look over at Nikolai, I see him standing up from the table.

He doesn’t say anything to that, and he doesn’t interrupt me either. For some reason, that only makes my stomach twist tighter.

“I still have no idea why you’ve brought me here.” I release a shaky breath, pressing my palm to my stomach. “You say you want me, and you say you have me. You haven’t done anything though.” My voice falters slightly, my throat tight with emotion. “Why am I here? Why?!”

Neither Nikolai, nor Mikhail, answers me.

My breathing quickens as panic slowly creeps up on me.

My family.

The thought of them sends a sharp pain through my chest.

“My family.” I whisper softly. “Are they okay? Have they done what was asked of them? Will I be returned to them?”

Then suddenly, the room erupts like a storm.

Both men move at once, their large forms closing in on me as they tower over me. I press myself back into my chair, staring up at them both with pure terror in my eyes.

Mikhail’s eyes are furious as he moves in closer, and Nikolai looks like a predator ready to go hunting, his jaw clenched so tightly that I can see the muscle jumping in his cheek. He leans down, his thick arms braced on the table as he growls into my face, making my entire body tremble.

“Who the fuck are you?”

He spits out at me.

The weight of his question crushes me, my breath stuttering as tears prick the back of my eyes. My throat tightens as I swallow hard, a sob threatening to claw its way out. My voice shakes as I answer him.

“After moving to England, we changed our surname from Giovanni to Navo.” I wrap my arms around my middle, desperate to hold onto something as I continue. “My name is Chiara Giovanni. I’m the daughter of Francesco Giovanni, and the sister of Dario Giovanni. My father was an underboss, but my brother…”

I trail off as the expressions on their faces morph into something unrecognisable.

Nikolai’s brows furrow, and Mikhail explodes.

“Fuck!”

He curses as he reaches for my plate, hurling it against the wall.

I flinch violently at his outburst, shrinking further into my chair.

As Mikhail runs a hand over his face, he begins to pace around the room, his chest heaving as he roars out a string of curses in Russian.

It’s a terrifying sight.

Tears burn at the back of my eyes as I try to stop myself from crying, knowing that another show of weakness will only make things worse. My throat becomes raw as I swallow back a sob, my mind still racing because of their reactions.

My gaze shifts to Nikolai. He’s still standing in the same place, his tattooed hands folded against the back of his neck as he shakes his head, his icy blue eyes locked on mine. There’s something there—confusion, frustration, disbelief—but I can’t bring myself to hold his stare.

I look back to Mikhail, realising that he’s no longer pacing as he glances back over to his brother. My heart pounds harder in my chest as I try to breathe, terror spreading through my body as both brothers move towards each other.

They exchange sharp words in Russian, their voices laced with anger and frustration. With every word that they throw at each other, my head feels lighter and lighter. Everything around me ceases to exist except for the deep growls of their voices.

Soon after, they escalate to shouting, but then suddenly, it stops. A strange quiet fills the room, broken by their shallow breaths. I force myself to look away from them as they switch languages—softer murmurs in English now—voices clear enough that I’m able to understand them.

Together, they take a step closer, and in fear of what they might do to me, I force myself to look up at them. When I do meet their eyes, I gasp.

There’s an undeniable mix of possessiveness and control there.

“What’s done is now done.” Nikolai states, his voice hoarse, but firm too. “We had a doubt, and you have proven us right, darling.” Mikhail remains silent. Together, their presence fills the space around me. “We won’t harm you.” Nikolai tells me softly, his words anything but reassuring. “We just want to love you. And we want to keep you. You’re ours, darling.”

I shudder at his words, unable to even process what he’s saying.

The last thing I want is this psychotic version of ‘love’, especially not with these two Bratva soldiers.

I want to scream, to fight back until they’re both a pile of bloody mess, but I know that’s not possible. They’ll kill me before I even touch them, and maybe then, that will be my way out.

Sometimes, I still can’t believe this is real.

Sometimes, I feel like this is another awful nightmare, like the ones I would have after Mama’s death.

Blinking through my tears, I look up again at the two men.

I’m losing myself already.

Chapter Eight

Chiara

I can’t remember when I was taken.

How long has it been now?

Days?

Weeks?

Months?

I’m losing track of everything. Every single moment spent in this place only feels like another step into madness. I don’t know what to think any more. I don’t know how to feel.

They haven’t harmed me, and they’ve been good to me.

But how can I believe the goodness in their actions?

They’ve taken me from everything I’ve ever known, and now, they’re playing a sick game of love.

Love.

The word haunts me.

They’ve done a good job at forcing it onto me, ruining me from the inside out.

I know what love is supposed to feel like.

Warm.

Safe.

Happy.

This is nothing like that.

Love isn’t being forced into a cage.

Love isn’t being watched every second of the day.

Love isn’t being turned into a possession.

Bile rises in my throat as I swallow it away.

They’ve said they want to love me. They’ve said they want to keep me.

Why don’t they understand that this isn’t love?

They’ve stolen my freedom. They’ve stolen my peace.

Yet somehow, they claim that they’re doing it out of some form of twisted affection.

I have no idea how they believe it. I sure as hell don’t.

The longer that I’ll stay here, the worse my mind will spiral. My emotions are already so tangled, I have no idea what I’m even feeling any more.

I should be angry, terrified, and I am.

But there’s also something there too; helplessness, and pity for this situation I’ve found myself in.

At first, they were always so tense, a constant coldness in their eyes. But now…now, things are different. There’s a gentleness in their expressions whenever they’re near me.

And when they touch me, when they speak to me. When they treat me like I’m their equal, making it so easy for me to forget who I truly am; their captive.

I hate it.

I hate the way they’re able to manipulate me so well.

I hate the way I’m now beginning to care about the smallest of things.

Like the way they watch me, and the way they love. Like how they make me feel so small, so trapped in this place of theirs, but also, so desired in a way I never thought would be possible in a situation like this.

It disgusts me.

I will never allow myself to want them.

I will never give in to the trap they’ve set up for me.

Every day, I think of my family; my mother, my father, my brother. I think of home, the place Papa moved us to so we would be safe. Although it wasn’t Italy, England soon became mine, and it created a new sense of normalcy for me.

But now, that world seems so far away. It all feels like a distant memory.

I wonder what my family would think if they saw me now, trapped in only a small room, surrounded by two men more dangerous than I could ever have imagined.

Will they fight for me?

Will they come charging into here, guns blazing, ready to take me back?

Or is it too late?

A sense of dread fills me with that question in mind.

There’s no doubt about it; my father will rescue me, and so will my brother. They won’t let me suffer like this.

I shake my head, not wanting to think about this any more. I can’t think about them right now, because even if I do fight back, there’s no use.

I’m completely powerless here.

I can’t run.

I can’t escape.

I’m a captive in this place.

I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve tried pushing back. It makes no difference to them. They’re amused, pleased by my acts of defiance.

It’s suffocating to spend each and every day like this.

At least they haven’t done much yet.

Yes, they watch me.

And yes, they talk to me.

But it’s never clear.

No explanation is provided, and no other information is given.

Though there’s no physical abuse, the mental toll is becoming unbearable. They watch me, and wait for me too. They humiliate me in so many ways, like when their eyes are always on me, even when I’m using the bathroom. They hover over me like shadows in the doorway, waiting for me to mess up, so they can step in, and take action.

And now, they’re telling me to bathe in front of them.

I shiver at that thought, this feeling more humiliating than anything else that’s happened to me in this place.

How is this even real?

It’s madness. All of it is.

I stand in the bathroom, my feet cold against the tiles on the floor. The sound of the water filling the tub barely registers as my mind continues spinning.

What are they doing?

What do they want from me?

It doesn't make sense to want me. They don’t even know me. And if they were hoping to use me against the Italians, well, they haven’t done that yet. They’ve been keeping me quiet, forcing me to escape into my mind, sending me spiralling.

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaks open. My heart races as I stiffen, my arms going around me as my fingers tremble against my bare flesh. Their presence fills the room as they both take another step inside.

Nikolai. Mikhail.

There’s no escape for me.

I hear both sets of breathing sharpen, then a low whistle fills the room.

Mikhail.

My stomach clenches at that sound, and my body begins to shake.

Without saying anything, they both move towards me.

Nikolai reaches out, running his fingertips along my waist before he pulls away, moving behind me as he adjusts the water tap. Mikhail is closer now, his breathing heavy, as he drags his eyes across my naked form.

I don’t want to look at either one of them. I don’t want to be here, exposed like this, but I know there’s no choice.

“You’re here to stay, darling.” Nikolai’s voice is low as he speaks, and I feel him returning from the bathtub to stand by my side. “It’s better that you grow comfortable around us.”

I hug myself tighter, swallowing down on a sob.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I was supposed to be safe with my family.

And now…

“Why are you doing this to me?”

I whisper quietly, hating myself for sounding so weak, but it’s the best I can do.

They both move in closer towards me, and they both touch me. The back of their hands brush against my bare skin as I wince slightly, feeling my heart rate pick up.

“Relax.” Mikhail says softly, his fingertips rising higher so he can brush them across the sides of my ribs. “We’re not going to hurt you, beauty. We only want to see you happy.”

A shiver goes through my body.

I don’t believe him. I don’t believe any of his words.

Forcing myself to take a deep breath in, I try my best to steady myself, but nothing seems to work. Together, they both take a hold of me, causing me to gasp, as both sets of eyes dart down to my lips. I feel my face turning red as I look down, staring at the chipped white paint on my toenail, wondering how long it’s been since I last got a pedicure done.

As both brothers guide me towards the bath, I can’t shake away the feeling of entrapment. The madness of this entire situation is so heavy that I feel like I can no longer breathe. Shallow gasps escape me as I close my eyes, submerging my body into the warm water, praying that I’ll wake up any second now, back in my new place, with my family by my side.

But when I open my eyes again, they’re still here, watching me.

I zone out as I think back to Papa, and to Dario. I wonder whether they’ll ever find me. I wonder whether I’ll ever go back home to them. My heart aches with the loss of my family.

I have no idea how much longer I’ll be able to hold onto myself before I become something else—someone my captors want me to become. This madness will never end, and I don’t know how much more I can bear.

They’re still here, and I’m still trapped.

I’m still theirs.

As they switch the tap off, they both dip their hands into the water, pouring it onto me, getting every single inch of my body wet. I shiver against the warmth of the water, and neither one of them misses it.

As their hands trail all over my body, their breathing becomes heavy.

I try my best to control my own as their palms swipe all over me—down my neck, across my breasts, lower towards my stomach, inside my inner thighs—but I fail miserably.

A small smirk plays on Mikhail’s lips as he pulls away from me, unbuttoning his shirt before he throws it to the floor, flashing his pearly whites at me.

“It’s only fun if one of us is getting wet, beauty.”

I curl my bottom lip into my mouth, feeling my throat close up.

Beside him, Nikolai shakes his head as he reaches out for a new bottle they’ve brought in today, and after he’s squeezed a small amount of it onto his palm, he rubs it into my hair. My eyes flutter shut as he works the shampoo into my roots, then I open them again to look over at him.

“I need more.” I tell him quietly, then I bite down almost immediately when I realise how that must sound to their ears. And considering the way Mikhail chuckles, and the way his tattooed fingertips inch closer and closer to me down there, I know what he’s thinking. I ignore him though. “The shampoo; it’s not enough.”

Nikolai’s eyes meet mine, a small dip appearing between his brows.

“This is how much I use when showering.”

My throat begins to feel a little tight but I force myself to continue speaking.

“My hair is longer though. If you had long hair like me, then you would need more too.”

Nikolai’s lips part as if he finally understands what I’m saying, and he nods his head at me.

Mikhail thinks this is the perfect time to butt in too.

“Give our lady what she wants.”

My breathing speeds up as Nikolai does as Mikhail says, squeezing some more shampoo into his palm as he runs it through my hair.

His fingers work in my hair, massaging my scalp as he makes sure to spread it evenly all around my head.

I sigh heavily as I close my eyes, tipping my head backward a little, finally feeling relaxed after spending so many days on edge here.

Mikhail’s fingers grow more daring. They inch further down my inner thighs, practically touching me there. I take a sharp breath in, feeling a faint throbbing sensation between my legs, as he drags his fingertips along my slit. I keep my eyes squeezed shut as Mikhail slips one finger through my folds, dragging it upward until he has his knuckle pressed to my clit.

I squirm.

Another hand creeps higher to my breast, a single digit now swirling along my tight nipple. The fingertip draws small circles on my hard nub, and the sensation of it goes straight to my core. The same attention is given to my other breast too, and since there’s now four hands in total all over my naked body. My breathing turns heavy as my lips part open, and I find myself gasping with pleasure now.

They pinch my nipples, tug on them too, as they cup my breasts in their palms. My legs are spread apart, and more fingers are on me now. They rub my clit, small circles and pinches which make me gasp, and a finger slips inside me too, stretching me wide open for more.

“Look at her.” One brother says. “How beautiful does she look like this?”

I whimper at his words, losing myself to the darkness behind my eyelids, and their touches too.

A soft murmur of words are passed between them, now Russian, then they both laugh softly.

“What do you think?” The other brother asks. “Should we let her come?”

My eyes fly open as he says that, my bare chest heaving.

I roll my hips against his fingers, a small moan escaping my lips at how good he feels against me there.

The expressions on both of their faces darken, but I don’t care. They started this, so now, they’ll need to end it too.

“Yes!” I cry out, my hands going to either one of their wrists, my fingers tightening around them. “Let me come!”

Nikolai pinches my nipple hard, and I moan out in pain.

Mikhail rubs the pad of his thumb against my clit, and I suddenly feel so lightheaded, so ready to break for them both.

“Tell us that you’re ours.”

Mikhail says, a dark look in his eyes.

“Admit that you belong to us.”

Nikolai adds, his expression hard.

I breathe out through my mouth as I shake my head, knowing that I’ll never utter those words.

“Never.”

Together, their breathing changes too, and as if something inside me has snapped, I realise how big of a mistake I’m making.

I push them both away from me, forcing them to remove their hands from my naked body.

Luckily for me, they don’t make it hard.

I blink, breathing heavy, my eyes darting between both of them.

Was I really going to…?

I shake my head, ignoring that question. Ignoring all of it.

As I ignore the look on their faces—the shock, the surprise, the smirks—I pull the plug, and I let the water drain. I begin to run the bath again, but only so I can wash the shampoo that’s been left in my hair.

I don’t really need to do much at all. Because as soon as I’ve even tried to, they’re there.

Together, they help me clean up.

They speak to me in a mix of both English and Russian, and I shudder each time they glance over at me, offering me nothing but secret smiles on their identical faces.

My mouth becomes dry as I squeeze my legs together.

What is happening to me?

Chapter Nine

Nikolai

The 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.

Chapter Ten

Mikhail

Chiara is refusing to talk.

And I know why.

“Are you feeling all hot and bothered, beauty?” I murmur softly as I take a step closer, bending down slightly to rub the back of my finger along her soft cheek. “Do you regret pushing us away?”

Her eyes squeeze shut as her cheeks become pink.

I breathe out a laugh, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, wishing I could bite down onto her plump lips instead. They’re so pouty, pretty when they curve up at the corners too, and even more gorgeous when she’s panting through them.

“Mikhail!” Nikolai growls from behind me. “This isn’t the time.”

I roll my eyes as I pull my hand away from Chiara, standing up to my full height once more, and Nikolai takes one step closer.

Like this, we’re both towering over her, and as Chiara finally opens her eyes again, she realises the position she’s now in; trapped between our bodies and the wall, her new bed beneath her.

I smile.

“Francesco Giovanni.” I say, loving the way her eyes widen, and the way her chest rises as she takes a sharp breath in. “That’s the name of your father, isn’t it?”

Immediately, she freezes.

There's terror in her expression, but somehow, she manages to nod her head at me. I growl as I look up at the ceiling, counting down from ten, giving myself some time to breathe before I do something stupid.

How is it that we’ve found the perfect woman to keep, and now that we’ve taken her, we find out that she’s a fucking Italian princess?

Not fair, world.

Not. Fucking. Fair.

“Tell us about him, Chiara. You’ve already said that you moved to England as a child, but tell me before that. What happened back then, darling?”

I look over at my brother, pleased that he’s decided to talk to her.

If it were up to me, and if she was still refusing to talk, well…

I breathe out a laugh as I shake my head, looking like some madman now. If Chiara’s disturbed by it, she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she pushes her shoulders back, and straightens herself.

“My father was an underboss.” She tells us slowly, as though she’s testing the words, feeling the sudden weight of them for the first time in many years. “He was involved in the Mafia when we lived in Italy; he was part of the famiglia.”

She pauses, hesitation clear in her eyes, when I open my mouth, making sure to keep my tone even.

“What about your brother? Dario, I believe. Was he involved too?”

Chiara brings both hands to her lap, entwining her fingers together.

Her throat bobs as she swallows, then her eyes meet mine.

“Dario wasn’t able to become a made man. We left the country before he had the chance to be inducted.” A look of pain flashes over her face, and a quick glance at Nikolai tells me that he’s seen it too. “When we left for England, Dario was still thirteen. He was too young, and by then…it wouldn’t have been safe for him to return to Italy.”

I raise an eyebrow.

I know that her mother was murdered, and that’s why they all moved to England.

The rest doesn’t make sense.

Why wouldn’t it be safe for her brother?

As the underboss—as a high ranking made man—why not push his son to join the family?

Why not encourage his son to take revenge on those who murdered his wife, and the mother of his two children?

Something is missing, and Nikolai and I will get to the bottom of it.

I sigh heavily—theatrics—and she watches me with keen eyes.

“Your father’s an underboss, your brother never joined, and your mother…”

Chiara’s face falls at the mere mention of her mother.

She shifts positions on the bed, almost curling into herself, keeping her body safe from us. Her voice cracks when she speaks again.

“My mother is dead.”

There’s a sharp silence in the room after that.

We knew that, our father has just told us about it, but it's different hearing those very same words fall from Chiara’s lips.

Women die all the time.

Sure, they should be the very last ones to die when targeted, but that’s not always the case. And from what our father has said…I can only wonder why.

My gaze flickers over to Nikolai, and I see the tension in his shoulders, the slight crease in his brows. He’s deep in his thoughts, like I am, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about. Between the two of us, Nikolai is the calculated one. But I spot the shift in him as he looks back to Chiara, the way his eyes scan the length of her body, and the way his breathing becomes heavier.

We need her to tell us more.

I know it. Nikolai knows it.

If we want our father off our backs, and the Italians to leave us alone, then we need to come up with a plan, and we need to come up with one fast.

Nikolai breaks the silence first, leaning into it a little, his voice calm but firm.

“We didn’t mean to upset you, darling, but we need to know. If we aren’t aware of all the details, bad things might happen.”

As soon as she hears those words, she flinches.

There’s another flash of fear on her face, and I know that it’s not only because of his words; it’s because of us too. And even though she has every right to be afraid of us, she has no need to. Not when we only want the best for her.

Chiara trembles all over as she slowly begins to fall apart.

I don’t blame her for it; this was bound to have happened. She’s been here for some time now, and she’s stronger than we thought.

Sighing heavily, I take a seat beside her. She immediately stiffens at how close we both are on the bed together, but I don’t pay her any attention. It’s more important that she gets to talking.

“Tell us about him, Chiara.” I say softly, my voice much more gentle now. “What exactly did your father do before you moved to England?”

She swallows audibly as she shrugs her shoulders.

“Like I said before, he was an underboss. I was too young to know the ins and outs of exactly everything he did as an underboss, but that was his role.”

I exchange a glance with Nikolai, and he nods at me, taking over.

“What about Dario? Did your brother ever plan to join too?”

Chiara looks over at my brother, nodding her head at him.

“He always hoped to start as a soldier, and make his way up like how Papa did. But after Mama…Dario wasn't allowed to return to Italy after her death, and neither was I.”

I’m about to push her for more, but she does something which catches me off guard.

Her lips tremble, and her eyes glaze over with unshed tears. I blink as she wipes them away quickly, but it’s too late.

I saw it.

So did Nikolai.

Leaning in even closer, I make my voice softer.

“You don’t need to tell us everything, Chiara, but you should know this: you’re in our care now, and that means you’ll stay here. Nikolai and myself will look after you, regardless of whether you want it, or not.”

My brother shifts beside me, his voice smooth as velvet.

“We’ll never hurt you, but we do need you to trust us. There’s so much at stake, Chiara, and everything can go so terribly wrong if you don’t cooperate with us.”

Her breathing becomes shallow as she stares at us both, tears now rolling down her face.

She hasn’t broken yet, but I can feel it—the cracks forming—and I know that it won’t be long now. Once we have all the information, we’ll be able to do something, and we’ll lead both the Italians, and the Russians, astray.

Nobody will ever know that Nikolai and I are the ones who have taken Chiara.

She glances at us both, her lips wobbling as she bites down on them. When she speaks again, her voice breaks.

“I just want to know that my family is okay. Please, at least grant me that.”

Nikolai looks over at me, but I can’t find it in me to look at him too.

We both know that her family is far from okay. But we also know that we’ll keep Chiara safe, and for now, that’s all that matters.

Nikolai reaches forward, swiping his thumb across her cheek, wiping the tears away. I do the same to the other side of her face.

Her breathing stutters as we both move in even closer, invading all personal space she has left, then we lean in further, pressing our lips against either one of her pink cheeks. Chiara gasps as we make contact, and that sound goes straight to my cock. We pull away, only to find her watching us both, her eyes wide, and her lips parted.

I smile.

She’ll crack soon.

I know it.

We’ll break through to get to her.

And when we do, she’ll be ours.

“Don’t make things difficult for yourself, darling.”

Her breathing hitches, and she blinks away the last of her tears.

As Nikolai and I leave the room, we speak softly in Russian, devising a plan to throw everybody off about this entire situation.

Chapter Eleven

Chiara

The pain comes out from nowhere, so sharp and unrelenting as it curls through my lower stomach, tightening around my insides with every passing second. It pulls me from the edge of sleep, the sharp ache anchoring me back into this reality—this madness which refuses to let go.

I press a hand to my stomach, but the pain only grows worse beneath my palm, spreading across me like fire.

It takes me a moment to realise what this could mean, and my entire body freezes. I’ve been so caught up in my fear, my confusion, that I’ve not paid this any attention. A horrible possibility blooms in my head, and as I squeeze my legs together, I know that I’m right.

No.

Not now.

I sit up, my breathing uneven, and I glance all around the room.

It’s quiet in here, empty for once, but I know it won’t last long.

They’re always close.

Always watching me.

I feel my heart beginning to race in my chest as I push the blanket away from my body, swinging my legs over the side of my bed as I stand up.

I don’t even hesitate.

My hands fumble at the waistband of these trousers they’ve given me as I pull them down, just enough to be able to see, and I gasp.

Blood.

It stains the plain white underwear, the dark red a stark contrast against the cotton fabric. My heart sinks as panic claws its way up my throat. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.

I’ve started my period.

Of course, my body has decided to betray me now.

My hands shake as the red is in my line of vision again, and I press one hand to my stomach once more, trying to ease the pain.

Nothing is helping.

At home, when I got my period, I relaxed for the full seven days, and a few more days too. Though Papa was a little awkward with it, and Dario would turn bright pink whenever he was aware of it, my family did their best to keep me comfortable, and distract me from the pain.

And now, I’m stuck here with these captors, unable to do anything.

I bite down on my bottom lip, wondering what I can even do.

If I ask them for help…

A fresh wave of shame crashes over me. They have already stripped me of everything—my freedom, my dignity—and now, I need to ask these very same men for help? I can’t let them see me like this. Even the idea of it makes me want to curl up into a ball, sobbing as I pray to wake up from this awful nightmare.

But I have no choice.

They need to know.

There aren’t any supplies in this room, and the bathroom doesn’t even have the basic necessities. There’s no way I can handle an entire week of bleeding all on my own. And even though I don’t really understand it, I know they care about me fiercely, and there’s no telling what they’ll do if I try to hide this from them.

Carefully, I pull my trousers over my hips, squeezing my thighs together to try and stop the blood from flowing, as I sit frozen on the edge of my bed, waiting.

I don’t need to wait for very long.

The door creaks open as Nikolai steps inside, his gaze immediately landing on me.

As he takes in my tense posture—the way my arms are wrapped around my middle—his eyes narrow in my direction. He remains in the doorway, watching me.

“What’s wrong?”

Nikolai asks, his voice low but commanding. 

The words are stuck in my throat. I feel my face burn as I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I can’t even try to speak, and that’s not even the most humiliating thing about this entire situation.

“Something is wrong.” He says again, more firmly this time. His eyes seem to darken as he steps closer towards me, his movements slow, and deliberate. “Tell me, Chiara.”

I swallow hard, my hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly that I begin to feel my knuckles ache.

I clear my throat as I tip my head back a little so I can meet his eyes. His towering frame casts a shadow over me, and as he drags his eyes across the length of my body, a small dip appears between his brows.

“What’s happened? Why are you in pain? Tell me so I can help you.”

Help you.

The words sting, a cruel reminder that I’m entirely at their mercy.

Here, I’m only a captive, and they are my captors.

I can’t do anything here without them knowing.

Before I can tell him, Mikhail steps into the room too, his sharp gaze moving between myself, and his brother.

“What’s going on?”

He asks, the question directed to Nikolai.

Nikolai shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“She’s in pain, Mikhail. She won’t tell me why.”

Mikhail’s expression darkens as he steps closer towards us, his presence just as overbearing as his brother’s.

“How can we help you if you don’t tell us?”

I take a deep breath in before speaking.

“I…” My voice cracks as I swallow hard, hating how small I feel right now. “I need…supplies. I’ve started…my period.”

The last word is barely a whisper, but it’s enough to make their expressions shift.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Mikhail takes another step forward as he exhales sharply. Nikolai’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering to his brother before returning to me.

“Is that all?”

Nikolai asks me, his tone now calm.

I nod my head as I press my palm to my stomach, wincing.

“There’s nothing here, and I didn’t know what to do.”

Mikhail sighs, his expression softening slightly as he turns to look at Nikolai.

“We’ll handle it.” He says, already moving to head back towards the door. “You stay here, and I’ll go grab some things.”

Once he leaves, Nikolai turns to look at me again.

His towering presence is both comforting and suffocating all at once. Though he doesn’t say anything, he does watch me with those icy blue eyes of his, and I can’t tell if he’s angry, concerned, or even something else altogether.

“You should have told us sooner.” He finally says, his voice low. “We told you we would take care of you, and we don’t go back on our word, darling.”

A shiver goes through my body at that word—darling—as I look away from him.

I don’t respond, and luckily, Nikolai doesn’t push me to. Instead, he steps back, giving me some space, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a small flicker of relief.

For some time, Nikolai stays with me in the room. He doesn’t speak much.

His gaze feels heavy all over me. Those icy blue eyes of his are always on me; watching me, waiting for the right moment to strike.

I shift uncomfortably on the bed, feeling blood seep out from my entrance as I wince, pressing my palm to my stomach. I begin standing up, and Nikolai is immediately there, his hand on my arm as he helps me.

“What’s going on?”

I take a sharp breath in as pain shoots through my lower stomach, unable to stop myself from holding onto Nikolai, almost crying out from the pain.

“I’m going to bleed through my trousers if I remain seated.”

I admit to him in a quiet voice, the humiliation of my confession making my entire body burn up.

I keep my gaze on the floor, unable to say anything else to him, hoping that this silence will stretch long enough until Mikhail returns.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t.

Nikolai puts one finger under my chin, tipping my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes.

My breathing hitches as he slides his hand down from my arm, choosing to hold me by my waist instead as he tugs me closer to his body.

“Would it be better if we moved to the bathroom, darling?”

My heart rate picks up, and I nod slowly at him.

Together, we begin to move, the wooden floorboards in the room creaking with every step that we take.

I feel wetness smeared between my thighs, and I can’t help but hate myself for getting into this situation. Even though it’s not my fault—not really—I wish I did something instead of coming here with them, practically offering myself to them.

When we step into the bathroom, I feel like I can breathe a little easier. All I need now is Mikhail, and I hope he’ll return soon, and with the right products for me to use.

When Nikolai’s hand suddenly lands on my stomach, I take a sharp breath in, gasping.

“W-What do you think you’re doing?”

His lips twitch at the corners.

He applies some pressure on my stomach, rubbing softly, easing the pain away. My lips part as I breathe out heavily.

“What do you think I’m doing, darling?”

Oh.

I focus on keeping my breathing even, his touch suddenly so comforting.

I open my mouth to speak, to answer him, when the door swings open, and Mikhail steps back inside. I watch him shut the door behind him as he makes his way towards us with a small paper bag in his hands.

“I got what you need.”

He announces, crossing the room quickly as he opens the bag, showing me what’s inside.

A package of pads.

A new pair of black underwear.

A pair of black shorts.

My face burns as I look down at all the items.

For some reason, Nikolai’s hand pressed against my stomach feels too hot now, and as Mikhail drags his eyes there, I feel my face burning up.

I put my own hand above his, trying to get him to stop holding me, but it’s no use.

He won’t budge.

Instead, I choose to ignore his hand on my body as I lift my eyes to meet Mikhail’s, speaking softly to him.

“Thank you for bringing me all of these things.”

He nods at me, and for some reason, that small action makes my skin feel like it’s on fire, the embarrassment rolling over me in waves.

Again, there’s a finger under my chin, tipping my head up so I can meet Nikolai’s eyes.

I spot the look in his gaze, and I frown slightly.

“What?”

I ask him, my voice coming out sharper than intended.

His lips twitch into a faint smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Beside us, Mikhail takes a step closer, and I turn my head to look over at him.

“You need help.”

He tells me.

My stomach drops as I shake my head quickly.

“No, I don’t.” I say, my voice rising slightly. “I can handle it.”

Mikhail leans in closer, his eyes narrowing in my direction.

“You’re in pain.” He points out, as if it’s not obvious enough. “Let us take care of you.”

I glance between both brothers, my heart pounding in my chest.

“You can’t be serious.”

I manage to whisper out, feeling Nikolai’s palm growing firmer against my stomach.

“We are.” He tells me, his tone calm. “We’ve already seen you at your most vulnerable, darling. This isn’t any different. Let us help you.”

The words catch in my throat.

I don’t know how to respond—how to make them understand that this is different.

This is too much…too personal…and too everything.

“I can do it myself.”

I insist, pushing my shoulders back as I stand up straighter.

They exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between them. Mikhail is the one who speaks first, his voice unusually soft.

“We're not trying to embarrass you.” He says. “We just don't want you to feel like you have to do this alone. That’s all it is, beauty.”

I stare up at him, unable to figure out what I can possibly say to make this any better.

Before I even have the chance to say anything, Nikolai touches my waist once more.

“Come on.” He tells me. “Let us take care of you.”

And just like that, I know I've lost.

I want to protest, to demand that they leave me alone, but I know there’s no use.

One, they’ll ignore me.

And two, no matter how hard I try to speak, I can’t. The words are stuck in my throat, tangled up with my humiliation.

I’m frozen, unable to fight back as Mikhail invades my space, towering over me exactly how his brother is.

“You’re shaking.” Mikhail murmurs. “Relax, beauty. We’re here to help.”

Help.

The word feels foreign, wrong even. But they don’t give me any more chances to argue.

Mikhail reaches into the bag, pulling out the fresh pair of underwear. He doesn’t rush, or make any sudden movements either, but it still feels like my entire body is on fire as he passes the clothes over to Nikolai.

Nikolai takes a step away from me, putting some space between our bodies. One hand remains on my stomach, and the other goes to the waistband of my trousers. I flinch as I raise both of my hands, trying to stop him from doing what I know he needs to do, but he brushes them aside gently, his touch firm, but not rough.

“Relax, darling. We’re doing this to help you.”

I close my eyes, my chest tightening with shame as he tugs my trousers down my legs, leaving me standing there in only the t-shirt they gave me, and the stained underwear beneath it.

The air in the bathroom is colder now, every inch of my exposed skin prickling with goosebumps.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” Mikhail says, as he takes a deep breath in, I listen to him, opening my eyes just in time to see him crouching low in front of me after taking the new pair of underwear from Nikolai. “Let’s get you changed now.”

He drags the soiled underwear slowly down, the sharp cool air making me gasp, as both brothers tense at the sound leaving my mouth.

I’m too tired to even fight them any more.

“Lift your leg.”

Nikolai whispers into my ear, bringing me backward so I’m pressed to his front once more.

I listen to him, lifting one leg, then the other, as he takes the dirty underwear, reaching out for some tissue as he wipes me. Once that’s been done, he pulls the clean underwear just above my knees.

My face burns, the humiliation of this all sinking deep into my bones, but I don’t think they notice—or even care.

Finally, Nikolai drops his hand from my body as he too crouches down, opening the package to take a pad out. He unwraps it carefully, his movements precise, and almost clinical. Before he does anything else, his eyes flicker up to mine.

“We’re almost done now, beauty.”

A lump appears in my throat as I force it down.

Their hands—warm and steady—fit the pad into my underwear as they pull the cotton upward, leaving it snug around my hips.

Nikolai lifts the new pair of shorts out of the bag, an eyebrow raised at me, as I nod my head at him.

Together, they help put the shorts on me.

The entire process only takes a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity.

“There we go.” Mikhail says once he’s standing up to his full height again. “All done.”

Together, they take a step back away from me, surprising me.

Their eyes are on me as I wrap my arms around my middle, unable to meet their gazes any longer.

“Why are you doing this?”

I ask again, my voice barely audible under the intensity of their eyes on me.

“Because you’re ours.”

Nikolai says.

“And we take care of what’s ours.”

Mikhail adds.

A hand reaches out—Nikolai’s—as he tilts my chin up again, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“You are not alone.” He says, his voice low, and a little…soothing. “We’ll take care of you. Always.”

The weight of the words sink into me, heavy and unrelenting.

I have no idea what to say. I have no idea how to respond.

The only thing I can do is nod, my throat tight as they guide me away from the bathroom, through the hallway, and towards the bed.

I sit down, feeling their hands linger on my body for just a second longer, before they take a step backward away from me.

Again.

“You’ll get used to this.”

Mikhail says, his voice full of certainty.

Nikolai nods in agreement, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips.

“One day, you’ll thank us.”

A shiver runs down my spine at his words.

I don’t say anything in response, I don’t even look at them as they both pull away, ready to leave me alone.

Deep down, I know they’re not wrong.

This has become my reality now, and every day that passes, every day that I spend with them…

There’s no escaping it.

“Thank you.”

I finally choke out.

I don’t even know why I’ve said it.

Maybe it’s the weight of their constant presence, the endless days of watching them circle me like predators, always speaking to me in low, measured tones, waiting to strike at the perfect time.

Or maybe it’s because the silence is unbearable, and my resolve is like a dam about to burst.

But it happens, and I blame the rush of hormones in my system for it.

“Nikolai.”

I whisper.

His name feels foreign on my tongue, but it lingers there, tasting sweet and dangerous all at once.

I watch him stop moving, noticing how he freezes. The corner of his mouth twitches, just the barest hint of something between a smirk and a sneer, and his icy blue eyes remain fixed on mine.

“What did you just say, darling?”

He asks me, his voice soft, threaded with something that makes my skin prickle.

I swallow hard, my breathing uneven.

The air here feels hotter now, heavier, as it slowly begins to suffocate me.

“Nikolai.”

I repeat, a little louder this time, but my voice still shakes slightly.

Beside him, Mikhail shifts.

My eyes immediately move to him.

His presence, so menacing, is suddenly closer.

My body reacts before my mind can, my pulse jumping wildly as I glance up at him.

“Mikhail.”

I say, his name falling from my lips before I can even stop myself.

His expression changes instantly, the sharpness in his features softening for just a fraction of a second before something else replaces it; something darker, more primal.

His lips part slightly as he tilts his head, watching me, as if he’s only seeing me for the first time.

The silence stretches between us, and I don’t know what to do now.

“You said our names.” Nikolai murmurs, stepping closer again to stand beside his brother once more. “That was the first time.”

My throat becomes dry.

“Do it again.” Mikhail adds in a rough whisper. “Say our names.”

I don’t think I can.

My throat is too dry, and my hands are trembling by my sides.

But their eyes are locked on me, waiting for me, daring me too, and my chest tightens under the weight of their gaze.

“Nikolai.”

I manage to say again, my voice cracking slightly as my face burns.

I swear, I see the smallest, faintest, curve of his lips.

“And me?”

Mikhail prompts, his head dropping slightly as his eyes bore into mine.

My heart pounds harder, but I force the word out anyway.

“Mikhail.”

His name is barely a whisper, but it’s been said.

His jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare slightly.

But it’s his lips that give it away; the smile that stretches along them, no matter how hard he tries to suppress the smile.

My body flushes, heat crawling up my neck, and pooling low in my stomach.

I don't understand it—any of it—but I feel like I’ve crossed a line now, opened up a door I can never close again.

“Good girl.” Nikolai murmurs, his voice as smooth as silk, making me shiver. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, darling?”

My breath catches at his words, then Mikhail reaches out, brushing his finger along my cheek with a gentleness I didn’t know he was even capable of.

“It’s nice hearing our names from your lips.”

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

They both stare at me, their presence so suffocating, yet so also intoxicating too. My heart feels like it’s about to burst, and I don’t know if it’s from fear, or something else entirely.

Though they don’t say anything else, their eyes remain fixed on mine, burning into my soul.

The looks on their faces are enough to make my knees weak.

And for the first time, I realise the power my voice has over them.

It terrifies me.

The faint sweetness lingers on my tongue as I bring my fingers to my lips, licking away the remnants of chocolate.

Earlier today, the twins came back with heaps of snacks, and I saved this chocolate bar, nibbling on it slowly, savouring every piece like it might be my last.

Now, the sticky residue clings to my fingertips.

With a quiet sigh, I make my way towards the small bathroom. The door creaks faintly as I step inside, the coolness of the floor seeping through my socks.

I walk towards the sink, noticing the way my reflection stares back at me in the mirror.

Pale.

Tired.

Worn.

Shadows cling to my eyes, evidence of many restless nights, and too many unanswered questions.

Looking away, I reach out to turn the tap on, brushing my fingers against the cold metal. I lean forward, ready to wash the chocolate away from my fingers and palm, when movement behind me catches my eye in the mirror.

My heart lurches at the unexpected face staring straight at me.

Mikhail.

He’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His eyes are trained on me with a focus so intense, it makes my stomach twist. His presence is so sudden, so overwhelming and unexpected, that I freeze, my hand suspended mid-air.

For a moment, neither one of us moves, the tension thick enough to drown in.

Forcing myself to release a breath, I look away, my breath catching in my throat as I turn back to the sink. My fingers tremble as they hover towards the stream of water.

Then, without warning, he’s there.

His hand darts out, capturing my wrist in a grip that’s firm, but not painful. I gasp at the sudden touch, my body jerking in surprise, but Mikhail doesn’t let go. Instead, he steps closer to me, his chest pressed against my back, as he leans down. His fingers tighten around my wrist as he guides my hand away.

“Mikhail.” I whisper. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer me.

Instead, he lowers his head down further, his breath warm against the side of my neck as he raises my hand higher, turning it slightly so that my chocolate-stained fingers are at level with his mouth.

My breath catches in my throat, my eyes becoming wide as I stare at him in the mirror.

His eyes—dark, intense—are locked on mine.

“How dirty.”

Mikhail murmurs, his voice low and edged with something that makes my knees feel weak.

His tongue flicks out, brushes against the tip of one finger, and I shudder.

“Mikhail—”

I try saying again, but the word dies in my mouth as he licks another finger, his gaze never leaving mine.

The contrast of the heat of his tongue against my skin mixed with the coldness of the room sends a jolt through my body, my breathing becoming unsteady.

“You taste so sweet, beauty.”

He says softly, his voice almost teasing as his lips curl into a small smirk.

I hate the way my pulse races in response.

“Stop.”

I manage to whisper, but it sounds so weak, even to my own ears.

Mikhail doesn’t stop.

He takes his time, savouring each finger as though this is another twisted game of his, a test to see how far he can push me. And throughout it all, his eyes remain on mine in the mirror, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses my face.

By the time Mikhail is finished, I’m trembling, each breath coming out in shallow gasps. My body feels like it's on fire as warmth pools in my lower stomach.

Finally, he releases my wrist, letting my hand drop, but he doesn't step away. I swallow hard, feeling the way his presence looms over me, so heavy and suffocating. Mikhail leans forward, moving close so that our faces are pressed side-by-side as he turns slightly, looking straight into my eyes.

I stop breathing altogether.

“Don’t make a mess next time, beauty.” He murmurs softly, his lips brushing against the corners of mine with every word that leaves his mouth. “Or else, I won’t stop at just your fingers.”

His words send a shiver down my spine.

Finally, he pulls back, turning on his feet as he walks away from me, leaving me in the bathroom, clutching onto the edge of the sink, my legs barely able to hold me up.

He shuts the door behind me, and I finally release the breath I’ve been holding. I look back at my reflection in the mirror, noticing how flushed and wide-eyed I now look.

I let the water run, wondering if I’ll ever find solid ground again, or if this madness will eventually consume me whole.

Running my fingers under the water, I try to erase the feeling of Mikhail’s mouth. My breathing is uneven, and the woman in the mirror mocks me with her flushed cheeks, and the look in her eyes that tells me she should know better—that I should know better.

With a splash, I cup some water before throwing it to my face, allowing the chill to soothe my heated skin. Droplets trail down my cheeks and neck as I stare into the mirror, gripping onto the faint hope that I can collect myself before returning to my room.

I swallow hard.

It’s more like my prison.

A humourless laugh escapes me as I straighten up, flicking water from my hands before I wipe them over the soft material of my t-shirt. I take a deep breath in, shaking my head to clear it of these wild thoughts, as I leave the bathroom, making my way towards the bed again.

I step into my room, pausing for a second as I look over the space in front of me.

I have no idea if they’re keeping me out, or locking me in any more.

I tread towards the small bed.

I’m too lost in my own thoughts to even notice it at first, too focused on the ache in my heart, and the knot of frustration that’s twisting tighter and tighter.

I freeze mid-step when I feel it; warmth at my back, a presence too close to mistake. My heart lurches violently, every nerve alive as an arm slips around my middle, tugging me back into his chest.

“Nikolai.”

I whisper, barely able to choke out his name, his touch all-too familiar now.

His voice, deep and low, brushes against my head.

“Familiarising yourself with my touch, are you, darling?”

I take a deep breath in as his chest presses into my back, his arm heavy as he rests it around my middle.

We’re so close together, barely an inch of space between us, that I can’t help but expect it. When I feel it though, that’s something else altogether. He’s hard, and he’s shameless enough to rub himself on my body, causing every breath of mine to become heavier.

I swallow hard.

“W-What do you want now, Nikolai?”

His chuckle is soft, dangerous too, as it sends a wave of unease washing over me.

“Want?” He repeats, his voice taking on a teasing tone as his lips graze my ear. “I want you to stop running away from us, darling. I want you to give into us.”

I shake my head, my breathing shallow.

“I-I’m not—”

He cuts in, his tone sharper now, though not unkind.

“You are running away, Chiara.” I shiver at the sound of my name leaving his lips. “Every time you push us away, every time you pretend you’re not ours…you only make us want you more.”

The words hit me like a blow, the weight of them sinking deep into my chest.

My legs feel weak, and if it wasn’t for him holding me upright with his arm around my middle, I know I would have sunk down onto my knees. I hate my body for betraying me like this, but it’s all his fault. It’s hard to think straight when he’s so close to me like this, and when his body is reacting to mine.

“You’re delusional.”

I manage to say, my voice trembling and my eyes focused straight ahead, refusing to turn my head even an inch to look over at him.

“Am I?” Nikolai asks, his tone calm, but I can hear the tension in his voice. “Then why are you reacting to my touch?” His arm is still locked around my middle, but he raises his hand, swiping his thumb along my breast, causing my breath to hitch. “Why do you freeze when I call you by your name?”

The throbbing between my legs only grows, and as he pushes his hips against my backside, I can’t help but sigh heavily.

“I’m not—”

There’s no use trying to lie to him.

He already knows.

“Stop lying to yourself, darling.” Nikolai murmurs into my ear. “Just give in to us. Soon, there’ll be no part of you left that doesn’t belong to us, and you will thank us for it.”

My knees buckle slightly, but I catch myself.

I won’t let him win.

“Get away from me.”

I manage, my voice steady as I force his hand away from around my body.

To my surprise, he listens. He drops his arm, and he takes a step back. The heat of his body soon begins to fade, and with a small, humourless laugh, he leaves me be.

“Goodnight, darling.” He whispers softly. “Be sure to dream sweet dreams of your captors.”

I swallow hard, and when I finally dare to look over my shoulder, I find that Nikolai is already gone, leaving me all alone with the sound of my racing heart.

Forcing myself to look away, I drag my feet towards the bed before getting under the covers, staring straight ahead at the ceiling.

The pain in my lower belly has now become a steady ache. I sigh heavily, shifting slightly, but even that small movement sends a spark of awareness through my body. The ache that was once there purely because of my cramps feels different now. My skin is too sensitive, and my nerves are tingling with something unfamiliar, yet also something undeniable.

And it’s all their fault.

The way that Mikhail had held my wrist, the way that he had brought my fingers to his mouth, the way that his tongue had slid over the length of my digits…

The way that Nikolai had held onto my body, the way that he had whispered into my ear, the way that he had pressed himself against me…

Heat pools low in my belly as both my thighs press together instinctively.

I shouldn’t be feeling like this.

Not now.

Not ever.

I shift again, frustration curling through me, but it only makes everything worse.

A whimper slips from my lips before I can stop it. My body is flushed, the warmth of my own skin suddenly too much, too overwhelming.

My body is too aware of the fact that they aren't here, but instead of filling me with relief, the fact only leaves me feeling dread.

If not them…then who?

I can’t stop thinking about them.

The sharp contrast between them; one dark, one light, one brooding, one teasing.

Both are equally dangerous.

Both are equally devoted.

Both are equally mine.

My breathing is uneven now, and my fingertips are twitching by my side, aching to touch, to chase relief.

I shouldn’t.

I really shouldn’t.

But when I close my eyes, they’re there.

Nikolai, with his sharp eyes roaming all over me slowly, deliberately, like he’s memorising every inch of me. The way his voice drops when he calls me darling, the word curling around us like smoke, thick and heavy. The way his hot breath fans against my neck as he whispers to me in Russian, his hands roaming lower, teasing me, torturing me too.

Mikhail, with his smirk softening at the corners whenever he murmurs beauty, his fingers brushing along my cheek like he’s marking me with something invisible, but something permanent too. His smirk softens as he leans in, his lips brushing over mine, before he trails down, down…

My breathing hitches. My thighs squeeze tighter.

I tell myself it’s just the hormones; it’s just the rush of emotions from everything happening at once.

That’s all.

It’s all just biology.

This is just relief.

But when my hand dips beneath the blanket, sliding between my thighs, and through my wet folds, the truth is impossible to ignore.

It’s them.

Nikolai.

Mikhail.

It’s always them.

And the worst part?

I want them.

I want their hands on me.

I want their mouths on me.

I want to be between them.

I want to be beneath them.

I want to be theirs.

And deep down, I know that they know it too.

That’s why they are so patient with me.

That’s why they are waiting for me.

Because they know that when I finally give in, it won’t be hesitation or uncertainty guiding me.

It will be this.

This need.

This hunger.

This aching, all-consuming desire.

And when that moment comes…

I don’t think I'll ever be able to stop.

I press my face into the pillow, biting down on a moan, but it’s useless.

I’m already slipping.

I’m already sinking.

My mind, my body, my very soul…

They’re no longer just mine.

Piece by piece, I’m losing myself to them.

I know that I am.

Chapter Twelve

Chiara

I stopped bleeding some time ago.

I have no idea how long it’s been since then and now.

I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve been stuck staring at the same four walls, and the same two faces.

My heart seems to always ache with a constant, gnawing emptiness. It’s a mix of the isolation, and the unrelenting presence of both my captors, and every day feels heavier than the last. The ache in my chest hurts, and the whispers in my mind grow louder, cruelly reminding me that nobody knows where I am.

I’m trying to wash my hands, but my fingers are now numb, almost as if they don’t belong to me any more. The water is running cold now, but even that isn’t doing anything to help.

When I feel that familiar sense of being watched, my back becomes stiff, and I immediately try to block out that feeling.

But then I hear it—the sound of Nikolai’s voice, always low, now questioning too.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

He asks, stepping closer.

I swallow hard as I turn the tap off, immediately turning around to face him.

His gaze is sharp, all-seeing, as his eyes rake over me, assessing every inch of my body as if he’s searching for some sort of hidden injury, something that might give it away. He doesn’t find anything, because the pain isn’t physical.

The weight of his gaze presses against my chest, making the ache inside me even sharper.

I want to tell him, I want to scream the words out, but one look at him has me frozen. All I can do is whisper, and I hope it’s enough for Nikolai.

“I miss them.”

I say, my voice weak.

My eyes burn with tears, and my throat becomes tight with emotion.

As his brows furrow slightly, confusion flickering in his expression, he takes a step closer towards me.

“Who do you miss?”

The tension is clear in his question.

I swallow hard as I try my best to hold it together.

It’s hard.

“My Papa…my brother…” My voice breaks as I continue speaking. “I just…I want them to know that I’m safe, Nikolai. That’s all I want.”

The silence that follows after is thick. Behind Nikolai, Mikhail steps into the bathroom too, but I don’t dare to look at him.

I can’t.

Pressing a hand to my chest, I take a deep breath in, feeling the rapid beat of my heart beneath my palm as tears threaten to fall. This is all too overwhelming; the weight of everything. The unknown. The helplessness.

“I want to go home.”

I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

I spot both their bodies tense, and for some time, they’re both silent. I’m not sure what to make of it, not sure what else I can say to make them understand, when finally, Mikhail speaks.

“You can’t go home.”

He tells me, stepping closer to us both, his words sounding more harsh than I expect.

I feel a sob bubbling up my throat.

I know that I can’t go home, but hearing the words being spoken out loud sends a chill through me.

“You’ll never be able to leave our sight, darling.” Nikolai adds, his tone almost too gentle as he takes a step forward as well. “At least, not until you accept that you belong to us both wholeheartedly.”

I shake my head, unable to look at him, suddenly feeling ashamed of the way my body is trembling.

“Please.” I whisper, ready to get down on my knees and beg them if it makes a difference. “I need them to know that I’m okay.”

There’s no answer right away, but I can feel their eyes on me.

In the silence that follows, a single tear falls, and I don’t even try to stop it.

I’m completely at their mercy now.

I wrap my arms around my body as my breathing soon becomes more erratic as I try to swallow the sobs down.

I can’t humiliate myself any longer.

Mikhail mutters something in Russian, his voice low and sharp. Although I don’t understand the words that are leaving his mouth, I do understand the intent behind them. He’s saying something about me—that much is clear.

Nikolai exhales slowly, his gaze flickering to me before he nods at his brother.

“I think the same.”

He says in English, making sure that I’m able to understand him now.

The weight of the words crushes down on me, and my throat tightens as I try to fight back the tears.

I just want my family to know that I’m safe.

To see my face.

To hear my voice.

To know that I haven’t disappeared without a trace.

I swallow hard, thoughts of my family swimming through my head.

Are they okay?

Are they still looking for me?

I wonder how Papa is holding up, and how Dario is too.

I wonder if they’re supporting each other during this time, or if they’re back to arguing again, like how they would after Mama’s death.

I think of my friends, of Tamana, who I left all alone in my flat.

Closing my eyes, I release a heavy breath, forcing myself to calm down.

Everything will be fine.

I say to myself.

Everything will be fine.

When I open my eyes again, Mikhail clicks his tongue at me.

“A video wouldn’t hurt.”

He says, sounding a little more sincere now.

Immediately, my heart skips a beat.

Nikolai’s expression hardens at once.

“No.”

His voice is firm.

Mikhail sighs.

I see how he tilts his head slightly, studying his brother, waiting for a few seconds. He doesn’t push—not right away. Instead, he allows the silence to stretch between them both, giving Nikolai some time to reconsider.

When he doesn’t, Mikhail only shrugs.

“Come on, Nikolai.” He says, swinging an arm over his brother’s shoulders. “She won’t say anything; all she wants is for them to know that she’s okay.”

Nikolai takes a deep breath in, his chest rising and falling. I watch the way his jaw clenches, and how tension rolls off him in waves. For a moment, I think he’ll refuse again.

But slowly, his eyes flicker to Mikhail’s.

A silent conversation passes between both brothers.

And finally, Mikhail’s lips curl into a grin as he glances between myself, and his brother.

“Fine, beauty. You can make a video, but only on one condition.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest.

“What condition?”

His grin widens.

“Another kiss.” He tells me. I’m okay with that; they’ve been kissing me for many days now, and their touch is always expected now. “You have to kiss us both, beauty. You lead, and we follow. Sound like a plan?”

My breath catches in my throat.

This isn’t what I expected—not at all.

My first instinct is to argue with him, to push back, but the desperation to reach out to my family outweighs my pride.

It’s not like I haven’t done worse since being in their captivity.

They’ve touched me…I’ve touched them…

But I’ve never been the one to kiss them…to initiate it…to lead as they follow.

Ever.

But if a kiss is what will help me reach my family…

I nod quickly, wiping my tears away as I swallow hard.

“Okay.” I breathe out. “I’ll do it.”

If they’re surprised by my answer, they sure don’t let it show.

Nikolai is the closest, so I find myself taking a step towards him, my heart hammering in my chest. His eyes stay locked on mine. He reaches out, both arms wrapping around my middle, as he tugs me closer towards his chest. His body heat burns against me.

Taking a deep breath in, I tip my head up a little, pushing up on my toes, and I lean in. Our lips meet in a quick, soft kiss—gentle and controlled—but it’s enough to send my heart skittering.

Before I can lose my mind over it, I turn to Mikhail. His hands find my waist immediately now that Nikolai is no longer touching me, and Mikhail holds me in place, his grip firmer, more possessive. He doesn’t waste any time as he pulls me in with confidence, his mouth claiming mine with a little more force. A quiet groan rumbles from his chest, the sound vibrating against my lips, the cool metal of his lip ring sending a jolt through my body.

A dangerous heat blooms inside of me.

The throbbing between my thighs returns.

And when I pull away from him, my breathing is unsteady.

I swallow hard, staring at them both expectantly, when Mikhail tuts. His lips curl into a smug grin once more as his eyes flicker from mine, to his brother, then back to me again.

“Thanks for that teaser, beauty.” He murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “But that wasn’t what I meant.”

I blink, confusion clouding my mind.

“You said I need to kiss you both, and I did, Mikhail.”

My voice is low as I speak.

Mikhail leans in, invading my space, whispering against my lips.

“That wasn’t a kiss, Chiara. Don’t try to be smart. now” I shiver at his tone—how does his mood change so easily? “If you want to take the video, then you do as we’ve said, and you kiss us both. Willingly. Passionately. Understood?”

My heart skips a beat, my pulse quickening as I try to process what he’s demanding.

The weight of his words settle in the pit of my stomach, a mixture of dread and desire curling through me. The air has become thick, charged with something I can’t quite control.

I hesitate, my mind racing, but once again, my body betrays me. I find myself nodding at them both, reluctantly agreeing.

“Fine.”

I whisper, my heart only racing faster with every second that ticks by.

Their eyes glitter with satisfaction as they exchange a look between themselves, then Mikhail takes a step backward.

There’s no going back now.

“Say what you want to say, darling.”

Nikolai’s voice is soft, but I feel the weight of his words, urging me to comply.

I swallow hard, my mind racing with so many thoughts of what to possibly say to my family, when Nikolai pulls his phone out from his pocket, pointing it in my direction. When he taps the screen, and a bright flash shines into my face, I wince.

There’s no turning back from this.

Immediately, tears start to rise, making my vision turn blurry. I feel them spilling down my cheeks, and I choke on my words as I begin to speak.

“Papa…Dario…” I croak, my voice thick with emotion. “I miss you both.” My chest tightens as I close my eyes for a second, trying to steady my breath. “I’m safe here, please know that. I’m safe…I’m okay…I wish I could be with you.”

I continue speaking, telling them both that I’m not in harm’s way, and that I’m being taken care of.

The words are hollow, as if they can’t cover the aching emptiness that remains in my heart. The words spill free from my mouth.

Suddenly, Mikhail’s hand moves swiftly, his long fingers making an appearance just above the phone.

Five fingers, then four, three, and two.

He’s counting down the seconds until the video ends.

Before his final finger can be pulled down, they both look at me, expectantly.

With a sharp breath in, I blink through the tears, forcing the words out, even though it feels like my heart is breaking.

“I love you.” I whisper softly, my voice trembling. “I miss you both. Please take care of each other.”

The words leave my mouth just as the flash blinks off.

He stops recording, and Nikolai slips his phone back inside of his pocket.

My heart is still pounding in my chest, and I feel so exposed.

Before I can even think, Mikhail pounces on me. His hand is gentle on my face as his thumb wipes away the last of my tears, and his eyes full of something I can’t quite place.

“You’ll never be sad again.” He promises. “No more tears will fall from now on, beauty.”

I take a sharp breath in, swallowing hard.

Though his touch is soft, the way that he looks at me…

It makes me feel both safe, and lost, all at the same time. His gaze never once leaves mine as he presses the pad of his thumb to the corner of my lips, reassuring me not only with his words, but with his touch too.

There’s a flood of emotions rushing through me, and these feelings—terror, gratitude, conflict—only make me feel more confused than ever.

When did this happen?

How did this happen?

I can’t believe that these lines have blurred.

The lines of being held captive to my captors.

And…whatever this is now.

Mikhail’s breath is warm against my lips, his face so close to mine that I can feel the tension vibrating through his body, and into mine. My heart beats harder in my chest, and for a little while, I forget about everything else. I find my body betraying me once more as I lean into him, feeling comforted by his affection, despite all the pain he’s put me through.

And then, Mikhail leans in, his breath hot against my mouth, and then, our lips meet. Our kiss is tender at first—soft, and slow. But there’s something urgent in the way that he deepens it, his hand sliding up to hold me by the back of my neck, pulling me in even closer to him. My body responds instinctively, my chest heaving as I allow a small moan to escape through my lips, every single nerve on fire as I sink into Mikhail.

I can’t even think straight any more.

Everything I thought I knew about myself, everything I thought I knew about them, is now slipping away, being replaced with a raw, desperate need that I can’t seem to explain.

And I don’t know if I should continue being afraid, or if I should just give in completely.

I gasp into his mouth, the air between us thickening as he swallows that sound straight from my lips, leaving me breathless. His arms are heavy on my body, his grip tight, almost as if he’s afraid that I’ll pull away, but I can’t find the will to, not when his every touch is making me feel this loved. His hand moves from the back of my neck to the side of my face as his fingers wrap around me firmly before he forcibly breaks our kiss.

My eyes fly open, my chest rising and falling quickly. His hands are still on my body, keeping me grounded, and his jaw is tight. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them before. There’s an intensity there, something so raw and deep.

A shiver runs through my spine.

“Mikhail.”

I whisper, barely recognising the heavy need in my tone.

His gaze doesn’t waver; his eyes remain locked on mine with a fire in them that makes my heart race in a way that I don’t fully understand.

He remains silent, like he’s fighting to keep himself contained. The look in his eyes—the hunger, the desire—proves it.

And now, it’s impossible to ignore how much I’ve fallen into their trap, and how much I crave whatever it is that they’re ready to give me.

As Mikhail tips his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my skin, he whispers a string of Russian words I can’t understand. The tone of his voice sends a shiver down my spine, something deep and possessive in the way that he speaks.

I don't need to understand his language to know what he means.

His gaze remains on mine for just a second longer before he slowly pulls away from me, his fingers brushing across my skin in a lingering touch, causing my pulse to quicken as my lips part open, and a small sigh escapes me.

Mikhail remains silent as he takes my hand, tugging me closer to Nikolai, helping me step into his brother’s arms.

As soon as Nikolai’s hands settle onto either side of my hip, I feel a rush of heat moving through me. His touch is so deliberate, so demanding, yet there’s also a tenderness there too that makes my chest tighten with emotion.

Slowly, Nikolai raises one hand, lazily dragging his fingers along my body. His touch burns into my skin as he slides his fingers upward. Every inch of Nikolai’s body reacts to mine, just as my body reacts to his. He moves closer, pulling me flush against him.

Fire and ice, I decide.

Hot and cold.

Pleasure and tension.

My body responds to each and every touch of his, my thoughts scattering as I only focus on the feel of him. But even then, with this undeniable desire that burns between us, I know that this isn’t just about that. There’s something deeper, something that I don’t fully understand, something that I can’t resist.

Something that they’ve made me become.

Nikolai’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I find myself squirming at his question.

“Do you really think recording that video is worth having to kiss my brother and I?”

I shudder under his watchful gaze, my breath catching in my throat.

He’s waiting for me to answer him. I swallow hard, knowing that this is another boundary crossed, but not the last. This is another step into the unknown.

“Yes.”

I say.

There’s a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Good girl, darling. That’s what I like to hear.”

Before I can even react, his lips are on mine.

The kiss is hard and demanding, but there's also an edge of something tender to it, a rawness which makes my knees weak. Nikolai claims my lips, his kiss so deep and possessive, it sends a rush of warmth through my body. His hand moves to the back of my neck, holding me in place as he devours me whole, pulling me even closer as if he can’t get enough of me.

All I can feel is him; his warmth, his presence, his hunger.

This is not only a kiss, but a promise too.

It’s a warning, and it’s also a craving.

His lips move slowly against mine, teasing me softly, forcing me even closer, taking all of me.

Nikolai breaks our kiss, a sweet sound leaving his lips as we pull away, our bodies still pressed closely together. He cups the side of my face, his lips hovering just above mine, his breath mingling with mine.

“Next time, you’ll be doing a lot more than just kissing us.”

My body shivers as I look away, my eyes immediately dropping to the floor as heat blooms in my cheeks.

Nikolai takes a step backward, but Mikhail soon steps forward.

His presence towers over me again as he presses one hand to my back, guiding me. I hear Nikolai’s footsteps following us both closely behind as Mikhail takes us in the direction of the room.

As soon as we step inside, the room feels…smaller. The air shifts, thickening with the intensity of what has just happened between us.

Mikhail’s hand lingers on the small of my back for only a moment before he drops his hand, allowing me to step further into the room.

At first, I never wanted it, but now, their touch is comforting, grounding even. It’s a silent promise that I’m never truly alone, not when they’re both here with me.

I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands immediately going to my sides as I press my palms flat against the soft sheets.

Sometimes, I can't even believe it.

Taken.

And treated like this.

Like a princess—the Italian princess that I am—but also…like theirs.

This room feels so intimate now…feels like ours.

I look between both brothers, my heart pounding in my chest as they both stand on either side of the door, invading this space. They’re guarding me, guarding me like how they’ve always done, as though the world outside no longer matters.

The silence stretches between us.

They don't say anything. There’s no need to.

Their positions speak for them.

Nikolai is standing straight, his hands loosely at his side, his stance wide and open. Confident. He knows that he’s in control of everything in this room.

Mikhail slouches slightly, his arms crossed over his chest, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. Excited. He knows that he has the power to bend things to his will.

And the way that they both look at me…the way that they both watch every move I make…

My heart races.

They’re waiting for me to do something, to make the next move.

And I know they’re in no rush for it.

They’ve made it clear already; they’re in control.

All that’s left to do now is for me to follow.

I glance between them both, waiting. It will only be a matter of time before either one of them breaks the silence.

Both brothers study me as I sit on the edge of the bed, both brothers waiting for me to say something, anything.

I don’t, because I can’t.

And like Nikolai knows it, he decides to break the silence by speaking first. His voice is a little softer than usual, like he’s trying to be careful with the words that leave his mouth.

“What is your family like?”

I can’t help but stiffen.

It’s so sudden, so unexpected, that for a moment, I don’t even know what to say.

I swallow hard before even attempting to answer him.

“They’re strong people.” I begin saying, my voice trembling slightly. “They always have been. Papa has always doted on me, and Dario has always been kind.”

My chest tightens at the thought of them; my father’s calm presence, and my brother’s fierce protectiveness.

Mikhail pushes off of the doorframe, his gaze never leaving mine.

“How has your brother been kind to you?” He asks, his tone sounding like he’s trying to puzzle something out. “What’s Dario like?”

I hesitate for a second, my mind now flooded with so many memories of my brother.

He’s always made me feel like I’m the most important thing in the world, and he’s always made sure to keep me safe.

“Dario is protective.” I say, my voice a little softer now, raspier with the memories of my brother in mind. “He has a tough exterior, but he always has a soft spot for me. He’s always making sure that I’m okay. He looks out for me…fratello mio.”

There’s a quiet pause.

My throat has become dry now, and as I look up, I find the weight of both their gazes on me. I try not to let it get to me, but it’s hard to hold back the tears when all I want is to see my family again.

It’s not fair that they’re both here together—brothers—whilst my family is somewhere else, probably scared out of their minds about my whereabouts.

“What about your father? What is he like?”

Nikolai’s the one to ask the question this time, and his voice is a little more hesitant now.

It’s almost as if he’s afraid that I’ll break completely.

“Papa…” I pause, taking a deep breath in, trying to steady myself. “He’s the strong one. Even though he carries the weight of it all on his shoulders, he never lets anybody see him weak. He loves me, loves Dario too, and he raised us both all alone after…after Mama’s death.”

Just the mention of my mother has a sob bubbling in my throat.

I swallow hard, forcing it down.

Mikhail shifts, his eyes narrowing in my direction, as though he’s trying to figure me out.

“And how did she die?”

He asks me, his voice quiet.

I don’t want to answer that question.

I don’t want to remember the day that my mother died, and how everything changed for us in only a matter of seconds.

I don’t want to remember how my father became even more guarded, even more determined to keep us protected.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I fight back tears.

“Mama was…she was killed.” My breathing is shaky, and my chest aches. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

This time, Nikolai is the one who steps forward, only stopping when he’s standing right in front of me with one hand pressed to my shoulder.

His eyes…they’re gentle, but they’re guarded too.

“We’re not trying to hurt you, darling.” He says quickly. “We just want to know. We need to understand.”

I look up at him, blinking the tears away, before glancing over to Mikhail.

They’re both waiting on me, and I realise that it’s not even about understanding any more.

They want answers.

I take a heavy breath in, holding it for a few seconds, before I release it.

“My mother was murdered.” Something flashes through both of their faces. “She was killed in our home in Italy.”

Nikolai’s jaw becomes tight, and as I look over to Mikhail, I see him shaking his head.

Tears immediately rise to my eyes.

“I miss her.” I whisper, my voice barely audible now. “I miss her more than anything. I miss my family too.”

Tears threaten to spill down my face, but I blink them away.

After all that has happened, both over the last few days, and even today, I know that I can’t cry in front of them.

I won’t.

The room becomes silent for a moment, and I know that they’re both processing what I’ve said.

Even if they’re Russian, and I’m Italian, we’re both from a similar background.

Bratva.

Mafia.

Organisations where men rule. Organisations where women and children are to be unharmed.

I know what they’re thinking about—I’m thinking about it too.

If women are to be unharmed, then how is it that my mother was murdered?

I look back at my own situation, a sinking feeling appearing in my stomach.

If women are to be unharmed, then how is it that they’ve taken me, and they’re keeping me captive?

My fingers begin to tremble against the bed.

Nikolai reaches down, taking my hand in his, tugging me up so that I’m now standing.

Mikhail steps closer too, throwing the duvet over, as they both help me into bed.

Their hands are all over me, keeping me safe, as I lie down in bed.

I allow myself to drift into the past, my memories feeling a little faint now, like they’re just dreams I can barely reach.

But there are some moments I’ll never forget.

The warmth of my family’s love.

The way they would hold me when everything else fell apart.

I think back to the memory of Papa holding me so tightly, his strong arms wrapped around me as he kept me close.

It was the day that Mama passed.

His face—so fierce, and so determined too—peered down at me, tears in his eyes as his hand brushed all over me, making sure that I was safe.

My rock. My protector.

When Papa would hold me, nothing could hurt me. He was always soft with me, so loving in a way that I knew most made men weren’t with their daughters.

And Dario, my brother.

There are seven years between us both, but he never let that mean anything.

We were a team, the two of us, with Papa leading the way.

I remember how Dario would tease me when we were younger, but he somehow always knew the right thing to say to get me out of my moods, and to make me laugh again.

There was never a moment where I doubted his love for me; his protectiveness was fierce, and nobody could ever do anything to me without feeling my brother’s wrath.

But now, everything is different.

Dario is not here to hold me when I cry, and Papa is not here to tell me that everything will be okay.

I can’t even talk to them—that video is my only hope.

A bitter ache fills my chest as I think of the men in my family, wondering if they’re looking for me, wondering what must be going through their minds.

I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve been taken. I have no idea if I’m still in England.

From their accents…I doubt it.

My family has always kept me safe, always fought for me. But now…now, I’m all alone.

Alone with Nikolai.

Alone with Mikhail.

They both promised to protect me. They both promised to keep me safe.

And now…

I clench my fists, squeezing my eyes shut.

Somebody has his hand on my head, stroking my hair, and the other has his hand on my middle, stroking my flesh.

I can’t tremble like this in front of them. I can’t let them think that I’m weak.

But no matter how much I try to hold it together, the ache remains.

The emptiness in my heart.

The longing for my family.

And I hate it.

I hate how small and fragile I feel without them here, without the love they’ve always given me.

Papa’s deep voice echoes in my head, followed by Dario’s teasing tone.

The weight of everything feels so heavy now.

I should be angry.

Angry with Nikolai.

Angry with Mikhail.

But every single time that I try to be, I can’t.

They’re always there, their presence so close, so undeniable.

I should be repulsed by their touch, by the way that they’ve taken me, and kept me trapped here, but I can’t.

All I feel is confusion, a tangled mess of emotions that I can’t make sense of.

I still have no idea how this all happened.

When did the lines blur?

When did I stop hating them?

When did I stop resisting?

I used to dream of my family—Papa and Dario—coming here, saving me.

And now…

I swallow hard, a whimper escaping my lips.

Now, all I think about is curling up into Nikolai and Mikhail, allowing them to hold me, to touch me, and to reassure me.

I want to hear their words, and I want them to tell me that everything will be okay. I want them to show me how they’ll keep me safe, keep me protected from everything else around me.

But it’s never going to happen.

I won’t allow myself to forget who they are.

I won’t allow myself to forget what they have done.

They’re dangerous men who have taken me.

I shouldn’t feel safe with them, but when they're here, it’s like everything becomes quieter.

I don’t understand how it happened.

When did I begin to crave their presence?

Their touch?

How is it that something so twisted is now starting to feel so right?

I should be terrified of them; terrified of what they’ve done, and what they can do.

But I’m not.

I’m lost.

I’m stuck between two versions of myself; one who wants to fight, to escape, and to be free, and the other who wants to stay, to trust them, and to let them take care of me.

I release a shaky breath.

How did I get here?

How did I allow them to get inside my head so easily?

Maybe it's the loneliness.

Maybe it's the isolation.

Or maybe…just maybe…it’s something deeper than that.

Maybe it’s something I’m not ready to face.

I take a deep breath in, knowing this feeling won’t be going away anytime soon.

I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know where to go from here.

All I can do is wait.

Chapter Thirteen

Nikolai

I glance down at the phone again, wondering if we’ll ever get a response.

Though we did send the video of Chiara to Dario, we haven’t heard anything back yet, and it’s been almost seven days now. We did use an untraceable line, but there was always an option for him to leave a message.

I guess her brother didn’t quite get the memo.

My smirk deepens as I think about Chiara, my darling, feeling my cock beginning to react already.

She’s been with us for a few weeks now, and she’s starting to be a lot of fun.

Always open to exploring.

Allowing us to touch her everywhere.

She’s happy to kiss us too.

But when it comes to sex…that’s still a hard no.

She always shuts off when it gets to that, and Mikhail and I never push her for more.

Deep down inside, I know it won’t be long before she finally says yes, and we’re able to fuck that sweet Italian pussy of hers too.

I slide the phone into the drawer of my desk, closing it as I lock it, before I stand up.

Leaving my office, I walk through our house.

It’s quiet today.

I shake my head, choosing to ignore the question of why that may be as I head for the gym.

As soon as I step into the room, the smell of sweat, metal, and effort fills my lungs. I spot Mikhail’s figure, his body moving in a steady rhythm as he works through crunches. His naked chest rises and falls as the muscles in his stomach flex, the tattoos of snakes on his skin shifting with every breath he takes. It’s all a clear sign of the discipline and dedication my brother puts into everything he does.

Mikhail is always in control of his body.

He has to be.

Leaning against the doorframe, I watch my brother for a moment.

I know he feels me standing there, but he doesn’t acknowledge me right away. He doesn’t need to. We’ve always had the talent of speaking things through with just a flicker of our eyes.

It’s funny, really.

As twins, we share the same blood, the same face, the same history.

Yet when I look at my brother, I see somebody who can never be my exact copy, no matter how close we are in appearance. Yes, his face is a mirror of mine, but there’s something in the way that he carries himself that sets him apart.

Pushing myself off of the doorframe, I walk deeper into the room, my eyes tracking his every move.

Nobody else works harder than Mikhail—not a single soul.

Where I’m more calculated, careful about who to trust, and when to act, my brother is pure instinct.

But we’re also alike in so many ways too.

The same coldness, the same ruthless, the same violent streak.

I stop beside him, watching the muscles in his back flex as he finishes a set. There’s a glisten of sweat on his skin, and I know why he’s working so hard. It’s why I’ve been working so hard too.

Not only have we been raised for this life, but we’ve also taken a life just as precious, and we’re ready to fight back with all of our strength if needed.

Mikhail’s biceps bulge as he sits up, stretching his arms over his head before he turns, glancing over at me. His eyes are sharp, a flash of amusement in them.

“Are you admiring me, Nikolai?”

My brother asks me, his voice thick with the teasing tone I’m so familiar with.

I smirk, shaking my head at him.

“Not at all, brat. I’m simply admiring the dedication.”

Mikhail lets out a short laugh, a sound I’ve always found a little unsettling coming from him.

So raw…so unlike the rest of him.

“Don’t get used to it.” He says, grabbing his towel as he wipes the sweat from his face. “You know you’ll never be able to keep up.”

I chuckle.

“I don’t need to. I have my own way of getting things done.”

Mikhail shrugs, the muscle beneath his skin shifting.

“As long as we’re both getting results, it doesn’t matter.”

I nod.

We always do.

There’s absolutely nobody who can touch us—not in this world, and definitely not in our world.

Mikhail continues to wipe himself with the towel, his sharp eyes flickering briefly to the door behind me, then back to me.

Silently understanding, silently agreeing.

There’s no need to talk much, not really, not when we both know what’s expected of us.

“Is there anything else on your mind?”

My brother asks me, his voice steady.

I glance over at him, feeling the corners of my lips twitching.

“Chiara.”

He sucks a deep breath in, pausing for a second, before he throws the towel to one side.

“She’s ours, Nikolai.” My brother says, his tone so confident. “She’s understanding that already.”

I open my mouth to speak—to discuss what the next step is, to discuss how we’ll introduce her to our world—when footsteps ring out behind me.

I immediately tense, but since Mikhail barely reacts, I have no reason to.

I glance over my shoulder, watching as our father steps into the gym with us. He’s a tall man, his broad frame blocking out most of the light from the hallway, as his presence fills the room. It’s not only his size that demands attention; it’s the way that he carries himself.

He walks with a purpose, with eyes as blue as Mikhail’s and mine, never missing anything. The sharpness in them tells me that he’s been thinking about this situation—our very own captive—for far too long now.

He stops walking when he’s standing beside us both, his hair neatly combed back, his face clearly showing the weight of his experience, and authority too. A silent moment passes between us before he speaks.

“We have news.” He begins to say, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that immediately draws my full attention. “Somebody has made contact. The Italian princess is alive.”

I feel my chest tighten with every word that leaves his mouth, but I don't let it show on my face.

Neither does Mikhail.

We school our features, keeping our stances relaxed. My eyes remain trained on our father, unwilling to give anything away.

In return, his eyes flicker between both of us, and although he doesn’t say anything, I know what he expects of us.

He wants us to act, to bring the Italian princess to safety, and to reunite her with her family.

It’s a pity that won’t be happening.

I glance over towards my brother who remains just as calm as me, his posture unfazed. As our father continues, I move my eyes back on him.

“They don’t know the people behind this, or the motive for this, but we cannot afford to underestimate this situation any longer. It has been four weeks now, my sons. Four gruelling weeks in which a father, and a brother, have suffered.”

Again, he drags his eyes between us both, making sure that we understand the full weight of his words.

“The Italians are dangerous when they feel threatened, and this girl is important to them. We need to make sure that she is found, and that she is alive and well.” He pauses, his jaw tightening, as he releases a steady breath. He closes his eyes, a slither of vulnerability washing over his ageing face, before he looks at both of us again. “She is rumoured to be held captive in Arizona. Go, my sons, and find her. Return her to her family.”

My chest tightens as I force a sharp breath out, but my face remains impassive.

Arizona?

What. The. Fuck.

Who the fuck came up with that idea?

“Arizona is Cartel territory. What interest do they have with some girl?”

Our father shakes his head at Mikhail’s question, clearly as confused as we are.

“Like I said, she is rumoured to be there. Nothing has been proven yet. Perhaps you two will do a better job of finding her than the Italians have.”

I close my eyes momentarily, breathing out heavily.

Fuck.

This is creating a whole new world of problems.

Our father has no idea.

The Italian princess he so desperately wants to save?

She’s hidden in plain sight, right under his roof.

He has no idea that she’s already been found—taken—and is safe too.

I exchange a quick look with Mikhail, taking in the way that he gives me a barely noticeable nod. It’s clear that we’re both still on the same page. Now, we just need to make sure that we don’t slip up.

Our father clears his throat, demanding all attention again. 

“Like I’ve said many times now, this girl is important. She matters to the Italians, and that means she matters to us too. We need to keep this relationship between them and us strong, and if that means that we need to step in to help them solve their own problems, then so be it. Take some soldiers with you both, and I’ll arrange for the jet to be ready in the meantime. This girl is the key to everything, my sons. Do not hesitate to return her to her family once she is found.”

I nod at him, meeting his gaze.

My chest rises and falls as I swallow hard.

“Mikhail and I will do our best to find her, Otets.”

I say, my voice controlled.

His eyes linger on us both for a moment longer, but he doesn’t say anything. There’s no mistaking that there’s a fatherly sense of pride in his gaze, or maybe it’s just the knowledge that he knows what we’re capable of. Either way, it’s enough for Mikhail and myself.

With one final nod in our direction, he turns as he walks out of the gym, his footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving us both with only the sounds of our heavy breathing.

Mikhail barely reacts. His eyes are locked on the space where our father has walked towards, as if he’s considering doing something. When he looks over at me, I see the sharpness in his eyes, the same edge of determination I can feel in my gut.

“We’ll handle this, Nikolai.”

He tells me, his voice low.

I want to agree…but how can I?

It’s too much.

New York to Arizona…sending our soldiers over…working in Cartel territory…helping the Italians…

There’s no point.

We already know where she is; right where we left her.

“We can’t leave her alone for so long.” I rasp out, my mind racing with every bad thought. “How can she deal if neither one of us is there with her?”

Mikhail releases a heavy breath, finally breaking the silence with some words of his own.

“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.

Mikhail shifted beside me, his presence thick with something dangerous, and something hungry. Then she had pulled away from me, turning over to him, reaching out for him as she pulled him in, pressing her lips to his for a kiss, just as sweet and soft as mine.

It wasn’t gratitude for what we had given her.

It was something more.

It was something raw.

When she had pulled away from us both with her cheeks flushed, and her breathing heavy, her eyes searched ours for something.

Acceptance.

Approval.

And perhaps, even understanding too.

In that moment, there was a shift between us, an undeniable truth which settled in our bones.

Chiara was ours.

And she understood it too.

Even now, as Mikhail and I stand in front of her room, watching her, that memory lingers, still fresh in our minds.

She’s so absorbed in whatever book it is that she’s reading, that she hasn’t even realised we’re standing here.

We take a step closer, taking a step into her room, watching her stiffen as she finally hears us.

Her eyes immediately dart up from the book as she meets ours.

She freezes, releases a small breath between her lips, then a deep flush colours her skin.

It’s almost comical, the way she reacts after seeing us both, but I can’t deny it; there’s a warmth which spreads through me at the sight of her like that, and I would be lying if I said it doesn't make me feel good.

It’s only a simple, fleeting moment, but something about it—her innocence, her vulnerability—strikes me.

Chiara is no longer that terrified girl from the same night she was taken.

She’s adjusting, slowly but surely, even if she doesn’t fully understand everything that’s going on around her.

But she’s ours now. And that’s all that matters.

Mikhail doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he looks at Chiara with a quiet intensity in his eyes, his gaze sharp, but not unkind.

I’m the one to break the silence between us.

“How is the book, darling?”

I ask, keeping my voice soft, almost curious even.

I’m not too sure why I’m feeling this way; it's a strange mix of emotions inside me—familiar, but also new all at the same time.

Her blush deepens as her eyes dart back down to the book in her hands, then immediately back to us.

“It’s good.” She says. “I’m enjoying it so far.”

I don’t know if she’s telling the truth, but that’s not important right now.

Reading is only a way for her to pass time.

Both Mikhail and I move further into the room, feeling the pull of her gaze as she shifts slightly in her bed. It’s natural though, I suppose. She’s not comfortable with exactly everything, and we can’t blame her for it.

But there’s something in the way that she looks at us both that tells me she’s starting to understand.

Before we can waste any more time, I open my mouth to speak.

But one look over at her trembling hands, and the way her teeth have sunk into her bottom lip, makes my chest tighten. Something inside of me, deep and primal, shifts, and I find myself taking a second to catch my breath.

“Chiara.” I say softly, noticing the way her eyes widen a fraction at the sound of her name falling from my lips. “We have to go. There are things that need to be handled. We will be back soon.”

She gasps, her hand immediately going to her mouth, as she shakes her head.

Fear.

It’s written all over her face.

“No…” she whispers, her voice a broken plea. “You can’t go! You can’t leave me alone!”

There’s a pressure in my chest, a voice that tells me to stay, to keep her close.

But I can’t.

The quicker this shit is dealt with, the better.

Mikhail moves forward, his steps quiet as he approaches her. I stand by the door, watching my brother as he gently reaches out to touch her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing her skin in a tender gesture.

Chiara doesn’t pull away.

“We’ll be gone for only a few days.” Mikhail says, his voice soft, an attempt to soothe her with his words. “Don’t worry, beauty. Everything is here. You’ll be comfortable here.”

Her eyes search his, then they move to mine.

I can see the wheels in her head spinning. She's trying to figure out if this is real, or if this is just another part of the game we’re playing.

I move towards her, the weight of her gaze following every step I take in her direction. Reaching out, I cup the other side of her face.

“I can’t be alone.” She whispers brokenly, her fingers digging into our forearms. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

I release a heavy breath, feeling my jaw tighten.

“Chiara…”

She shakes her head, tears filling her eyes as she pulls our arms closer to her body.

“No! You don’t understand!” She swallows hard, eyes darting between either one of ours, blinking as her eyes leak water. “I can’t be left alone. Please. I need something. Please don’t leave me alone like this.”

I find myself frowning slightly, confused by what she means.

We’ve given her everything, so what does she mean?

I release a heavy breath, feeling my jaw tighten at the desperation in her voice, the trembling plea of something deeper.

“Chiara…”

She shakes her head violently, tears brimming her eyes as she pulls our arms closer to her chest.

She’s breathing quickly now, unevenly too, and her skin is flushed with something more than just fear.

“No! You don’t understand.” Her voice cracks, raw with need. She swallows hard, her eyes darting between ours, wide and pleading. “I need…I can’t be left alone. Please.” Her thighs press together, her hips shifting subtly. “I need you. I need to feel both of you. I can’t be left alone, not like this!”

My frown deepens, confusion mingling with something darker, primal, which stirs low in my stomach.

We’ve given her everything—safety, shelter, comfort—so what can she possibly need now?

Mikhail moves forward, pulling her into him as I step closer behind him.

The pull between the three of us only intensifies from here.

Her hands tremble against ours, and for a moment, the three of us are connected in a way that feels so damn permanent.

“Chiara…” Mikhail begins saying, his voice low and soothing, but there’s also an unmistakable edge to it now, something dark and hungry, curling around his words. It makes her pause, her breath hitching in her throat. “How do you need us, beauty?” He doesn’t give her a chance to answer. “Inside you? Filling you?” Her breathing grows heavy. “You need us both to stretch you open? You need us both to coat your womb? To breed you? Is that it, beauty?”

Her entire body shudders as she presses her thighs together, like she’s trying to hold back the ache that’s building between them.

She swallows audibly, her eyes darting between us both, but she doesn’t say a word.

Not one damn word.

“You need to be ours completely, don’t you?” I add, my voice rougher than intended as I feel possessive heat clawing up my spine. “You need to feel us spill our cum so deep inside you there’s no chance that you’re not carrying our child?” She whimpers, the sound so needy and desperate. “That’s what you need, isn’t it, Chiara? You need to be taken, filled, bred, until you can’t think of anything else.”

She’s breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her wide eyes flicker between both of us.

The hesitation is clear in her gaze, the fragile vulnerability too as it clings onto her, but beneath it, there’s something stronger.

Something raw.

Something determined.

And finally, she nods.

She. Fucking. Nods.

“Yes…” She whispers, the word so soft and fragile as it falls from her lips, but it slams into me like a fist to my chest. “Yes.” She says again, her voice still trembling, her fingers tightening around ours. “I want—” Her voice breaks, and she swallows audibly. The plea is obvious in her eyes. “I need you both to fill me. Please.”

Mikhail straightens, as do I, and his lips curl into something close to a smirk.

His eyes, now dark and blazing with hunger, betray the storm that’s raging inside of him.

It’s not amusement that’s in his gaze—no.

It’s something primal.

Territorial.

Something that can only be satisfied in one way.

Taking her.

Again.

“You're ours now.” He says, his voice thick with promise and possession. “And when we’re done with you, you’ll feel us for days, Chiara. Our seed will drip from your pretty little pussy, and your womb will be so filled, there’ll be no doubt about who you belong to.”

My cock twitches painfully at the thought; the image of her writhing between our bodies, filled with our cum.

Taken.

Filled.

Bred.

Ours.

I can’t tear my eyes away from her.

This isn’t just sex. This isn’t just comfort.

Chiara is surrendering everything, and she’s giving it all to us.

She swallows audibly, her bottom lip trembling as she sighs heavily.

“Don’t leave me.”

She whispers quietly.

Her voice trembles, but there’s more than just fear in her tone.

There’s trust.

There’s submission.

There’s a plea for us to make her ours in every way possible.

I brush my knuckles down her flushed cheek, moving lower towards her bottom lip. The softness of it sends a low pulse of heat straight through me.

Chiara’s breath catches, her whole body trembling under my touch.

She leans in closer, her lips parting slightly, and her tongue flicks out to wet them.

“You’ll have us both.” I murmur, my voice rough around the edges, though I try to soften it for her. “Do you think you’re ready for that? For both of us to claim you together?”

She swallows hard as her cheeks bloom a soft, pink colour.

There’s uncertainty in her gaze, and I can’t blame her for it. She’s never done this before—she’s never been touched like this before. But beneath that hesitation is something stronger.

Something undeniable.

Need.

Raw, aching need.

Chiara nods as her breathing comes out in soft, little breaths.

“Yes.” She whispers, her voice so soft it barely reaches us. “I want you both.”

Fuck.

The air between us thickens, heavy with heat, and something deeper too.

Possession.

Intent.

The need to claim her so thoroughly that she'll never question who she belongs to.

I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers, breathing her in.

Her scent is so sweet, so fucking tempting, it makes my jaw clench.

“We’ll take care of you.” I promise, my fingers pulling away from hers as I slide mine down her hips, feeling the soft curve of her body beneath my hand. “We’ll be slow—at first.”

I tug her up from the bed, putting enough space between it and her so Mikhail can move behind her to slide his hands around her waist, keeping her body anchored between ours.

His lips brush against her neck as she shudders, her pulse fluttering wildly against my lips as I press a kiss to that same spot too.

“We’re going to make you ours, Chiara.” He murmurs, his voice dark with promise. “We’re going to fill you up so deep, you’ll feel us for days.”

Her breath hitches again, her thighs pressing together, and I catch the soft, little whimpers she desperately tries to swallow.

My cock throbs at that sweet sound, so innocent and so desperate, all for us.

I slip my fingers beneath the hem of the shirt, dragging the fabric up inch by inch, until her skin is all exposed. She’s trembling, but she lifts her arms for me, trusting me to strip her bare. Her skin glows under the dim light of the room, and my chest swells as I drag my eyes across every inch of her perfect, untouched body.

Ours.

“You’re so beautiful.”

I murmur, my fingers skimming up from her stomach to her ribs until I’m cupping her bare breasts, her nipples already tight as they beg me for my full attention.

I roll one between my fingers, loving the way her body arches like it’s instinct—like it already knows it’s ours to touch, and ours to claim.

Mikhail’s hands travel lower, curling them around her thighs as he pulls her backward slightly, groaning shamelessly into her ear.

We both watch the way she shudders between us.

“We’ll go slow.” I say again, my voice thick and strained with effort. “But we need you, darling. We need to be inside you. We need to feel you stretched all around us.”

Her lips part, her chest rising and falling as her pupils dilate.

“We need to fill you.” Mikhail adds, his voice a low growl as he rubs himself against her. “We need to breed you.”

Her breathing stutters, her body tight between us as she trembles with need, and anticipation too.

There’s no fear in her eyes, not like how there was at the beginning.

Now, there’s only trust.

Now, there’s only want.

“Please.” She whispers, her voice soft but certain as she holds onto both of our arms. “I need to feel you both.”

I cup her face in my hands, tilting her head so she can’t look away from me.

“We’ll give you everything, Chiara. Everything. You won’t have to beg us for this ever again.” 

She gasps softly as Mikhail’s fingers hook through the sides of her underwear, sliding it down her hips, and helping her step out of the lacy piece.

She’s completely bare like this. Her full innocence is on display for us.

My heart pounds at the sight of her like that, the knowledge that we’re about to take something that nobody else has.

After this, Chiara will be ours in every way possible.

Mikhail moves to stand beside me, and together, we lower her back onto the bed.

She looks up at us, her eyes wide and trusting.

Mikhail lowers himself to his knees, shuffling closer to her as his hands slide between her thighs, spreading her open for us.

I feel my control snap, that primal, possessive instinct rising to the surface.

“We’ll make you ours.” I whisper, kneeling to press my mouth to hers. “We’ll fill you up completely.”

Her breath catches against my lips, but she doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she opens up for me, her fingers tangling through my hair, her body so soft and willing against mine.

And as Mikhail slides his fingers higher, teasing her through her slick folds, I know there’s no turning back.

She’s ours now.

Always.

Forever.

She’s trembling now, breathing softly, as her chest rises and falls.

I can feel her heartbeat; fast, uncertain, but trusting.

The soft, slick sound of Mikhail’s fingers moving through her folds makes my cock throb so hard, it’s almost painful.

She’s already so wet, her body responding to us instinctively, even if her mind is still catching up.

I pull away slightly, my hands still framing her face as I ground her, keeping her attention on me.

“Look at me, Chiara.” I say. “Keep your eyes on me.”

She nods at me as she takes sharper breaths, her body jolting as Mikhail circles her entrance with his fingers, teasing her open, inch by inch for us.

Her hands move to my shoulders, her fingernails digging into my flesh as she clutches me, but she doesn’t shy away.

If anything, she pushes further into his touch—further into us—her body already desperate for more.

“We won’t stop until we’ve made you ours.”

I promise, my voice thick with restraint though every primal part of me is screaming to take her; to pin her down, to fill her, until there’s no doubt who she belongs to.

Us.

Mikhail’s fingers ease inside her and she gasps, moaning breathlessly.

My brother leans in, his mouth at her ear, his voice a dark whisper.

“That’s it, beauty. Relax for me. Let me in.”

He presses one hand against her stomach, guiding her to lie down on the bed.

Moving back slightly, I look down at the space he’s in, watching the way her tight pussy clenches all around his fingers.

Her mouth opens in a soft, helpless moan.

My cock aches at the sound—the pure, innocent need in it—and I have to grip the sheets between my fingers to stop myself from taking her right here. 

“Such a good girl.” I murmur, moving in closer to brush my mouth over hers again. “Our good girl, letting us in.”

Mikhail moves slightly, spreading her thighs wider.

As I glance down, I feel my stomach tighten at the sight of her like that.

Stretched open around his fingers.

Pussy so slick and so pink and so perfect.

All. For. Us.

My mouth crashes against hers as I swallow her little gasps, and Mikhail continues preparing her, coaxing her body to accept what’s coming next.

“We’re going to fill you together.” I hear my brother whisper into her ear. “Do you understand, beauty? Both of us. We’ll flood you with our cum. We’ll stretch you open, and we’ll make you take all of us.”

Her eyes go wide, her lips trembling as she stares between us both, and just for a second, I wonder if this is all too much for her.

But then she bites her lip, spreading her thighs wider, and she nods.

“Please.” she whispers. “I need you both.”

Fuck.

The primal need surges in my chest, because this isn’t just about fucking her.

No.

This is about claiming her, body and soul, marking her inside and out.

This is about leaving Chiara so full of us, so swollen and wrecked, she’s reminded who she belongs to with every step she takes.

Mikhail’s fingers move slowly and deliberately as they push Chiara closer to the edge.

She’s breathless now, her thighs shaking around his hand, and fuck—watching her like this, so wrecked and so eager, has me on the brink of losing all control.

I slide one hand up her body, all the way to her throat, as I wrap my fingers around it.

Not squeezing.

Just holding.

I feel her pulse racing against my palm.

She gasps as her lips part, then her eyes lock onto mine, dazed and desperate.

Mikhail laughs, and as I turn to face my brother, I find him watching me with a lazy grin.

It’s wicked.

It’s dangerous.

He’s showing off.

“She’s all ready for you.”

He tells me, dragging his fingers from her soaked pussy as he brings them closer to his mouth.

He licks them clean, slow and fucking filthy, his eyes never once leaving mine.

Chiara whimpers.

I shove him aside.

Together, we both stand up, then it’s me who takes my place between her legs.

I cage her beneath me as my mouth finds hers, swallowing that broken little sound she makes as I run my finger through the mess my brother has left between her thighs. She’s dripping, and she’s still desperate for more.

Slowly pulling away from her, I use the same hand to palm my hardness, then pull my cock out of my trousers.

I’m dripping with precum.

As I press my tip to her entrance, Mikhail’s voice sounds out, full of dark amusement.

“Don’t break her too fast, brat.”

I smile, watching the way her breathing changes, and the way her pupils have dilated after hearing his words.

I don’t plan on breaking her.

I plan on making her ours.

I slide my cock against her slick pussy, already feeling how tight she is like this.

I lean down, kissing her slowly, and I begin to push inside.

Her body resists at first, that sweet untouched tightness desperate to keep me out, and I force myself to move slowly, allowing her to stretch all around me, slipping inside inch by inch.

Her fingernails bite into my shoulders, her breath coming in soft, broken moans.

Still, she doesn't ask me to stop.

“You’re doing so good, darling.” I whisper as I brush kisses all over her jaw, and down her neck too. “Relax for me. Let me in.”

She exhales shakily, nodding her head, and I feel her body softening for me.

I push deeper, feeling her tight heat wrapping around me like a fist, urging me inside her even further.

Every inch of me shakes with the effort of holding back, to give her time to adjust to my size, when all I want is to bury myself to the hilt, filling her completely until there’s no part of her that doesn’t belong to us.

“Fuck.” I croak, forcing another inch inside her tightness, feeling her squeeze all around me. “You’re so perfect, Chiara.”

Mikhail’s hand slides between us, his fingers immediately finding her clit as he plays with it, coaxing her pleasure higher as I sink the rest of me even deeper inside.

This time, her back arches off the bed as a choked cry escapes her throat, and I can feel the exact moment her body surrenders.

“That’s it.” Mikhail praises softly. “Look at you, taking my brother so well, beauty.”

Her breathing stutters, her hips rolling hesitantly, and when I pull back only to push in again, her soft cry turns into a moan.

Needy.

Desperate.

Perfect.

“You’re ours.” I whisper, kissing her hard. “We’re going to flood you with our cum, and you’ll have no choice but to take it all, Chiara.”

Her eyes flutter shut, her body trembling beneath mine.

When Mikhail nudges me, I slide one arm around her lower back, knowing that we’re nowhere near done.

He helps me move her, and when her body is completely upright, and pressed to mine, she gasps, her pussy instantly tightening around my cock.

“Easy, easy.” I breathe out, holding onto her as Mikhail takes his position on the bed. “Let Mikhail have his turn too, okay?”

She releases a shaky breath, nodding as she drops her head to my shoulder.

Mikhail kneels behind her, one hand on her lower back, and the other around the base of his cock.

As he spits down onto his length, he rubs the wetness in, and I help position Chiara between both of our bodies.

“Are you ready for us both?” He asks her in a dark tone, pressing the head of his cock to her tight entrance. “We’re going to claim every inch of you now. Together.”

Her breathing catches, her nails digging into my flesh.

She nods.

“Please.” She says, whimpering softly. “I need to feel you both.”

And as Mikhail slowly pushes inside, her pussy stretches to accommodate us both as we fill every inch of her.

The only thought in my mind is this:

She’s ours.

Always.

Forever.

She’s shaking between our bodies, her soft moans turning into breathless whimpers, her body stretched and filled—so full—and fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt.

Our cocks are buried deep inside her perfect, virgin pussy, her walls clenching around us both so tight, we can barely move.

We’re locked together, her body trembling, but still taking it all.

Taking us.

“You’re so perfect like this.” I groan, my voice rough with the edge of my control slipping. “Made for us. Made to be filled.”

Mikhail slides his hand over her belly, pressing down just enough to feel the bulge of both of us inside her, and the low growl that rumbles from his chest is pure possession.

“Look at you.” My brother murmurs. “So full of us already, but you’re not done yet, beauty.” His hips flex, and he thrusts into her slowly, her body clenching hopelessly around us both. “Not until we’ve filled you. Not until we’ve bred you.”

Her back arches as her walls flutter tight around our cocks.

“Please.” She whispers, her voice thin and desperate, so far gone with need that she’s no longer thinking—just feeling. “Please…give it to me.”

She tips her head backward against Mikhail’s head, looking straight into his eyes, and her hands are on my face, holding me close.

She moans again, rocking her hips with ours, squeezing even tighter, breathlessly calling our names.

Fuck.

I know I can’t hold back any longer.

Not with her body milking me so perfectly.

Not with Mikhail’s cock grinding against mine.

Not with her begging us to fill her.

“We’re going to give you everything.”

I groan, thrusting deep as I hold her there, grinding my hips into hers.

Mikhail’s breath is ragged and harsh in her ear, his forearm tight around her middle.

“Take it.” He growls, gripping her tight. “Take it all.”

The heat coils low in my spine, tight and unbearable, and before I can control myself, I’m coming.

Hard.

My cock pulses deep inside her, filling her with everything that I have.

My breath catches in my throat as I force myself to remain there, flooding her entirely.

Mikhail follows only seconds later, a guttural curse falling from his lips as he buries himself to the hilt, his cock jerking inside her, his release spilling hot and thick.

Chiara cries out, her body trembling as she’s caught in the aftershocks of her own release.

She’s so full, so stretched and claimed, and she’s completely overwhelmed.

But her soft, breathless moans tell me that she wouldn’t want it any other way.

We give her a second to adjust before we even think about easing out of her.

As we both move, we watch as our cum already begins to slip from her, pearly streaks glistening between her swollen folds.

A primal possessiveness surges to my chest; the instinct to keep her full, and to keep our seed inside her where it belongs.

Inch by inch, we both pull out, and she cries when she’s no longer full of us.

Together, we help her get back in her bed.

Her eyelids have become heavy, and her breathing has changed as she looks at us both from under hooded lids.

She squeezes her thighs together, gasping at the sensitive spot between her legs, then moans softly into her pillow.

I feel my cock twitch again, just from looking at her. 

Mikhail’s fingers trail down to where we’ve just claimed her, spreading her open with both thumbs, watching our combined release glisten on her flushed skin.

“We can’t let this go to waste now, can we?”

He murmurs, his voice dark with pure satisfaction.

I press two fingers into her, pushing our cum back inside as her entire body jerks, overstimulated from this all, but still too far gone to ask us to stop. The whimper that escapes her lips is pure, helpless pleasure as her thighs spread even wider, her body opening up for us once again.

“Stay like this for a moment.” I say, my fingers sliding inside her deeper, making sure none of our seed escapes. “We need every drop inside you.”

Mikhail drags his hand higher, pressing his palm to her lower belly.

Protective.

Possessive.

“We’re going to keep you like this, Chiara.” He says softly, almost reverently. “Full. Bred. Ours.”

She’s too out of it to respond—her eyelids fluttering, her lips parted, her body soft against the bed—but there’s a soft, lazy smile on her lips.

So trusting.

So content.

And as she blinks, she looks up at both of us with nothing but raw, tender trust.

“Mine.” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Ours.”

Mikhail leans down, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Always. Forever.”

She blinks up at us, her fingers curling lazily in the sheets, her body still trembling.

Our cum continues leaking out from her.

But there’s no longer any fear, or any hesitation.

There’s just the quiet, certain understanding that she belongs to us now.

Ours.

Always.

Forever.

Chiara looks at me again, gathering a little courage, as the words slip out.

Her voice is much steadier now, but I still hear the anxiety in her question.

“How long will you both be gone for?” She swallows hard, and I know she’s feeling her throat tighten with every word. “Just…how long?”

I find myself struggling to answer her.

Mikhail glances over at me, his expression neutral, but his eyes sharp.

He’s the first to break the silence.

“We won’t be long.” He replies, his tone careful, but a little dismissive too. “We need to deal with something, then we’ll be back here with you. Don’t worry, Chiara. You’re safe here.”

She nods, though I can see the faint tremor in her hands.

I know it’s not from the sex.

She doesn’t speak again, but her gaze lingers on both of us for a moment longer, like she’s trying to find some reassurance in our faces.

Neither one of us can offer her that—not really.

We watch as she swallows once more, and we take that as a sign of silent acceptance as she curls into herself.

“Take care, beauty.”

My brother says, his voice softer than usual.

“We’ll be back before you know it, darling.”

There’s a small dip between her eyebrows as she nods at us, then she closes her eyes, pressing her face into her pillow.

Mikhail and I take that as a sign to leave.

The door clicks shut behind us, and the silence after is deafening.

As we make our way back through the halls, heading towards our wing, the weight of everything begins to press down on me again.

We walk in silence, our footsteps echoing in the empty halls.

Finally, as we reach our part of the house, I glance over at Mikhail.

He’s walking beside me, his face unreadable, but I can tell he’s thinking about all of this just as hard as I am.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?”

I ask him, my voice quieter than usual.

Mikhail doesn’t answer me immediately.

Instead, he nods, his eyes fixed straight ahead as we continue walking.

“She’s faced worse.”

He says, and there’s a finality to it, a certainty that makes the weight in my chest grow heavier, because I know he’s right.

All we can do is hope that she’ll manage without us here.

Chapter Fourteen

Isaak

I immediately knew that something was wrong the moment I received that message.

It was an attachment; a video of the poor Italian princess.

Alessandro Santoro, the Don of the Italian mafia, had forwarded it to me.

He told me that as a father, I would understand, and as a ruler, I would take action.

I understood exactly what he meant.

I had seen countless videos like that, and recorded many of my own.

But after watching it, and understanding the history between us, I understood why.

My chest tightened.

My stomach dropped.

As Pakhan, it was a feeling I often wouldn’t allow myself to feel, but this…this was unacceptable.

It was unforgivable.

Something had happened, directly under my rule.

I had been curious for days—perhaps even weeks—wondering about my sons, their silence, their actions. But until I had solid proof, there was nothing that could be done.

Now, the truth is right here in front of me.

And I can’t help but wince at the sharp feel of betrayal piercing through my heart.

I have always prided myself on the loyalty of my men, and on the honour of my sons.

Always.

Not only are they my heirs; but they are my blood, my legacy, my pride.

I can’t help but question how they grew up to be like this, and how things had been kept under wraps for so long.

I can’t believe that they think this is acceptable; to do something like this to an Italian princess of all women.

To take her.

I grit my teeth, anger welling up inside me like a slow burn.

This isn't just some woman.

This isn’t just some faceless pawn in a game.

No.

She is the daughter of a man who was once an underboss, a woman whose bloodline stretches deep into the fabric of their mafia.

She isn’t someone to be treated lightly.

And there are years of history binding us Russians and Italians together.

But my sons, my own flesh and blood, have made her their prisoner, a captive in our home.

And for what?

I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

A misplaced sense of ownership?

A twisted form of control?

The idea of them treating her so badly makes something inside of me snap.

If they can be so cruel to this girl, so delicate and so caught up in a situation beyond her control, then what is stopping others from doing the same to my daughter? To the little sister of my two sons?

I force myself to release a heavy breath, trying my best to remain calm.

If I get angry now…that won’t be good.

This girl—Chiara—doesn’t belong here.

She shouldn't have been caught in the crossfire.

She shouldn't have been brought under my roof.

But now that she’s here, I’ll protect her with everything that I have.

I waste no time as I step into the small room.

Immediately spotting her, I find her curled into herself on the bed.

When she notices me standing by her doorway, her eyes widen, and she gasps, almost crying out. Fear flashes in her eyes, and she tugs the duvet cover closer to her chin.

She’s panicked, scared, and I can't help but feel like I am partially to blame for this too.

I should have realised it right from the very beginning.

Not moving into the room any further, I try to make myself smaller, so she’s not as afraid.

“Chiara.” I say softly. “How are you?”

I don’t ask the question just for the sake of asking—I need to know.

There’s something paternal in the way that I address her, something fatherly that takes root although she’s not mine.

If anything like this was to happen to my daughter…

No.

I won’t let my mind go there.

Chiara hesitates to say anything, and even after I press her for an answer, she remains silent.

It’s only after that I take a step forward that she speaks, her voice small and quiet, as she becomes desperate for me to leave.

“I-I’m fine.” She barely manages to whisper. “Please, leave me alone here.”

I shake my head, knowing that’s not possible.

“You are safe now, Chiara. I will make sure of it.”

My gaze is soft as I look down at her, but she still flinches.

I would be surprised if she didn’t.

But there’s no need for her to fear anything under my roof—not while I’m here.

As my jaw tightens, and I force myself to continue breathing, I can’t help but think about my sons.

In what world did they ever think this is acceptable?

How could they have taken her, and lied to my face about it too?

The realisation hits me like a punch to the gut.

My sons, my two precious boys, have crossed a line, and it’s one I can’t ignore.

This relationship with the Italians, this alliance I’ve spent years maintaining, is now at risk, and it’s all because of the reckless actions of my two sons.

Fuck, I’ve never been so disappointed in them like this before.

“I want Nikolai and Mikhail.” Chiara whimpers, catching my attention. “Where are they? When will they be back?”

I glance over at Chiara again, her eyes meeting mine.

This girl—this innocent girl—doesn’t deserve any of this. And until she is returned to her family, I will be treating her like one of my own. I will protect Chiara in the way that I would want someone to protect my own daughter; my Alexis.

I just hope that my sons will understand the gravity of this situation, and the positions they’ve put themselves—and me—in.

Because the Italians?

They won’t be so forgiving.

Especially not after everything we have already put them through.

And if I have to play this game, I’ll play it my way.

I will keep me, and mine, safe.

I walk back into my office, my mind racing, the weight of my thoughts bearing down on me like an iron vice.

How have my sons gotten to this point?

My mind swims with all sorts of questions.

How have they been able to keep something like this from me?

How has Chiara been kept captive under my own roof?

I should have known.

I should have sensed it.

But somehow, I let it slip under my radar.

And that’s. Just. Not. Good. Enough.

Closing my office door behind me, I take a seat at my desk.

My sons…my Nikolai…my Mikhail…

So strong.

So capable.

And always so confident.

But now, after all of this?

I can’t help but wonder how much I really know.

How have my sons managed to involve this Italian princess, bring her here, and force her to become part of this?

How have they convinced themselves that this is acceptable, to play with the Italian princess like she’s some sort of property?

It goes against everything I have ever taught them.

They learnt the art of subtlety, and mastered the art of discipline that kept our family standing all these years.

And yet, here they are, keeping secrets from me.

I lean back into my chair, a deep sigh escaping my lips.

How?

How did my sons do it?

Were they blinded by their own desires, so intoxicated by their own power, that they didn’t think they needed to answer to me any more?

I have always been their leader; their Pakhan.

Always.

I’m the one who’s guided this family through the darkest of times, the one who’s protected our legacy.

And now, I’ve found myself at a crossroads.

Gripping the edge of my desk, I watch my knuckles turning white.

I can’t afford to lose control.

I can’t afford to show weakness.

But the more I think of it, the clearer it becomes.

I can’t ignore this. Not when my sons are involved, and not with Chiara thrown in the mix too.

And as I think of Francesco—Chiara’s father—a mix of emotions rush through me.

I only focus on the pain he must be feeling, not knowing where his daughter is, not knowing whether she’s dead or alive.

It’s a suffering I understand too well; not knowing where my Alexis is, not knowing if she is safe or not.

That ache never leaves.

I release a heavy breath, shaking my head to clear it, but it doesn’t help.

My mind is still trained on my daughter, the one I had lost so many years ago. The little girl who had been taken from me, stolen before I even had a chance to truly protect her, and to shield her from the world. The memory of that day haunts me in ways that I can’t even describe, even to this day.

A father is to protect his children.

That is our role. That is our responsibility.

Yet because of some foolish actions, I failed my little girl.

I force the thoughts away, not allowing myself to think too deeply about that.

Not now.

Not when the burden of the present is so heavy. 

I have to focus on what I need to do.

I have to protect my sons from their own decisions, and in turn, I have to protect the family legacy.

I won’t let this destroy us.

Not again.

Another tragedy won’t unfold on my watch.

Not when I’ve already lost so much.

Sighing heavily, I pick up my phone.

My finger hovers over the screen for a second, thinking.

I haven’t seen my daughter in years, not physically, though I always have eyes on her. The information I receive about her, about her wellbeing, and the people she interacts with has always been a constant. I know everything, and yet, I know nothing.

Maybe this is one step closer to bringing my daughter back to me.

I exhale slowly, dialling the number. The phone rings, and I wait until I hear the voice on the other end.

“Isaak.”

The voice answers, his tone polite, but businesslike.

I take a seat in my chair, letting the words slip through my lips.

“Alessandro.” I say. “I have some news regarding Chiara Giovanni. Will you be able to come here?”

There’s a slight tightening in my chest as the words leave me, but it doesn’t matter.

I trust Alessandro, and I know he will help me fix this.

Chapter Fifteen

Chiara

I finish brushing my teeth, the cool water running over my face.

I can’t get his face out of my head—their father.

He’s so different from Nikolai and Mikhail, but also so similar too.

He looks like them—tall, broad, strong—exactly like his sons. Their hair is blond, whereas his is black, but they all have that same cold intensity in their gaze.

But he had something more; a presence heavier, and more commanding.

And the way he spoke to me…it was so fatherly. I felt it the moment he came closer to me, and the soft tone he used. And after he took me out of that room, and into this bigger, nicer one, it only made me miss my Papa even more.

Tears slide down my cheeks, thinking of my family, my heart heavy as it aches.

I wipe my face quickly, blinking away the tears.

I wonder how much longer it will take before my family is here with me.

Walking out of the bathroom—the new one—I make my way towards the communal area of this mansion.

Isaak, Nikolai and Mikhail’s father, specifically asked me to come here once I finished freshening up.

As soon as I step foot into the massive room, my heart rate immediately picks up, noticing the many men who are standing around the walls, their guns in clear view.

There’s a noise behind me, a door opening from somewhere in the hallway, and it makes my heart jump.

I freeze, my body immediately going rigid, as I try my best to calm down.

I hold my breath, listening closely.

Could this be Nikolai?

Or even Mikhail?

Or is this somebody else altogether?

My pulse races as I wait, my mind spinning with possibilities.

Now that I can see the sun once more, and I have access to a clock, I know that two days have passed since Isaak found me.

I’m not exactly sure how many days it’s been since they left, but I definitely know that it’s been more than two now. I just wonder how much longer it will be before they’re back.

Footsteps sound out, and I immediately spot Isaak stepping towards me. His expression is unreadable, the same commanding presence filling the space as the soldiers standing by the wall nod at him as he passes.

I also notice another man behind him.

The second man steps into view, and recognition creeps into my mind like a whisper. My heart stutters in my chest, and before I can help myself, I gasp.

The man standing before me is Italian. He’s a man I recognise from my childhood.

“Alessandro…”

I rasp, barely able to say his name aloud.

I was only six when I last saw him on the day of Mama’s funeral, but you don’t forget a man like Alessandro Santoro. According to Papa, Alessandro took the title of being Don at only nineteen, and he was a well respected man too. He was one of the youngest to ever take that title, but one of the very best too.

When he spots me, his eyes narrow. He takes a long moment to look me over—his gaze running over every inch of my body—assessing me. His eyes linger on my face, and my arms, obviously looking for any visible signs of injury, but he doesn’t find anything.

He won't find anything, because I’ve not been harmed.

His focus is intense as he steps closer towards me.

“Are you okay, Chiara?”

He asks me, his voice deep, as his accent wraps around each word.

His eyes are locked on mine now, his focus unwavering as if he’s trying to read me from the inside out. It feels like a weight pressing down on me, and I suddenly feel a wave of dizziness washing over me. My chest tightens as I swallow hard, feeling like I’m about to pass out.

I try to steady myself, but it’s hard.

The sight of him, the familiarity of his face mixed with the strange reality of this all, makes it become too much.

I can barely hold myself as I begin to slip, my eyes becoming heavy when I jolt at his words.

“Chiara!” Alessandro’s voice is sharp, commanding as it shakes me from the fog of confusion that’s settled over me. Before I can fully process what’s happening, he storms forward, closing the distance between us in an instant. He grips my arm, holding me upright as I find myself swaying slightly, my mind still reeling from the mere sight of him in this place. “Are you okay?”

He asks me again, his grip becoming unbearably tight around my arm.

His eyebrows are furrowed, concern and frustration clear in his gaze.

I find myself nodding, whispering.

“H-How are you here?”

His jaw is tight as he runs his eyes over me again, his gaze harder this time.

“You’re safe now, Chiara. That’s all that matters.”

I blink, my mind racing, but I nod anyway.

A voice speaks to the side of us, and I turn to look over at Isaak.

“Let’s take this somewhere more private.”

I don’t argue with him.

He leads us, and I follow behind Alessandro.

Though my legs feel weak beneath me, Alessandro’s steady presence keeps me grounded.

I still do feel a little disoriented with every step that I take. 

The mansion is grand, to say the least. The rooms are large with high ceilings, and marble floors which gleam under the soft lighting. A strange mix of beauty and coldness settles in my chest.

When we finally reach the second floor, we walk through a long hallway and towards a door that opens into a sitting room. There are plush chairs here, a large crystal chandelier, and bookshelves filled with leather-bound books. As my eyes scan over the shelves, I notice the small spaces where books have been moved, and I swallow hard, knowing exactly what happened to those.

They gave them to me.

I force myself to drag my eyes away, looking all around the room.

The pure luxury in just this room alone is overwhelming.

There’s something so unsettling about this entire situation; where I am, and who I’m surrounded with. This place is no longer the four walls I had been living in all this time.

This is their world, and they’ve made me part of it now.

I wonder what’s to come.

What will they ask of me next?

And will I ever find peace again?

Will I ever be able to forget Nikolai, to forget Mikhail, and return back to the life I once knew?

A shiver runs down my spine.

No.

The answer is no.

They have taken every part of me; my body, my mind, my soul.

There’s absolutely no way I’ll ever be able to forget them, or even leave them behind.

Them…me…we belong together. And I know they’ll never let me go so easily.

Isaak takes a seat on one sofa, and Alessandro takes a seat on the sofa beside it. My heart races as my eyes dart between the two spaces, wondering where I should sit, when I decide to sit beside Alessandro, but I do leave a gap between our bodies.

As soon as I’ve sat down, Isaak nods towards the hallway, and as I turn to watch why, I spot a woman, a maid perhaps, rushing forward with a glass of water in her hands. They tremble slightly as she offers it to me, and I take it from her, thankful for this. The woman gives me a tight-lipped smile before she retreats again into the background.

Sipping slowly, I’m grateful for the coolness of the liquid against my dry throat. I reach forward, leaving the glass on the table in front of me, before sitting up straight again. 

My body is still tense, every muscle coiled with fear and confusion.

The men speak quietly between themselves, glancing over at me every few seconds or so.

Alessandro turns to face me, his dark eyes scanning me as if he’s trying to read something between the lines of my expression. The weight of his stare makes me shrink back into the plush fabric sofa even further. My heart races as I wonder what he’ll say next.

“How long has it been since you have been here, Chiara?”

His voice is deep, steady too.

I swallow hard.

I don’t know the exact number of days since everything is a blur in my mind. I do try to force the words out, but they only leave my mouth in a stammer.

“I-I don’t know…maybe it’s been a week now? Perhaps even two?”

Alessandro’s frame grows rigid.

He turns back to look at Isaak, his jaw tense, as he shakes his head. When he faces me again…dread washes over me.

“We were made aware of your abduction almost five weeks ago now. Have you been here all this time, Chiara?”

I freeze, all the air leaving my lungs in a big whoosh.

I feel numb as I nod my head.

I can’t believe it…

Isaak growls beside us, a low string of Russian words leaving his mouth as his expression grows furious.

Alessandro doesn’t seem satisfied with my answer. He leans in closer to me, practically closing the distance between us.

“I need to know what happened.”

I take another breath in, trying my best to collect myself.

“I was…taken.” I begin saying, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “I was in my new place, in England, and then…they were there. They were dressed in black, masks covering their faces, and a gun was pressed to the nape of my neck. I left with them, because they said that…they told me my friend would die if I didn’t. I think I’ve been here from the very first day I was taken.”

My voice falters towards the end, too ashamed to admit it out loud.

Alessandro seems to notice, but he doesn’t comment on it. He only watches me, waiting for me to continue.

“Have you been treated well, Chiara?”

He asks, his voice softer this time.

I nod quickly, almost too quickly.

“Yes. I’ve been safe here, and I’ve been treated well.”

I have no idea how he’ll react to my words.

I’m not lying though, not about that.

“Exactly how long have you been here, Chiara?”

Alessandro asks again, his voice sharpening.

“I-I’m not too sure. It’s been hard to keep track as everything became confusing very quickly.”

This time, I try to sound more confident.

I don’t want Alessandro to think that I’m lying to him, to think that I’m hiding something from him. He doesn’t seem to be convinced though. As he stares at me for a moment longer, he releases a heavy breath.

He glances back to Isaak who’s been watching us both silently. It’s clear that they’re both in sync, the unspoken communication passing between them like a private language. 

I can’t help but tremble at the intensity of their eyes on me. It seems like they’re measuring every word, and every moment of mine, trying to decide if I’m telling the truth, or if I’m hiding something from them.

I am telling the truth, and I’m not hiding anything.

Alessandro leans back into the sofa, sighing deeply, his posture relaxing just a fraction.

“We’ll sort this out.” He tells me. “But understand this, Chiara, no harm will come to you while I am here.”

I nod at him, releasing a shaky breath.

Isaak continues watching me intently, saying nothing, his silence heavy in this room.

The air between us becomes thick with unspoken understanding.

As I sit there, feeling more and more restless, I can’t help but think of my family—of Papa, of Dario—wondering how much longer it will be before I see them again.

Alessandro seems to catch the shift in my expression, his gaze locking with mine. He doesn’t wait for me to say anything before he speaks again.

“Your family…Francesco and Dario…they will be here soon.”

My chest tightens, almost as if all the air has been knocked out of me.

I can't breathe, my lungs unable to take in enough air, as I press my palm hard against my stomach.

Tears immediately prick at my eyes, blurring my vision as I swallow hard, fighting to keep control.

It doesn’t work.

Tears fall freely, spilling over my eyes, running down my cheeks.

“I just want to hold them.”

I breathe out, almost to myself, the words tumbling out of me.

The thought of being wrapped in Papa’s warm embrace with my brother’s strong arms wrapped around me makes me smile softly.

Alessandro watches me, unmoving as I struggle to control my emotions.

The anticipation of finally seeing them again makes every second feel like an eternity.

I close my eyes briefly, trying to steady myself, but even then, the tears keep flowing.

I can’t stop them.

I can’t hold back the flood.

“Everything will be alright, Chiara.”

Alessandro says, his voice confident, almost like a promise.

I nod my head at him.

Time passes as the two men speak to each other, involving me too whenever needed, as the minutes stretch into what feels like hours.

Throughout it all, I only think about what’s to come.

My family.

They’re coming for me.

But with that thought, another one, one which features a pair of Russian twin brothers, appears in mind.

I find it a little harder to breathe, to fill my lungs with air.

How will Papa react?

How will Dario react?

A lump appears in my throat.

How will Nikolai react?

How will Mikhail react?

Finally, there’s a knock at the door, and the heavy sound of it makes my heart skip a beat.

A man enters—Russian, a soldier—as he bows his head when he approaches Isaak.

“Pakhan.” He says. “The men are here. Should we bring them to this room?”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.

They’re here.

Papa.

Dario.

My family.

Isaak nods slowly, his cold, authoritative demeanour taking over.

My heart flutters slightly as I realise that this isn’t the way Isaak was with me. He was much softer, much more fatherly.

“Bring them here.”

Isaak says, his voice firm.

The man nods, turning as he leaves the room. Every step towards the door is a step closer to me reuniting with my family again.

And before I can even take another breath, they’re here.

Papa.

Dario.

I can’t believe it.

I blink, and they’re still standing there, just as I remember them—yet somehow, they’re different.

Older.

More worn.

More determined.

My father, standing tall and strong, with sharp features, and an intensity that I’ve always known. His eyes, so dark and fierce, bore into mine, and for a moment, neither one of us move.

Dario, my big brother, steps beside Papa. His broad shoulders and muscular frame nearly fill the doorway. His face is a little older now, his jaw sharper, but his eyes—the ones which I grew up with, the ones which would comfort me when I was younger—are full of worry and concern. His gaze lingers on me, just as intense as my father’s, but there’s a vulnerability there.

And in that moment, all the dread, the fear, and the uncertainty, melts away, replaced with a rush of warmth and love I never thought I would ever receive from my family again.

I stand up, taking steps towards them, when my knees buckle, unable to hold myself up any longer. I’m about to collapse to the floor when my brother is suddenly there, catching me, wrapping his strong arms around me, pulling me into him with such a great force.

“Chiara.” my big brother whispers, his voice so rough, almost as if he’s fighting back tears too. “You’re alive. You’re alive.”

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think.

All I can do is let myself melt into him, taking in the warmth of his embrace.

And then, Papa is here too.

His hands grip my shoulders, asking me to look over at him, and as I do, his gaze softens.

“Papa.”

I somehow manage to choke out, the word barely escaping my lips before my voice breaks.

His hands tremble as he helps me stand, pulling me closer, wrapping me in an embrace that feels like the safety I’ve been longing for. His voice is thick with emotion as he speaks.

“Chiara…my daughter…you’re alive.”

I can’t hold back the sobs any more.

They pour out from me, uncontrollable, a mix of both relief, and exhaustion.

I bury my head between their bodies, feeling the strength of them both holding me up.

They’re here.

They’re really here.

In their arms, I allow myself to fall apart, tears streaming down my face as I cling on to them, not caring about anything else.

Both Papa and Dario speak to me softly, their voices soothing and steady. They reassure me time and time again, their hands stroking the back of my hair as they keep me close.

“Chiara.” Papa says once more. “You are safe now. You are safe, and we are not leaving without you.”

Dario’s grip tightens around me, and I can feel his heart beating through his chest.

“We’re taking you home, Chiara. I promise you, we’re going home. We’re here now, and you’re safe with us.”

I can’t respond, not to Papa, or to Dario.

Tears flood my eyes, and every breath I take is ragged, my chest hitching with sobs that I can no longer control.

I want to say something—anything—but the words just don’t come.

I just want to hold onto them, to never let them go.

I'm shaking, my body trembling in their embrace.

They. Are. Here.

Papa places his hand on my back, steady and firm, grounding me. His voice, now thick with emotion, is one I’ve missed.

“We are here with you, Chiara, sì? We will keep you safe.”

Dario’s voice is softer, but equally just as warm too.

“You've been so strong.” He murmurs into my hair. “I’m so sorry it took so long, Chiara, but we’re here now. We’ll fix this.”

I nod, my face now buried in his chest, and even though the tears don’t stop, the weight in my chest lightens.

I’m holding onto them like I’m afraid they might disappear.

With every word, every whisper of comfort, they reassure me that I’m not alone—that I’ll never be alone again.

Chapter Sixteen

Chiara

An entire day has passed since I’ve been reunited with my family, and still, nothing.

Nothing has settled.

The tension in the room has once again become thick as the men—Isaak, Alessandro, Papa, and Dario—continue to shout at each other. Though I am seated in the same room as them, their words are muffled in my mind, drowning beneath the waves of emotions I still can’t control.

I barely understand what they’re arguing about any more, and I don’t think I even care now.

It’s my fault that they’re arguing, because I was the one to bring up the twins, and Dario flipped.

He completely lost it.

Though Isaak has apologised countless times for the way I was…taken, there’s also something else there, something I can’t quite place. I’m not sure if it’s guilt, or something else entirely, but I know this situation is affecting him deeply.

Alessandro stands by, acting as the mediator though he is the Don of the Italian mafia, desperately trying to keep things civil, but even his civil demeanour is starting to crack. He keeps glancing at Papa, like he knows this situation can tip over at any moment.

Dario looks like he’s about to blow for a second time.

His jaw is tight, and his fists are clenched. His body is coiled like a spring ready to snap.

His eyes never leave Isaak, the man whose sons took me, and kept me here.

I know my brother wants to do something other than just stand here, arguing meaninglessly, but he’s managing to hold it together.

Barely.

I sit beside Papa, my head resting against his arm, his warmth soothing me.

His hands are firmly around either one of mine, like he’s afraid that I’ll slip away if he lets go.

He’s whispering soft Italian words into my ear, soothing me, even as the chaos around us only escalates.

“I am so sorry, Chiara.” Papa repeats for what seems to be the hundredth time today. I shiver, hearing the heavy emotion in his voice. “I should have protected you. This should never have happened.”

His fingers tighten around mine, and as he continues, I realise that he’s asking me for forgiveness.

I shake my head, tears rising to my eyes once again.

“This wasn’t your fault, Papa.”

I whisper brokenly.

He won’t hear a word of it.

“I promise, I will always keep you safe now, Chiara. Always. I swear it.”

Looking up at him, I nod my head, feeling my throat tighten with emotion.

Although I can’t find the right words to reassure him in the way that he’s reassuring himself, and also me, I know I don’t need to. I don’t need to say anything. Instead, I squeeze his hand, holding onto him just as tightly as he’s holding onto me.

“I know, Papa.” I whisper softly. “I know you’ll keep me safe. I’m glad that you’re here now.”

Papa murmurs more sweet words into my ear, and I find myself zoning out slowly, lost in the sound of his voice.

Their arguing fades into the background, their voices growing softer as my mind continues to drift. Though the anger in this room is overwhelming, and the tension is suffocating, it all feels like it’s miles away when I’m here like this with my Papa.

He wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer towards his body, as I rest my head against his chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek grounds me, and for a moment, I allow myself to be lost in him.

My father, who I thought I was lost to forever. His scent, so familiar and comforting, wraps around me, and in this moment, I allow everything around me to just fade away.

I wish that I can stay like this forever, safely tucked into Papa’s arms, where nothing can touch me, and where nothing else matters. But I know I can’t. I have to face this, and I have to do it in a way that doesn’t hurt my family, and doesn’t hurt them; Nikolai and Mikhail.

As Papa continues to hold me, keeping me close, the door to the room opens slowly.

I immediately tense, my heart beginning to race in my chest.

I hold my breath.

My body tenses.

I recognise that move—that quiet shift in the air.

Standing side by side, they both take a step inside.

Nikolai.

Mikhail.

I release a heavy breath, moving to sit up straighter on their sofa.

Now alert, noticing the three other men in this room with their own father, they shift slightly.

They take in the scene in front of them, and as they look between my brother and my father, the realisation hits them both at the same time.

Their faces harden, and their bodies become tense.

Slowly, they turn to look over at me, and as our eyes clash…I stop breathing.

“Don’t. Fucking. Look. At. Her!”

I shiver at the intensity of Dario’s words.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Before I can even blink, he’s storming forward, fury burning in his eyes.

I see the rage in him, the protectiveness he feels over me.

He can’t let them get away with this.

He won’t let them get away with what they’ve done.

But Alessandro is faster.

The man who’s been calm so far, the man who has been playing mediator all along, moves like a blur.

He stops Dario before he can reach the twins, his hand gripping my brother’s arm with an intense force that stops Dario from walking any further.

“Not now, Dario.” Alessandro growls, his voice low, yet also calm. “Do not make this any worse than it needs to be.”

Dario isn’t listening.

He says something to Alessandro, his own tone low as he spits the words into the Don’s face, but Alessandro’s grip only tightens, refusing to let go of my brother’s arm.

There’s raw tension in both men, and the way they're both glaring at each other makes it obvious. 

I find myself trembling in Papa’s arms, feeling his grip tighten around me as the argument only intensifies. The shouting starts again, so loud and sharp, words flying in every direction.

Both Dario and Alessandro are yelling at each other too, their voices rising with every exchange.

And not for the first time, I’m thankful that my brother wasn’t able to be inducted.

I know that Alessandro is only allowing this to slip as Dario is speaking to him as my brother.

If this was a soldier speaking to his Don like this…

A shiver runs through me.

“Let go of me!” Dario finally shouts, his voice full of fury as he tears his arm out of Alessandro’s grip. “I’ll kill them for what they’ve done to my sister!”

Alessandro is back onto him in under a second.

“Enough!” The Don roars, his voice cutting through the chaos. “This isn’t the way to fix things.”

I feel like the room is closing in around me, the noise beginning to sound weird in my ears as I watch the scene unfold in front of me.

Papa holds me even tighter, and I can feel his pulse racing beneath my fingertips, but he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t step in.

He doesn’t stop the fight.

Everything is happening too fast, too violently.

This isn’t the way it was supposed to happen.

I can barely keep up with the bursts of anger, the harsh words that leave from their mouths now that all the men, minus Papa, are shouting at one another. The only thing I can focus on is the sound of my own heartbeat, now thudding in my chest, drawing out everything else.

My body shakes as I clutch onto Papa desperately, too scared to let go, and too scared to breathe.

I’m lost in this storm of men shouting as emotions run high.

“Stop!” I try to scream, but the word gets caught in my throat. My voice is nothing more than a whisper, barely heard over this chaos. I feel small in Papa’s arms, like I’m just a child, unable to stop any of this. “Just stop!”

I say, louder this time.

It does take them a little while to, but thankfully, they do.

They stop.

With all eyes on me, I feel smaller than ever now.

I force myself to take a deep breath in, and I stand up slowly from the sofa, feeling the weight of everything on my shoulders. Papa rises with me too, his arm moving instinctively around me, pulling me close. His body is solid against mine, as if he’s trying to shield me from everything that’s happening here.

It doesn’t matter to me.

This has been going on for far too long now.

I face the men—Isaak, Alessandro, Dario—and after steadying my breath—Nikolai, and Mikhail too.

I need them to stop. I need them to hear me.

“Please.” I beg them all softly. “Just stop. Just forget it. We don’t need any of this, not the anger, or the shouting…we don't need it.”

Papa shakes his head, wrapping both arms around me, holding onto me like I’m only a fragile doll.

He begins to speak again, his words hushed Italian murmurs, telling me that I’m only confused.

His voice is full of nothing but love, and fatherly affection. 

I know he’s worried about me, but all I can hear now is the pounding in my chest; the sound of my heart racing as though it belongs to someone else.

To Nikolai.

To Mikhail.

My throat feels tight.

How can I explain it to Papa?

He would never understand.

Unable to stop myself, I turn my eyes back to them.

Both brothers are still looking at me.

Nikolai’s eyes narrow, his gaze possessive as ever.

Mikhail’s lips curl into a small smile.

They’re watching me closely, waiting for me to react, ready to take back what’s theirs.

And I feel it—just like I always do now.

That soft yet firm pull of their control, that heavy weight of their ownership.

“I’m sorry, Papa.” I whisper softly, my eyes locked on the two men who have captured my heart along with my entire being. “I’m sorry, but I’m not the girl I was before.”

My heart isn’t even mine to give any more.

It’s already been taken by them.

I can feel my brother’s fury before I even hear his voice.

“No!” Dario shouts, his voice a raw scream of rage. “They need to pay for what they’ve done to you, Chiara, you don’t know what you’re saying right now!”

I flinch, his words striking me harder than I expected.

The force of his anger cuts deep, but I can’t allow anything to happen to them; to Nikolai, and to Mikhail.

I need my brother to understand.

“No, Dario.” I say more clearly this time, my shoulders pushed back as I meet my brother’s eyes. “Nothing needs to happen.” My voice cracks slightly as I hold onto Papa tighter. “I’m happy with them.”

The words float around in the air, and I watch his face fall.

It’s like I’ve slapped him, and I feel the sting of it in my own chest.

It hurts me to know that I’ve hurt him, but I need him to understand.

I need him to see the bigger picture, to see that revenge won’t fix anything.

I need him to see that hurting them will only hurt me.

Dario stands frozen in his space, his eyes wide with disbelief, and I feel my heart break for him in that moment.

Still, I push forward, knowing that I can’t stop now.

I tear my eyes away to glance over at Papa, then at Alessandro, at Isaak, and finally, at the twins.

My gaze lingers on every single one of them, searching for something—anything—that will help me understand what’s happening.

When I find absolutely nothing, I know that I need to speak again.

“Please tell me the truth.” I plead with them all. Nobody makes a move to speak, but from the looks on their faces, I know there’s something deeper happening here. “You’ve all been arguing relentlessly, and yes, I'll admit that I was taken, but I don’t understand why it matters so much. You’ve all been focused on arguing about everything else but that, so what is it that you’re supposedly so angry about?”

I look at Nikolai, at Mikhail, at Isaak and Alessandro, at my brother, and finally, at Papa.

I need somebody to tell me.

I need to understand what’s happening, because I know this—me being taken—isn't the main focus any more.

Something else is, and I need to know what.

Papa’s body becomes tense against mine, the muscles in his arm hardening, his grip around mine firm, but also protective.

I look up, meeting his eyes, sensing the shift in his demeanour before I even see it. His jaw clenches, the veins in his neck protruding slightly as his anger builds. His eyes flicker over to Nikolai and Mikhail, then to Isaak, and I see the fury in them.

“Do you want to tell her, or should I?” Papa’s voice is low and guttural, and barely restrained. “How should we begin spilling secrets from our history, Isaak?!”

The room becomes deathly silent.

I didn’t expect this.

Papa’s words repeat in my head.

What does he mean?

Isaak breathes out sharply, the tension in his body unmistakable as his eyes narrow in Papa’s direction. There’s something cold about the way he watches Papa, his eyes sharp, and his jaw tight.

Like this, he looks so much like his sons.

Like Nikolai.

Like Mikhail.

I can’t help myself but look over at them both again, feeling my chest become a little lighter as my eyes remain locked with theirs. 

Without saying anything, Isaak steps forward, his presence commanding full attention.

But before things can escalate, Alessandro moves swiftly, positioning himself in the space between Isaak, and Papa. His calm demeanour is a stark contrast against the storm that’s brewing in this room, but it’s clear that he won’t allow this to go any further.

At least, not yet.

“Enough.” The Don says to both men. “We can’t resolve this through violence. Let’s keep some space between us all.”

The tension crackles in the air, and I can’t help but tremble.

This is not what I wanted.

Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I try to steady my breathing, to make sense of everything that’s happening around me.

It’s no use.

Nobody is ready to listen to Alessandro.

His words fall on deaf ears as Isaak takes another step forward, his eyes locked on my Papa’s with a dangerous calm.

My heart hammers away in my chest as I tighten my grip on Papa, not wanting him to move any closer towards Isaak, and not wanting him to make this any more worse than it already is.

But Papa has already shrugged me off, leaving me standing alone as he too storms forward, his fury impossible to contain.

Even from here, I can feel the anger radiating from him, and I’m scared to see him like this—so lost in the role of the underboss he once was—and so scared to see what he might do next.

Dario crosses the room to stand beside me, almost protecting me from even more chaos that’s about to unfold before us. He’s just as angry as Papa, his eyes locked on the Russian men, his fists clenched at his sides. Though my brother’s presence is comforting, it doesn’t stop the fear that’s threatening to swallow me whole.

Opposite us, Nikolai and Mikhail watch my brother and I. Their eyes are on me, both their bodies tense, and their expressions are unreadable. Together, they both move in to be closer to Isaak.

Their silent warning is clear; they’re ready to defend their father no matter what.

And then, Papa shouts.

His voice is so raw, and his anger so intense, that I find myself flinching.

“Was it not enough for you monsters to take my wife, that you had to take my daughter too?!” Papa yells, his voice booming around the room. His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel all the air leave my body. “She has suffered long enough without her mother! Are you trying to break my daughter completely?!”

The room seems to freeze for a moment, Papa’s words so sharp and accusatory.

I want to say something—I want to tell him that I’m fine, I’m safe now, and I’m okay—but the lump in my throat makes it impossible to speak.

The tension is unbearable.

Papa looks at Isaak with pure disgust, and Dario is staring at Nikolai and Mikhail with such intensity in his eyes, like he’s ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.

All I can do is hold my breath, hoping that somehow, nothing else will escalate.

But in that exact same moment, the world seems to shatter all around me.

My father’s words echo in my mind, louder and louder, until they drown out everything else.

They took my mother.

It becomes hard to breathe.

They took my mother.

Surely it’s not true.

But as I force myself to look at Isaak, to see the heavy emotion in his eyes, and the tension that’s clear in his expression, I know it is.

They. Took. My. Mother.

The Russians…they’re responsible for my mother’s death. 

The weight of it crashes down on me, and I feel a cold rush of horror spreading through my veins. My hands begin trembling, and I’m barely able to catch my breath as the truth sinks in, like a sharp blade that twists through my heart.

I hear myself whimper, the soft sound filled with raw, anguished emotion.

“Mama…”

I breathe out, my voice barely audible, like a prayer that’s been whispered into the air.

Dario’s arm immediately curls around me, pulling me into his side, hiding my face into his chest. My brother holds me tight, his embrace so strong and protective, but I can feel him shaking too, his own body stiff with anger and frustration.

He pulls us both backward, moving away from the devastation that has unfolded in front of us, and I let him.

Right now, I need the security of his hold, and the warmth of his presence.

I press myself into my brother’s chest, my hands trembling as I wrap them around him. Tears roll down my face, hot and fast, as the full weight of what Papa has said—the truth—continues settling over me.

I want to scream.

I want to fight.

I want to demand for answers.

But the pain of this all—of my mother, and of this situation—leaves me paralysed.

The world around me blurs into the background once more.

All I can think of now is Mama; the woman who had always been my everything.

That very same woman had been taken from me, by the very same Russians that took me too.

My body trembles in my brother’s arms.

Dario whispers something low into my ears. His words are comforting, but I can’t really focus on what he’s saying—there’s a faint buzzing sound in my ears, a dull hum that grows louder as the chaos around me continues. My mind is stuck, spinning, unable to process the words that Papa has just spoken.

They took my mother from me.

The Russians.

I can’t even wrap my head around it.

My hands shake, and I feel dizzy. My breathing becomes shallow as I fight to stay on my feet.

I try focusing on something—anything—but the only thing I can hear is the muffled voices of the men, their harsh words, and the beat of my heart.

Papa’s anger, his voice so commanding like it used to be back when we were in Italy, only makes my chest tighten.

My throat feels as though it’s closing up, and the tears won’t stop falling down my face.

I can’t think straight.

I can’t do anything but break away from my brother’s arms, pulling backward from him, forcing myself to meet their eyes.

I don’t want to look, but I can’t help myself.

My gaze flickers to Nikolai and Mikhail, and my heart stutters in my chest.

It feels as though time slows down, like every second is stretched into a painful eternity.

Their eyes lock with mine at once, and the raw intensity in both of their stares make my stomach flip.

Nikolai’s gaze is sharp, almost as if he’s seeing straight through me. There’s something dark behind those icy blue eyes of his, something cold and calculating, but also something powerful too. It makes my skin prickle. I can’t breathe under his stare. His jaw is clenched tight, and although he doesn’t say a word, the pressure in the air around us is suffocating. I feel like he’s crushing me with just a single look.

Mikhail’s gaze is different, but just as powerful. He stands beside his brother, his posture relaxed, yet also commanding. The faintest of smiles plays on his lips, and when he catches me staring, he winks in my direction. His eyes flicker from mine, to Papa’s, then back to me, and I know that deep down, he’s thinking about what’s happening, and what’s to come.

I am too.

I can’t tear my eyes away from theirs.

My legs feel weak, my body suddenly heavy.

I want to shout. I want to put a stop to this madness, but I can’t even try.

My heart races faster, my breathing shallow as I try steadying myself. But the more I look at them, the more it feels like the walls are closing in all around me, leaving me trapped in a world I don’t understand.

My fingers curl into fists by my sides, and I can’t stop the sinking feeling in my stomach.

I can’t escape the gaze of the men who are now a part of this.

As the arguing reaches a new level of loudness, I hear Isaak shouting, and his words are full of a rawness I would never have expected to hear from him.

“I have lost one child, and almost lost another! I found Chiara alive and well, and I did what I would want somebody to do for my child, Francesco! What more do you want from me?!”

The tension in the room shifts, the atmosphere suddenly becoming thick with something darker, and something deeper.

Everybody turns to look at Isaak, but I can only focus on the twins; on Nikolai, and on Mikhail.

Slowly, I watch the way their expressions change; twin mirrors of pure shock and confusion.

For a solid second, nobody moves.

It’s like the entire world stops.

My heart beats so loudly that it drowns out everything else around me.

I can’t help but wonder what else.

What else is left to be revealed this evening?

They don’t speak. Not yet.

Instead, they look from their father to me, and for a moment, I’m frozen under the weight of their stares.

Again.

The tension rises even more.

They take steps closer to Isaak, and in that moment, I feel everything changing once more.

Nikolai’s voice cuts through the tension, so sharp and direct.

“What do you mean by that?”

His words are laced with disbelief.

Mikhail doesn’t hesitate either, his question following suit, his voice low.

“What are you talking about, Otets?”

I watch the way both pairs of eyes flicker from me to Isaak as they desperately try to piece together the pieces of this puzzle which has been left unfinished for far too long.

My own eyes shift to Papa, taking notice of the way his entire body has grown tense now. It’s almost as if he’s become frozen in time, transported to the past which these men are all desperately holding onto. 

As Isaak sighs heavily, he runs a hand through his hair. His dark eyes are wary, filled with something like regret, and I can see just how badly he’s trying to keep himself composed, but there’s also something fragile about the way he’s doing it too.

“The woman you once knew as your mother…” Isaak begins saying slowly, his voice tight as though the words are difficult to get out. His gaze moves to me briefly, then back to his sons. “She had lost everything. Lost her mind. Lost herself.”

His words are heavy with grief.

I don’t even know how to process this. In my time being here with Nikolai and Mikhail, I don’t recall them ever saying anything about their mother, so I wonder if this even means anything to them.

Glancing over at them both, I see their expressions hardening, almost as if they’re both holding a deep level of understanding at their father’s words, but I don’t know what it means.

“Otets…” Nikolai growls, inching a step closer. “Why are you telling us this now?”

I step closer too, feeling Dario’s fingers tighten around me once again, as I watch Papa’s face turn ashen.

“Alyona was the one who ordered it.” Isaak’s dark eyes meet mine. “My wife is the reason why your mother was murdered, Chiara.”

My lips part, a whimper escaping.

Mama.

Tears immediately rise to my eyes, my gaze moving back to Nikolai and Mikhail.

Did they know about this?

They don’t let anything show.

Instead, Mikhail’s voice slices through the air.

“A lost child?” He repeats, referring to what was said earlier on, his words laced with confusion. “What’s that about?”

Isaak looks over at the Don, who gives him a small nod.

With a sigh, Isaak’s eyes return to his sons, and he exhales slowly, as if he’s gathering the strength to say something that he’s clearly been hiding for far too long now.

“I had a daughter.” He says, his voice low, and his eyes momentarily clouded with something I can’t quite read. “She is your little sister.” He pauses, and his next few words completely knock the air out of my lungs. “Her mother was an Italian woman.”

I freeze.

My mind immediately thinks of a possibility; a reason why he is revealing this now.

My stomach sinks.

I don’t want it to be true.

Forcing my eyes away from him, I look up at Dario.

Could it be that…?

My brother shakes his head, only holding on to me even tighter.

I swallow hard, releasing a breath as I focus on calming my racing heart, listening as Isaak continues.

“In a mix up of identities, Serena was murdered under the direct order of Alyona, rather than my daughter’s mother, like Alyona had hoped for.” I watch Isaak’s chest rise and fall, the way that he says the words so slowly and carefully. “Your mother is the reason why Chiara’s mother was murdered, my sons.”

Nikolai and Mikhail freeze, their bodies growing tense in a way I haven’t ever seen before.

For a moment, neither one of them moves, and I can practically hear the sound of their thoughts racing, trying to understand what their father has just revealed.

The silence surrounding us all feels suffocating.

Nikolai’s brows furrow, his eyes narrowing as he processes the information. 

His mother…my mother…

My throat feels tight as I hold onto my brother even tighter, desperately trying to seek comfort in him.

“Has our sister passed?”

Mikhail asks, his voice hoarse with something I can’t quite place, a tinge of fear, perhaps.

Isaak shakes his head slowly, his expression darkening.

“No. My daughter lives.” His voice dips even lower as he continues, his eyes flickering towards Papa for just a moment before they settle back on Nikolai and Mikhail. “But just barely. She has no idea who she is. She has no idea about any of us.”

His words echo around in my head, but I can’t seem to make much sense of them.

Their mother is responsible for my mother’s death.

I can’t even wrap my head around it.

They have a little sister with Italian blood running through her veins.

I stare at Isaak, then back to the twins, watching their reactions to all of this with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Their gazes shift back to mine, so intense and heavy, and the realisation of this all settles deep in my stomach.

They’re looking at me differently now, and I'm not sure if I can bear it.

Though they don’t speak, their eyes…

They’re searching mine, trying to understand how this secret, this hidden part of their lives, is now tangled up in mine.

My body trembles, and the room seems to grow smaller with every passing second. The air grows thick with all these secrets now being revealed.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t look away from them.

Isaak’s voice cuts through the haze.

“She has no idea about us.”

He repeats, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself, but I have no idea why.

He’s saying it to the twins, but I feel like his words are meant for the rest of us too.

Nikolai and Mikhail exchange a look, their eyes heavy with unspoken questions. Neither one moves first, they just stare at me, their expressions unreadable.

I watch as their confusion slowly shifts to something else; something darker, something dangerous.

Isaak captures our attention again.

“My daughter no longer lives in America. She was forced to move, because this all landed back on her. Only a child, only six years of age, and her entire life changed. And because Alyona was so angry about the fact that both my daughter, and my daughter’s mother still lived…” His chest heaves as we all wait for him to reveal the rest of this story. “She tried to kill my son. She tried to ruin me.” I feel my heart drop into my stomach. “My son was only thirteen at the time—Mikhail was still just a boy—when my wife tried to end his life. She drugged him, and left his unconscious body in the water to drown. She said it was a way to get back at me. A horrific way to take revenge. Like I said, she was losing her mind, and losing herself to insanity. She wanted me to lose it all.”

Everybody is silent.

Barely anybody even breathes.

I press a hand to my mouth, whimpering, his name barely a whisper as it falls from my lips.

“Mikhail…”

I notice the way his shoulders slump, and the way his face crumbles.

Why would Isaak reveal this…in front of all these men…

I look around the room, realising that the only people who look surprised at hearing this are the twins themselves, Dario, and myself.

And then the question I don’t want to hear, the question that’s been floating around in my mind ever since Isaak first spoke, is asked aloud.

“What does this have to do with her?” Nikolai’s voice is tighter, his gaze unnerving as it flicks to me, searching me, demanding answers. “Our mother was responsible for her mother’s death, and our sister was forced to move away from the country. My brother was almost murdered because of all of this, so I ask you this again, Otets. What. Does. This. Have. To. Do. With. Her?”

A sharp ache appears in my chest, squeezing me tight.

I don’t know if I even want to hear the answer, because somehow, this is all tangled up around me, whether I like it or not.

A murder.

My mother’s.

A little sister.

Theirs.

A horrific trauma.

Mikhail’s.

And somehow, I’m part of this twisted history.

Nikolai continues staring at me, the weight of it almost unbearable, and I can't take it any longer.

I need to look away, but I can’t.

I’m frozen in place.

“My daughter’s mother…my Stella...she was killed by her own brother when the truth about my fatherhood to my daughter was revealed.” Isaak’s gaze pierces into mine. “I didn’t receive a body, but rather pieces of it, personally hand-delivered to me by Francesco.” My breathing stutters as my heart stops beating. I shrug out of my brother’s hold, stepping away from him, unable to bear his comforting touch any longer. “This happened only days after Mikhail was almost killed. I barely had the strength to mourn her. I was too busy making sure my son would live.” Isaak’s eyes never leave mine, not even once. “My Stella...murdered…another innocent life lost because of your father’s anger.”

I wrap my arms around myself, my throat so sore now, my heart so heavy in my chest.

Isaak’s voice is sharp, his voice as cold as ice as he continues.

“Your father is the reason why my daughter is no longer with us.” He spits, the words thick with anger and resentment. He turns to look at Papa, and I see his expression turn ten times more furious. “You took my daughter from us, and you helped murder her mother too!”

Papa’s growl rumbles from deep in his chest.

Every word that leaves his mouth drips with pure venom.

“Your wife is responsible for this all! None of this would have happened if she did not order the first hit!”

He snarls out, his fists clenched at his sides, his body shaking with rage.

Both men stand face-to-face, the room vibrating with their anger. Neither one of them moves yet, but the air crackles with the promise of violence. It’s as if everything in this room can shatter at any second now.

Each beat of my heart reminds me that I’m trapped in the middle of something I still don’t fully understand.

Alessandro, who has been silent for a while now, releases a deep sigh. I watch him looking up at the ceiling, a look of exhaustion crossing his face, as though he’s praying for this all to end. It’s as if the chaos around us is all too much for him now, and he’s just waiting for it to pass.

When he speaks, I hear the words, but they don’t make much sense.

I can’t understand anything.

My legs feel like they’re about to give out beneath me.

All the anger, and the hatred in this room, has become too thick, making it difficult to breathe.

Whatever Alessandro is saying makes Isaak’s face contort, his eyes flashing with hot rage. His body stiffens, and his jaw tightens. For a second, I’m sure he’s about to throw a punch.

The air is electric, charged with all the years of hurt, anger, and revenge.

But before anything can happen, everything around me turns black.

I don’t feel myself falling.

I don’t feel anything at all.

The last thing I hear is the awful shouting around me, but it’s fading fast.

And then, nothing.

Chapter Seventeen

Francesco

My son’s sudden shout alerts me that something is wrong.

When I turn, I spot Dario moving closer to Chiara, his arms outstretched as he catches her before she can hit the ground. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her body closer to his, shouting out her name.

I move immediately.

Her body is limp as I reach my family’s side, and her eyes are closed.

The world seems to slow around me as I stare down at my daughter’s unconscious body.

Her face is pale, her eyes are closed, and her lips are parted slightly as she takes shallow breaths.

There is absolutely nothing else in the world that scares me more than this.

The weight in my chest, the panic, it suffocates me.

Dario adjusts his hold on her, and for a brief moment, I see the same terror reflected in his eyes.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I see both twins move. They are quick, moving in a synchronised way that is almost unsettling.

Nikolai’s hand reaches out for Chiara’s wrist as he checks for a pulse, and Mikhail hovers close, looking down at her like he might lose his mind if she does not wake up at this immediate moment.

I look at both men, searching their faces for any signs of doubt after everything that has been revealed, but I find nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

At this moment, they are looking to keep Chiara safe too.

“Get her on the sofa!” Mikhail barks out. “I’ll call someone to come in to check on Chiara.”

I hate it.

I despise that they are here, that they have played their part in contributing to this hell.

But I cannot deny what is evident in front of me.

These men care about my daughter.

I see it in the way they act quickly; how they frantically check her, and the way their rapid breaths catch in their throats.

This is not just for show. They really are desperate.

They want Chiara to be okay.

But why?

Why do these Bratva men care for her so much? Why is my daughter so important to them, even after everything that has been revealed?

The thought gnaws at me, twisting deep in my gut.

There is too much that I do not understand. There is too much that does not add up.

These Russians have torn us all apart, and yet these twins, men who should be my enemies for taking my daughter, are so protective over her.

As Dario continues to look over at Chiara, and so does Nikolai and Mikhail, I find my eyes moving to look at Isaak. He stands there, watching this entire scene unfold in front of him. His expression has not changed—it is still as hard as it is unyielding—but there is also something else there.

Something that feels like loss.

His loss.

Rage rises in my chest again, but this time, it is not just aimed at him.

It is aimed at everything.

All of it.

The lies.

The deceit.

The broken promises.

We are all part of this same twisted game, each of us losing something in this damn mess.

And for what?

I see his jaw clench as he steps forward, his eyes narrowing in my direction.

When Chiara stirs on the sofa, my eyes immediately move back to my daughter. She is desperately trying to take heavier breaths, like she is fighting the darkness that is holding her captive.

My heart lurches as I watch her struggle.

Leaning down, I rub my hand across her hair, whispering her name, hoping that it is enough to bring her back.

“Come on, Chiara. Open your eyes for me.”

There is a shift beside me as the twins move back slightly, allowing me to have more space.

Mikhail’s eyes linger on Chiara’s frame, a clear softness to them that I do not want to acknowledge. He looks at my daughter like she’s the only thing that matters to him right now. A part of me wants to shout at him, to tell him to stay away from my daughter, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

Not after everything he has found out tonight.

What is the point?

What is the point of any of this?

Chiara’s unconscious body beneath my hand reminds me of what is truly important.

I tighten my hold on her, moving closer to her, whispering soft words that are only meant for her ears to hear.

This is not about them.

This is not about revenge or pain any more.

This is about keeping her safe, and I will not let anything happen to my daughter.

Not ever again.

Isaak finally speaks, his voice cold, though tinged with something else—something I can’t quite place.

“She’s fine.” He says gruffly. “She’ll wake up, Francesco. If she could spend five weeks with my sons, and come out unharmed too, then she’s a fighter for sure.”

I do not care for his words.

I do not care about what he thinks.

And I choose to ignore that last part.

I will not even allow myself to wonder what things my daughter has endured in their captivity.

Instead, I give her my full attention instead.

I brush her hair from her face, keeping an eye on the steady rise and fall of her chest.

She is my entire world.

And I will be damned if I ever let anybody take her away from me ever again.

“We are getting out of here.” I mutter to Dario, my voice tight with determination. “I will not allow Chiara to be a pawn in this game any longer.”

Dario nods without any hesitation, his gaze hardening as he looks to Isaak, then to both of his sons.

“I agree.”

My son murmurs, his grip still firm on Chiara’s shoulder.

But as I look at the men around me—men who should be my enemies, men who have made my family’s life a hell—I realise something important: we are all connected by the same piece of history.

I feel the tension rising once more in the room as I keep my Chiara close, my thoughts racing, my heart pounding in my chest.

I want to take Chiara, and leave this damn place with my son by my side.

I just hope the Don will not make this too difficult.

But when I glance over at the twins, I see something I would never have expected to see. 

A look of resolve crosses over Nikolai’s face, and his words make me feel raging, hot anger.

“No.” He says, his voice firm, cold too. “Chiara is not going anywhere with you.”

I glare at him.

How dare he?

Dario’s body becomes tense, and his fingers tighten around his sister’s shoulder.

I cannot blame him; he is just as protective of Chiara as I am of her.

Nikolai does not know what I am capable of, and he is a stupid man if he thinks I will listen to him so easily.

This is my daughter.

My blood.

I glance over at Dario, and a silent understanding passes between us.

Can we take on both the twins?

Can we stand our ground against Isaak and his sons if it comes to that?

Can we do the same if the Don stands with them?

The answer comes to me faster than I can process it.

Yes.

Of course we can.

I open my mouth to speak, to remind Nikolai of exactly who I am to Chiara, but something in Isaak’s gaze stops me.

Though there is an underlying power to the man—the Pakhan—I see a flicker of something else in his expression.

Something like understanding.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to suppress that fury that is bubbling beneath the surface.

After everything that has been revealed, everything that Chiara has now been made aware of, and everything that has just happened, I know this is not the time for yet another confrontation.

My daughter needs peace.

And I need to be the one to keep her safe.

No matter what I feel, no matter how much I want to tear these men apart for what they have done to her, I cannot let that happen right now.

I force myself to focus on Isaak’s face.

I can feel him weighing his options, just like I am.

He presses his lips into a thin line, and then, he steps forward.

His steps are slow, measured, and almost cautious.

Beside me, the Don nods, his face impassive, though I do notice his gaze dropping to my daughter’s unconscious figure.

My heart feels heavy in my chest.

I knew it was coming—fuck—I just didn’t think it would come so soon.

But it is all my fault.

If I had not done it, if I had listened to the Don, and if I had remained calm, I would not have owed him this.

I would never have needed to give in.

“We cannot keep fighting, not like this.” I say, my voice gravelly, but also surprisingly calm. “This…animosity is destroying both sides. We need peace. For ourselves. For our families.”

The words sting more than I care to admit, but I know they are true.

I look down at my daughter again, tears pricking the back of my eyes, as something inside me cracks. I hate that this is the reality of it all—that even after everything, this alliance between us remains.

But what other choice do I have?

“I want Chiara to be safe.” I continue saying, my voice becoming tighter with every word that leaves my mouth. “That is all I want. I will agree to whatever it takes.” I look away from Chiara to Isaak, feeling my eyes narrow in his direction. “But if anything happens to her, I will burn this place to the ground.”

He nods, the barest flicker of something like respect shining in his eyes.

“I understand, Francesco. Chiara is important to us too.”

His words sent a chill down my spine.

I want to ask him what he means by that, but I do not.

I do not need to.

Isaak’s involvement in this is already too deep, and too personal.

And in some strange way, I understand it.

He has lost more than he is willing to admit, just like I have.

“I…I can forget about the past.” I say, my voice firm. “But for Chiara’s sake, we need to agree to something peaceful.”

Isaak’s lips tighten as he glances over at his sons.

Both are still standing there, looking ready to charge at any moment.

As Isaak looks back at me, there is something in his gaze which I cannot quite place, but it’s enough for me to know that this is a moment of mutual understanding.

This is a moment to remember.

“You have my word.” Isaak says. “We’ll keep things peaceful. There’ll be no more animosity between our families.”

And with that, the air shifts.

It does not matter what our pasts hold.

It does not matter what sins have come before this.

Right now, we are only focusing on the future, and putting this all behind us.

I take a steady breath in as I look down at Chiara again, her body still limp on the sofa.

Right now, my daughter is the only thing that matters to me.

“She will wake up.” I murmur to myself, more to reassure me than anything else. “My Chiara is strong.”

For Chiara, I will do whatever it takes, and I will be damned if I let anybody take her from me once again.

The tension in the room lingers as we wait for the Bratva doctor to come and assess Chiara.

And as Isaak speaks again, I find that there is an unexpected softness in his voice. His words catch me off guard.

“You know,” he begins saying as he looks down at Chiara, “I would want somebody to look out for my daughter too. I would want somebody to care for her in the way that you care for Chiara.”

I stiffen slightly, my jaw tightening.

I glance up at Isaak once again, unsure where this conversation is heading. His eyes are dark, sombre, but there is something else there; something that speaks of a deep loss, a longing that mirrors my own. It’s a vulnerability I did not expect from the Pakhan of the Bratva.

“I don’t care about this history between our families.” He continues. “When I found Chiara here…I didn’t hesitate to call Alessandro the moment I found out. I had to make sure she was safe, and she was well. I couldn’t just stand by and allow her to be trapped here.” Either Nikolai or Mikhail growls, a low sound that echoes through the room at what their father has said, but Isaak only continues. “Your daughter deserved to be reunited with her family, and I made sure it happened.”

For a fleeting moment, I wonder if Isaak truly sees Chiara in the way that I do—a daughter, someone worth protecting at all costs. But then he pauses, and there is a distant look in his eyes, something raw.

“I hope that one day, when everything is settled, I’ll find my daughter again. I hope that one day, I can be the father she deserves. I hope that one day, my family can be whole again.”

His words strike me in a way that I am not prepared for.

I look back down at Chiara, holding onto my daughter in a way as if my life depends on it.

I think about my own family; the bond we share, the protection I have promised her, the lengths I have gone to in order to keep her safe.

But Isaak’s words feel like a heavy weight.

I feel the stirring of something deep in my chest, a pang of guilt that twists like a knife.

I know what he means.

I know the pain of losing a child—of having someone you love taken from you.

And though I want to reject the thought, the cold truth settles over me.

I wrap my fingers around Chiara’s hand, but my gaze drifts to the floor. I cannot look him in the eye after this, not when we both know the truth.

I am the reason why his daughter is no longer with him.

“I…” My voice falters, but I force the words out anyway. “I did not mean for any of this to happen. I never wanted Stella to be brutally murdered like that. I was angry, but it is not an excuse for what happened back then.” 

Isaak does not say anything for a while.

Instead, he allows the silent to stretch between us.

When he does speak, his voice is softer this time, almost pained.

“I know.” He says simply. “I know you didn’t.”

I take a deep breath in, knowing I cannot look at him right now.

Choosing to focus on my daughter instead, I fight back the surge of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. The weight of it all presses down on my chest, and I allow myself to take responsibility for all that I have done.

I am responsible for his loss.

For his daughter.

For her mother.

For Mikhail’s attempted murder.

And there is no way I can change it.

I notice Isaak still looking down at Chiara, but as he feels the weight of my gaze on him, he looks back at me. Though his eyes are still hard, they are searching mine.

I swallow hard, and for the first time in a long time, I find that my voice is quiet, almost fragile.

“Your daughter is well.” I admit in a small voice. “She is smart, she is beautiful…she is exactly how her mother was.”

The room grows tense.

Isaak stills completely, his posture becoming rigid as though the very air has shifted.

I feel either one of his sons eyes on me, and I watch as they both step a fraction forward to be closer to their father, sensing the change in the atmosphere. Isaak’s gaze narrows in my direction, but he does not say anything. He simply stares at me, as though he is waiting for something, perhaps some more from me to explain this all. 

“You have met my daughter?”

He asks me, his voice low and controlled, each of his words sounding like a warning.

I nod my head, keeping my eyes locked on his as my fingers gently stroke my daughter’s soft hand.

“Yes.” I reply, my voice steady despite the storm that is brewing in my chest. “She and my daughter attend the same school. They knew each other in passing, and Gabriel and I still keep in touch.”

I see the way his eyes darken further, the way his fingers curl into fists on either side of his body at the mention of his name; the man who murdered his lover.

Isaak continues watching me, as do his sons, as the silence becomes suffocating.

He inhales sharply, as though to steady himself, with his hands still clenched at his sides.

His eyes flicker over to his sons. Together, the twins move in closer, as if to protect their father, understanding just how fragile this moment is.

When Isaak turns to me once again, his words are barely a rasp.

“My daughter is in England? She is safe there?”

His question is almost a plea, a fragile thread of hope that is woven into his words, but there is also something beneath it.

An unspoken fear, a longing that he tries to keep buried, but cannot completely mask.

I can see it. I can hear it in his voice.

I nod, my heart tightening as I raise Chiara’s limp hand to press a kiss to my daughter’s knuckles.

This is all I can give him—this small reassurance that his daughter is well—and that she is safe.

“She is.”

I confirm, my voice steady, but not without a hint of sorrow for all of this which has affected our children.

There is a shift in his eyes, a small flicker of relief as he exhales a long breath, one which seems to carry the weight of all these years of loss, of uncertainty.

Then his gaze moves to Alessandro, and I see the obvious tension in his face as his eyes narrow slightly in the Don’s direction.

I do not need to be told to understand what is happening here.

It is an unspoken language of men; of power, and of desire, of alliances, both new, and old.

I am not a fool. And neither is Isaak.

Gabriel has told me enough.

Stories of the Don flying into London, visiting him whenever he is in the city. The Don has been asking around, showing curiosity in Gabriel’s family.

Gabriel is a stupid man if he thinks that it is a good thing for the Don to show him any interest.

He is a stupid if he thinks this will allow him to return to the famiglia.

To even go as far as offering his only daughter to the Don…

I can scoff at that ridiculous plan.

The fact that the Don has allowed Gabriel and I to remain breathing after everything we have done is mercy.

To ask for anything more—to expect anything more—that is pure foolishness.

I notice the look in the Don’s eyes, the way his sole focus is on this conversation purely because of the mention of Isaak’s daughter. I see it clearly, the way he holds himself proudly, the way he does not hide his interest.

Without missing a beat, I look away.

I cannot help myself.

As grateful as I am for being granted the chance to continue living my life, to care for both my children, and continue being a father in their lives, I would never be able to give him that.

Not my daughter.

Never my daughter.

Isaak can though.

He recognises this unspoken tension between the Don and myself, the things that I owe him for allowing me to keep on breathing.

His voice is rough as he mutters something under his breath in Russian, as though he is coming to terms with this.

“I may be old.” Isaak says, his tone laced with bitterness, but something else is there too. “But I’m still a man, and I know that when a man like Alessandro wants a woman like my daughter, he’ll do everything he can until he has her.”

Pleased with Isaak’s words, the Don hums, the faintest of smiles stretched along his lips.

The room soon falls quiet after that.

Even the twins seem to understand the weight of their father’s words.

The air becomes thick with unsaid words, with regrets of the past, and expectations of the future.

I hold Chiara’s hand tighter, and for a moment, all I can think of is her safety, and her happiness—things that should have always been, and things that I will make sure stay that way, no matter what.

I will not let anybody take that from her.

Not again.

It seems like we are all holding our breaths as the Don straightens. The change in the atmosphere is immediate as his gaze sweeps over the room, sharp and deliberate. There is an edge to his presence, a command that seems to vibrate in the air around him.

His eyes move between mine and Isaak’s, and I feel the weight of his words before they are even uttered.

“Now that you know where I stand,” the Don says. “Know this: I will marry your daughter, and I will make her my wife, Isaak.”

My heart skips a beat at his words, and I see that Isaak has the same reaction too.

But it is not just him—it is his sons too. There is a flicker of disbelief in their eyes, hearing the Don speaking so freely about their sister like this, like she is nothing but a pawn in this complicated game of ours.

This is no small declaration.

The Don is not simply talking about the woman he desires.

He is making a statement.

A promise.

A challenge.

“This alliance between us will become a relationship. I don’t want to hear anything else about Italians or Russians, or this history we all share, unless there is more good news to come, understand? A wedding, maybe?”

The last part of his words is directed at the twins.

It hits me like a blow to the stomach.

Their jaws are clenched, the muscles in their necks strained as they fight to maintain composure. I see the conflict clearly in their eyes, the disbelief, and the determination there too.

“Chiara is ours!” Mikhail growls. “She is everything to us.”

The Don does not so much as flinch.

I look away, unable to meet his gaze. A knot forms in my stomach, because I know exactly what he is alluding to. He is not just talking about a marriage of convenience, but something more, something deeper. And the implications of it weigh heavy on my chest.

Glancing down at Chiara, I swallow hard, pressing the back of my hand to her cheek. Her face is flushed, her skin feels a little clammy too, but she is still breathing.

That is all that matters.

I hope she will wake up soon—God knows when that doctor will be here to check in on my daughter—and I hope I will have her in my arms once more.

Stroking her hair gently, I feel the tightness in my chest easing a little. The deep ache still remains for the life she has endured. She has been through so much already, and I can only hope that despite everything, my daughter will be able to find happiness one day.

But I cannot shake the fear that things will never be the same again.

The moment has shifted.

And there’s no going back now.

“Isaak.” I say in a quiet voice. “Let Chiara wake up first before we make any other decisions.”

He does not reply at first.

He just stands there, assessing the scene before him. His expression is unreadable, and I can sense his internal struggle.

There is a fire in him, a drive that I can respect, but I also know that he is troubled by everything that has happened tonight; what has been revealed, and what the Don has just promised.

Isaak’s gaze softens slightly as he looks down at Chiara, a look that is unmistakably fatherly.

“Will will figure this out in time, Francesco. For now, we will let her rest.”

I take heavy breaths, not knowing what the future holds for us all.

I do not know what this will all lead to, but at this moment, I am grateful that Chiara is here with me, breathing.

Any maybe, just maybe, there is hope for us after all.

Chapter Eighteen

Mikhail

I still can’t breathe right. My chest is tight, and I have to force each inhale, like the air around me has turned into something thick and impossible to pull into my lungs.

My eyes are glued to Otets’.

I’m trying to read him, to understand how the man who raised me could have carried these secrets for so long.

A sister.

He says we have a little sister, living in the same city we took Chiara from.

But that isn’t what’s twisting my insides right now. That isn’t what’s making it so hard to stand here and keep my hands by my sides.

It’s what he said about her; my mother.

His office feels smaller somehow, the weight of every revealed secret pressing down on me, as my mind keeps circling back to that one thing.

She tried to kill me.

My mother. My own flesh and blood.

Why can’t I remember anything?!

I’ve tried—so fucking hard—but I can’t seem to remember anything.

I’m half tempted to slam my head against the wall to see if that triggers any memories of being held under the water, and forced to stop breathing.

And as I hear him speak, my heart rate only slows down even further.

Why didn’t Nikolai tell me anything?!

I grip the edge of the chair in front of me, my fingers curling so tightly around it that I feel it creak under the pressure. 

My heartbeat pounds in my chest, driving out the faint sounds of conversation between my brother and my father. Nikolai is stone-faced as usual, his gaze hard as it moves between Otets and myself, but I can’t focus on him.

I can’t focus on anybody except for the twisted version of my mother that now haunts my memories.

She wasn’t overly loving to us as children, but she was still there.

She was present.

I remember her soft voice as she spoke to us both, and the way her hands used to smooth over our hair when we were only young boys.

She wasn’t cruel to us growing up.

Was it all fake?

Did she hate me that much?

Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, I try to push it all away, but it doesn’t work.

The memories don’t fade.

Instead, they twist and tangle in my mind, darker now, sharper around the edges.

I hear her laugh, but it feels sinister now.

I remember her smile, but it’s warped.

A hand brushes my arm, and my eyes shoot open.

Nikolai.

His face is close to mine, his expression hard, but also laced with something unfamiliar. Concern, perhaps. My brother doesn’t say anything, he just stares at me, his head tilting slightly as though he’s trying to assess whether I’ll completely break down right here and now, with Otets present.

I won’t.

But now, I doubt whether it’s because of the fact that I’m stronger than this, or whether I’ve become too numb to feel anything any more.

“She’s alive.” Nikolai says, his voice low enough so only I can hear it. “Focus on that, Mikhail, the girl. The sister. She’s what matters right now.”

I nod once, but my stomach churns.

A sister.

A little sister out there who doesn’t even know who we are, or what we are.

I wonder what she’s like.

I wonder what she looks like.

Does she even know that she’s part Russian, and part Italian too?

I doubt it.

After everything that has happened…there’s no way that she knows.

Our father’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and commanding.

“We’ll handle this, Mikhail. My daughter belongs with us, and we will bring her back.”

I glance over at him, feeling my chest tightening all over again.

It’s been days now since he’s revealed these buried secrets, but the weight of everything only presses harder on me, and I find myself speaking without thinking.

“You mean like how Chiara belongs with us?”

The room goes silent.

He looks at me, his expression hardening at once.

This is the most I’ve spoken to him in the three days that I’ve been back, but I don’t care. He shouldn’t have held onto these secrets for so long, not when he expects Nikolai and I to take over as Pakhans one day.

“Careful, Mikhail.”

He tells me, his tone cold.

I don’t back down. Not this time.

“Chiara is ours to keep.” I say, my voice firm. “And if you think that girl out there—our sister—is going to forgive you for all of this, you’re wrong. Who knows what she’s been suffering under the hand of her uncle, the very same man who murdered her mother?”

Our father simply stares at me, his jaw clenching.

“Mikhail!”

Nikolai says sharply, his hand squeezing my shoulder, but I shrug him off.

Our father’s eyes narrow in my direction, and for a moment, I think he’ll lose his temper. I think he’ll finally give me a chance to react, and do something with all this anger that’s been building up inside me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“You think I don’t know what I’ve lost?” He says, his voice quieter now, almost bitter too. “I have lost one child already, Mikhail. I will not lose another. Hate me all you want, but you are still my son, and you are still breathing. I will never take that for granted ever again.”

As the weight of his words settle over me, I see something crack in his expression.

Just for a second, he looks tired.

Old.

Human.

But it doesn't change what’s twisting up inside me.

It doesn’t erase this image I have of my mother drugging me, dragging my body into the bathtub, and holding my head under the water as she waits for me to stop breathing.

I just don’t understand why I don’t remember.

And it doesn’t make me feel any better thinking about the sister I didn’t know I had, probably suffering for the actions of my mother.

I glance over at Nikolai again, but his face is unreadable.

After what feels like an eternity, my brother shakes his head, sighing heavily.

“Let’s go and check on Chiara.”

I nod, and together, the three of us move to the hallway to enter the room where Chiara has been resting in for the last three days.

She’s exhausted—though well as checked by the doctor—and she wakes up for only a few moments of the day.

All these secrets that have been revealed are having just as much of a toll on her as it is on us.

As we continue walking, we find ourselves face-to-face with Dario instead.

“Is she well today?”

I ask him, a taunt perhaps as I try to create small talk, though I already know the answer.

Our doctor is on our payroll, so he reports to us first, of course.

Before anything else can be said, Dario takes a step forward, his chest heaving with pure anger. His face is twisted, his eyes wide and wild as they dart between Nikolai and me. I don’t miss the way his fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, and the way his shoulders shake like he’s barely able to keep himself together.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?!” He shouts, his voice cracking under the weight of his fury. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? And what you’ve put my sister through?!”

Nikolai and I instinctively shift, moving so that we’re standing side by side.

It’s something we’ve done ever since we were only boys; present in a united front, always.

It doesn't matter how much I’m still reeling from everything Otets has revealed; the second that we’re challenged, we move in sync.

Dario glares at me first, his eyes blazing, and then at Nikolai, his lips curling.

“Do you guys really think it’s okay to take her like this? To keep her locked up here like she’s some kind of prisoner?!”

His voice rises with every word, trembling with emotion.

“Chiara is not a prisoner.”

Nikolai says coolly.

Dario barks out a humourless laugh, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s ready to swing any second now.

“My sister is not a prisoner? Is that what you’re both telling yourselves? You’re just as crazy as you look if you think that’s true!”

I spot the way Nikolai’s jaw tightens, but he manages to remain calm, though the anger in him clearly rises, matching my own.

“Chiara is my little sister!” Dario spits. “She’s not yours, and she’s definitely not a part of this fucked up world. She doesn’t belong here!”

I shake my head, releasing a humourless laugh.

He’s delirious if he thinks that she doesn’t belong here with us.

“Chiara is safe with us.” I say. “She’s safer here than she ever was before.”

Dario steps closer, getting right in my face now.

I can feel the heat of his anger radiating off of him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he glares at me. We’re both similar heights, and his frame is leaner too, but his fury makes him feel bigger somehow, like he’s ready to explode at any second.

“Safe?” He growls. “You think this is safe, Mikhail? You think what you’ve both done has kept her safe?!”

I take a slow breath, keeping my expression calm even though his words grate against my nerves.

Beside me, Nikolai shifts, his body language sharp and alert, ready to step in if things escalate.

His voice cracks, and I notice the sheen in his eyes. He’s angry, yes, but there’s something deeper there too.

Fear.

Pain.

“Chiara has been through enough already.” He says in a voice quieter now. “Our mother was murdered when she was just a child, and she’s been without her ever since. She was pulled away from the life she once knew, and was forced to build a new life, in a completely new country. And when my sister had finally settled into a place of her own, you both—”

He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if he can’t even find the right words to say.

I glance over at Nikolai, catching the faint flicker of something in his expression.

“I get it.” I say, my tone softer now, though I’m not sure why I’m even bothering. I should splatter his brains against our walls, but I don’t think my beauty would be too happy to hear of her brother’s fatal end. “You love Chiara. You want to protect Chiara.” His jaw tightens. “Don’t you realise that we do too?” Dario flinches at that, his mouth opening and closing like he doesn’t know how to respond. “She wasn’t taken to be hurt, Dario.” I continue, my voice firm. “You can ask her yourself when she’s up—she’s happy with us. She’s said it herself. Do you think it would be better to leave her out there, so defenceless and unprotected?”

Dario’s eyes narrow, his fists clenching again.

“Don’t act like you did my sister a favour!” He snaps. “You dragged her into this chaos!”

The tension rises between us.

Our father’s voice rumbles behind us, a low warning, but I ignore it.

“She’s alive, isn’t she?” Nikolai says coldly, his words slicing through the air. “There was no protection, and no security in that place of hers. Would you rather somebody else have taken her?”

Dario’s breath hitches.

For a second, I see the crack in his armour. He doesn’t know how to answer that question.

“Chiara is safe with us.” I repeat once again. “And she’ll stay safe, as long as we’re here.”

Dario shakes his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“My sister doesn’t belong here.” He mutters under his breath, his voice breaking. “Chiara belongs with us; her family.”

I don’t respond to that.

There’s nothing I can say that will make him believe me, but I know that Chiara will be able to say plenty.

Behind us, Otets’ voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding.

“Enough.” He says as he takes a step forward. “This isn’t the time for fighting.”

Dario glares at Nikolai and I for a moment longer before he steps back, his chest still heaving.

Beside me, Nikolai relaxes slightly, though his gaze remains locked on Dario.

Together, we continue walking through the hallway towards the room where Chiara is resting.

And as soon as we take a step inside, the room falls into an uneasy silence, the tension still crackling in the air.

I glance over at Francesco who is sitting beside Chiara’s sleeping figure, his hand on her head as if she’s the only thing that’s grounding him right now.

My chest tightens as I look at Chiara, then back to Nikolai.

I don’t know how we’re ever going to make this work.

“Francesco.” Otets says as he takes a step further into the room. “How is she today?”

There’s a moment of silence before he replies.

“She is good. She woke up a little while ago.” He pauses, swallowing hard, then looks to Nikolai and I. “She asked for your sons…she asked for Nikolai and Mikhail.”

Immediately, my chest swells, warmth unfurling from somewhere deep, filling me with a rush so intense it almost steals my breath.

She asked for my brother.

She asked for me.

His words echo in my head, sounding so sweet and so disbelieving.

My lips curve into a smile that I don’t bother to hide, and as I look over at Nikolai, I spot the same expression on his face.

We both look towards the bed Chiara is currently laying in, relief spreading through my body.

When she wakes up, I’ll be sure to show her just how damn happy hearing that has made me.

And that’s when I hear it—a soft, broken whisper.

I watch Francesco lean down, his ear close to her lips as she whispers something, then he pulls away slightly to whisper something of his own into her ears. His words are too quiet for me to make out what he’s saying.

Chiara stirs in the bed, a faint moan escaping her as her eyelashes begin to flutter.

My chest tightens at the sound, and the way her face pinches with confusion and exhaustion as she slowly blinks herself awake.

This is different to all those times in the previous three days.

This is more.

Her gaze is unfocused at first, her eyelids heavy like she’s still caught between sleep and consciousness. Then her eyes start to move, darting all around the room, searching.

“Dario?” She murmurs, her voice hoarse. “Where are you?”

He moves at once, his face softening as he crouches beside her.

“I’m here, Chiara.” He says, his tone unrecognisably gentle. “I’m right here.”

She reaches out for her brother, her fingers wrapping around his hand as she fights to sit up.

My mouth runs dry as I watch her move, noticing how pale she looks after so many days of resting, and how tired her eyes seem.

But she’s still as beautiful as ever, even like this.

She touches him all over, her hands over his arms, his face, as she lets out a shaky gasp, her lips trembling.

“You’re okay.” she whispers. “You’re really okay, Dario.”

As he nods at her, Nikolai and I move closer to the bed too, though we stop a few steps away, just far enough to avoid crossing whatever invisible line separates us from her family.

“Chiara.” I say softly. “You’re awake. You’re safe.”

Her head swivels towards me, her eyes locking with mine.

The way she looks at me—wide eyed, almost pleading—makes it hard to breathe.

“Mikhail.” She says, her voice barely a whisper. Then her gaze shifts to my brother, and I feel him grow tense beside me. “Nikolai. You both are really here?”

He doesn’t say anything to her at first, he just gives her a small, sharp nod.

His face is as stoic as ever, but I know my brother.

I see the way his jaw tightens, and the way his hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out for her, but doesn’t know if he should with the tension that’s only rising in this room.

“We’re here.” He finally says. “We’re not going anywhere, darling.”

Chiara closes her eyes for a second, her lips parting as she releases a heavy breath.

When she opens them again, the room feels smaller as both Nikolai and I stare at her, and her only.

Dario stands abruptly, his eyes blazing as he glares in our direction.

“Stay back!” He snaps, his voice still sharp and defensive. “Chiara doesn’t need you both crowding her space right now.”

I stiffen at his tone, my hands curling into fists by my sides almost immediately.

My initial reaction is to say something back, to start an argument so I can throw punches and show him who he’s really talking to, but I don’t.

Not now when Chiara has finally woken up properly, and not now when she’s looking at me like that.

Right now, the only thing she needs is reassurance, and definitely not more chaos.

“We’re not crowding her.” Nikolai says quietly, though there’s a cold edge to his words. “We’re making sure that she's okay.”

Dario doesn’t hesitate to bite back, moving from the bed as he steps in front of it, almost shielding Chiara as if we’re some kind of threat to her.

“You both have done enough already.”

I almost laugh in his face.

Behind him, I watch Francesco shift as he murmurs something again to Chiara. She shakes her head, and that’s when I notice how tense he quickly becomes.

“Dario.” Chiara whispers in a shaky voice. “It’s okay. Please let them see me.”

His shoulders drop slightly, but he does turn around to look back at her.

“Chiara…”

Our princess isn’t hearing any of it.

“I’m okay.” Her voice wavers slightly as she glances between her brother, Nikolai, and myself. “I really am, Dario.”

And with those words, Nikolai takes a cautious step forward.

“You passed out a few days ago.” He starts saying, watching the way her expression changes with every word. “Do you remember much?”

Chiara blinks at him, her eyebrows drawing together.

“I…I’m not too sure. I remember meeting Papa and Dario, and I remember before—” She glances between us both, a soft blush appearing on her cheeks. “—With the three of us together. I can't remember much after that.”

I take a deep breath in, trying to push down the swirl of emotions that are threatening to choke me.

“That’s okay, Chiara.” I say softly. “We’re here to help you remember.”

Her lips twitch into a faint, fleeting smile, and for a moment, the tension in the room seems to ease.

But then her brother ruins it.

Her stupid, fucking brother who has no business being here—who isn’t even a made man, and who isn’t even involved in any of this—decides to ruin it.

“She doesn’t need you both to do anything, not when Papa and I are right here!”

The anger takes him by full force this time, and I can’t help but scoff.

“Dario.” Chiara says again, her voice firmer this time as she reaches out, her fingers brushing his arm. “Stop this, please!”

The silence that follows is heavy, the air now thick.

Nikolai tenses beside him, his patience wearing thin.

I can’t blame him.

“We’re not here to fight with you. We just want to make sure that Chiara is okay, and that she has everything she needs.”

Everybody she needs, my brother and myself included.

Dario looks at me, his jaw tight, but this time, he doesn’t respond. He simply turns back to face Chiara.

But that’s not good enough for him, because as soon as he has his back to us, he’s muttering under his breath. And since my brother can no longer hold back, he doesn’t hesitate to call him out on it.

And after, well, the things that happen after…

I do laugh.

Dario.

Nikolai.

Francesco.

Otets.

I smile to myself, knowing this was coming.

Our voices grow louder, our anger rising with every word that escapes our lips, and when it all gets too much, we have no choice but to continue.

Finally, Chiara looks at all of us with her hands on her head, her expression now a mixture of confusion and exhaustion.

“Can we all just…stop for a minute?”

Her voice trembles as she speaks.

Nobody listens.

My smile grows wider.

The argument reaches an all time high, and just when I think guns are about to be pulled out, and bodies will soon begin to drop, Alessandro’s voice booms through the chaos.

“Enough!”

Everybody freezes, turning to look at him in the corner of the room where he’s been standing silently all along.

He stands tall, his broad shoulders squared, his features sharp. His dark eyes burn with authority as he stares each and every one of us down.

Alessandro stalks forward with deliberate steps, each one echoing in the heavy silence.

The air thickens as he approaches us, his gaze moving from Chiara to Nikolai, then finally to me.

Though his expression is unreadable, there’s a controlled fury in the way that he carries himself. As the Don, he’s a man who’s used to being obeyed, and I would be lying if I didn’t say that the room practically shifts to accommodate him.

Glancing back at Chiara, I see her father’s arms still around her, and her brother pressed closely to her side.

She looks between us men with nervous, wide eyes.

When I see that she’s okay—breathing, watching—the tension in my chest eases.

I turn back around to look at Alessandro.

His voice slices through the silence once more.

“What the hell is wrong with all of you?”

Nobody speaks.

Not Nikolai, nor myself.

Not Otets, or Francesco.

And surprisingly, not Dario, the idiot who’s had so much to say up until this very moment.

As Alessandro’s dark eyes rake over every man that’s present in this room, the silence only seems to grow thicker. His jaw is tight, clenched so hard it looks as though it might crack under the pressure. He takes his time to stare at each of us—one by one—as if he’s daring somebody to challenge him.

Nobody does.

“Just three days ago,” he begins as he points a finger in Francesco’s direction. “You were ready to kiss and make up with the Russians. What the fuck has happened now, Francesco? Why have you changed your mind? Don’t you care about your daughter?” He turns slightly to look at my father, pointing a finger in his direction. “And what about you, Isaak? You’ve accepted that she’ll be my wife, and now you’ve stopped giving a fuck?”

Rage.

It flashes across both fathers’ faces, but Alessandro doesn’t stop there.

He continues taunting them, each word slicing deeper than the previous one.

“No, maybe you don’t. Maybe that's why you both don’t care about what people will say.” He smiles, but it’s not appropriate for this setting. It only makes his features sharper, dangerous even. “Do you have any idea what people will say? What will they think of the Don marrying a bastard, a woman whose father’s identity remains hidden?” He turns to look at Francesco now. “What do you think they’ll say when they hear an Italian princess has been held here? And not just by anybody, but by two Russian men—men who are in line to become Pakhans?”

As Francesco’s face drops, I realise something; as much as these words are a curse for the Italians, they’re a blessing for us.

A quick glance over at my twin, and I know that we’re both thinking the same thing.

Alessandro is on our side.

“Alessandro!”

Francesco growls, a sharp warning that vibrates through the room.

His tone is fierce, protective, but Alessandro doesn’t so much as flinch.

He doesn’t even bother to continue looking in Francesco’s direction.

Instead, he focuses straight ahead, his jaw twitching as his words grow sharper, more pointed.

“Even if you try to hide what’s happened, people will talk. They’ll always talk. About your daughter. About the twins. About what has happened here. You might not care, Francesco, but I do. Why do you think the other two girls are kept on a tight leash? Why do you think Alexis lives a humble, modest life?” Alessandro doesn’t even give him the chance to respond. “It’s because everything she does reflects back on our Italian women—on my people. In that very same way, Francesco, everything that has happened here between these two Bratva men and your daughter will reflect back on my people. I won’t allow others to make assumptions on all my women based on this incident.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch my father’s reaction.

He stands a little straighter, his hands clasped behind his back, his face calm and composed. But there’s something beneath the surface, something almost amused. A faint smile that tugs at the corners of his lips, subtle, but impossible to miss.

He knows.

He knows exactly where Alessandro’s words are heading, and he looks as if he’s already decided to let it unfold.

Like Nikolai and I, Otets is ready to watch the pieces fall into place, one by one, exactly as Alessandro expects them to.

When he takes another step forward, his frame casting a shadow that seems to stretch across the room, he continues speaking. His voice is firm and resolute, like the final blow in an argument that can’t be contested.

“In order to protect Chiara,” Alessandro says with his gaze sweeping over all of us. “In order to protect her dignity and her honour, there is only one solution.”

The room stills, the weight of his words sinking into everybody.

My pulse spikes, tension coiling in my chest, and I feel the same happening to Nikolai too.

Alessandro chooses that time to turn his attention to my brother and myself, his eyes sharp as a blade as he watches us.

“The three of you—Nikolai, Chiara, and Mikhail—must be together. You must show others that you are a united front.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

My eyes widen, my heart now hammering in my chest.

His words settle inside me, stirring something deep and unfamiliar.

It’s something I’ve tried to push aside for some time now, but I know that I can no longer ignore.

I glance over at Nikolai, noticing the shift in his eyes.

Still in bed, Chiara gasps, the sound soft and breathless. It draws every gaze to her.

One trembling hand is pressed to her mouth as her eyes dart between Alessandro, her father, and Nikolai and myself.

Disbelief is etched into her every feature, but she's not angry with his words. It seems like she’s almost…pleased, unable to understand how this has happened.

The air grows heavier, each second stretching unbearably long.

My heart races in my chest as Chiara’s gaze locks with mine.

I don’t know what to say, or what to do, but I can’t look away from her.

“That is—”

Alessandro doesn’t allow Francesco to continue.

“It’s the only way.” He reassures him. “Don’t you want to protect your daughter, and her future? Don’t act like you weren’t happy with this very same thing only three days ago when your daughter lost consciousness, Francesco.” 

Francesco slowly rises from the bed, his voice furious.

“You cannot be serious!” He shouts, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She is my daughter, my only daughter! Chiara has suffered enough, and now you want to force her into this madness?!”

Alessandro simply raises an eyebrow, a quiet show of authority that stops the older man in his tracks.

Nikolai swallows hard beside me, though I pretend not to notice.

I won’t admit it either, but Alessandro has a way of unsettling me, of making the room feel colder and heavier too.

It’s the way that he carries himself, like he already knows the ending to everything before it’s even had a chance to happen.

I guess it’s something he’s learnt with his many years of experience as the Don.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is much calmer this time, but there’s no mistaking the authority in his tone.

“I am the Don of the famiglia, and my word—it is law. Do we have an understanding, Francesco? Or has it been a mistake to allow you to keep breathing?”

For the longest time, nobody speaks.

It almost feels like we’re all holding onto our own breaths, eager to see how this will play out.

Finally, Francesco’s head drops down as he accepts defeat.

“Sì, Don Alessandro. If my daughter agrees, I am happy.”

The room falls silent again.

The weight of her father’s acceptance seems to smother every sound, every protest that’s waiting to be voiced.

The tension snaps when Dario, now pacing beside his sister’s bed, growls impatiently.

He spits the words out like venom, like he can’t bear to hold back on his tongue any longer.

“You can’t force my sister to be with these madmen!”

Somehow, Alessandro is able to remain composed.

“I’m not forcing her to be with anybody.” Dario doesn’t so much as blink. “Your father forced me to send the sister of these madmen away. Perhaps this is a way to make it even for everybody, considering the complex history both families share.”

Dario’s face twists with rage, his movements quick and sharp as he takes a step towards Alessandro, looking like he’s about to lunge at him. The room practically vibrates with the force of his rage. But before he can take another step forward, Francesco shouts.

“Dario!”

Dario freezes, his jaw tight, his fists shaking at his sides as he glares at Alessandro.

Francesco’s tone leaves no room for argument, and slowly, reluctantly, Dario steps back slowly, his breathing ragged with barely restrained anger.

The room feels like it’s on the verge of imploding, every glaze flickering between Alessandro, Francesco, and Dario.

I glance over to Chiara, spotting her sitting quietly on the bed, her hands clutching her lap. Her eyes are wide as they dart from one face to another, uncertainty washed all over her.

When our gazes meet, there’s something in hers that makes my heart twist in my chest.

For once, I have no words. None of us do.

Then suddenly, a voice, quiet but firm, breaks the tension in the room.

“Please.”

Chiara says softly.

Her voice trembles, but there’s enough strength there to make us all pause.

Every eye in the room turns to her, and Dario marches straight over to her, his arms tightening around her as though he doesn’t want her to speak.

Alessandro tilts his head slightly, the faintest glimmer of curiosity crossing his face.

Chiara straightens, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

She looks at each man in this room before she finally allows her gaze to settle on Otets.

“I would like to speak to Nikolai and Mikhail.” She says softly. Then, as her eyes move in the direction of ours, she adds, “Alone.”

Chapter Nineteen

chiara

It settled over the room like a heavy fog.

The silence became deafening, broken only by the sharp inhale of Papa by my side.

Dario’s expression twisted, so dark and angry. He opened his mouth, no doubt to object, but before he could say anything, Isaak raised a hand, commanding complete silence. The only thing my brother did was glare at him.

Isaak’s gaze on me was steady and piercing as he tried to read me, no doubt trying to pull apart the intent behind my words.

I glanced between Nikolai and Mikhail, both stood across from me in the room, both tense and unreadable. Nikolai’s eyes met mine briefly, his jaw tight, and his expression closed, but I saw the weight of my words reflected in the darkness of his gaze. I took a deep breath in, looking over at Mikhail, feeling my chest tighten slightly.

“Chiara.”

Papa began to say as he broke the silence, his voice shaking slightly as though he was desperately trying to hold onto all control.

I shook my head, not allowing him to say another word.

“Please!” I said once more. “Just let me speak to them for a moment. Please, Papa.”

He exhaled sharply, his breathing shaky as I turned to face him, a small, pleading smile on my face.

His lips pressed into a grim line, and he nodded slowly.

He. Nodded.

My heart began racing in my chest as Papa helped me up from the bed, and Dario escorted me to the bathroom to freshen up.

And now that I’m done, I step out of the bathroom, my hands trembling by my sides. My legs feel unsteady, but I push forward anyway, taking a step towards them both.

My voice is a little softer now that I’m so close to them both.

“Where can we go?”

Neither one of them speaks, but they move in unison as they take a step towards me, moving to stand on either side of my body.

Together, Nikolai and Mikhail silently guide me out of the room, their gentle hands pressed firmly to my body.

Nikolai, with his hand around my arm, and Mikhail, with his hand against the small of my back.

With their presence this close, and so protective, the three of us leave the room, and leave the other men behind.

As we step into the hallway, I glance back over my shoulder.

There’s concern etched in Papa’s face, and it’s obvious that Dario’s fury is barely contained. Isaak simply stares back at me as he watches me walking away with his two sons. And Alessandro watches us leave with an unmistakable glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

“This way.”

Nikolai says in a low voice, bringing my attention back to where we’re heading.

As we reach a room, this one even bigger than the last, the door closes behind us with a soft click, sealing the three of us away from all the chaos.

I swallow hard, tilting my head back a little to look up at them, feeling their eyes searching my face already, waiting for me to say something. But I don’t know what to say—not yet.

My mind is still a little fuzzy.

My chest is tight with the weight of everything pressing down on me, and I’m not too sure how to process it all.

I breathe out, trying to steady myself, when they both move. Their arms wrap around my body once more as they pull me in between them, their warmth so comforting against this overwhelming storm that’s currently present in my mind. I don’t hesitate to wrap my arms around them either, sighting softly into their chests.

“How do you feel, beauty?”

My body trembles at the use of that word—now hearing it from his lips after so long.

Mikhail’s voice is so soft, and so full of concern.

My breathing hitches.

“I’m okay.”

I manage to whisper.

Nikolai’s voice is tight with something darker.

“Are you in any pain?”

I shake my head quickly, needing to reassure them.

"No, I'm not in any pain.” I say. “I just feel a little tired.”

They both exchange a glance, then they both look down at me.

Sighing, I rest my head against Mikhail’s chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding me.

Despite everything, despite the confusion and the chaos, I know that I’m safe here with them.

I'll always be safe here with them.

Mikhail cups the back of my head as he holds me close, and Nikolai strokes my cheek with the back of his finger.

Together, they speak to each other in Russian, their voices barely murmured whispers.

When they stop, I open my eyes to look at them both, and Nikolai tilts my chin up a fraction.

“Whatever happened between our parents means nothing to us. We are not bound by their past, darling. We are not our parents.”

I nod slowly, curling my bottom lip into my mouth.

“What matters is now. What matters is you.” Mikhail adds in agreement, his eyes softer now, less guarded too. “Do you remember anything else now?”

I swallow hard as I slowly pull away from Mikhail, looking up at both of them.

I shake my head.

“Not really, Mikhail.” I say softly, noticing how the corners of his lips twitch slightly, like he’s amused with what I’m saying. “Everything is still a little fuzzy in my head.”

He doesn't move his hand from behind my head, but he does hold onto me a little firmer.

Leaning down, he brushes his lips against my forehead, whispering softly to me.

“That’s okay, beauty. Nikolai and I are here to help you remember.”

A shiver runs down my body.

Again, Nikolai turns me so I’m facing him with his fingers on my chin.

I take a deep breath in, trying to steady my nerves, waiting for what’s to come.

“We can address everything else after. For now, we need to discuss what Alessandro has said, darling. Do you understand what he means by a united front?”

My breathing turns shaky.

My eyes dart between the pair of them, and slowly, I nod my head.

“He wants us to be…together. Is that right, Nikolai?”

My voice trembles as I say it, the gravity of this all still feeling so unreal.

For a moment, Nikolai doesn’t talk. And neither does Mikhail.

Instead, they both look down at me, icy blue eyes boring into mine, watching me.

Finally, their stony features soften, and there’s something almost…hopeful in their eyes, happy even.

Nikolai slides his fingers from my chin to my jaw, cupping my face, holding me close.

“We’ll make you ours, and everybody will know it.”

The eagerness in his tone catches me off guard, and as Mikhail mirrors his brother’s expression, his eyes light up with something like satisfaction.

“We’ll take care of you, and we’ll make sure that nothing happens to you. You’ll be ours, Chiara, and we’ll be yours.”

My lips part as my throat goes dry.

I want to say something, but all the words seem to be stuck in my throat. I don’t even know what I can say.

Their eyes are so intense, so ready for all of this, that everything quickly becomes overwhelming.

Together, they move in closer towards me, and before I can even process it fully, I’m trapped between their bodies.

Every inch of me is pressed against them, and from the looks on their faces, they’re happy with this arrangement.

I hold onto both of them with shaking fingers, feeling their solid presence surrounding me.

“How did this all happen?”

It’s barely a whisper that leaves my mouth.

Everything has shifted in the blink of an eye, and I’m still trying to catch up, and to make sense of this entire situation.

The ache in the back of my head isn’t doing much to help me either.

As Mikhail’s hand moves lower to my back, he rubs soothing circles against my body.

When Nikolai speaks again, his voice is calm, almost tender even.

“It’s not about how this happened, Chiara, it’s about what happens next.” He swipes his thumb along my cheek, pressing it gently to the corner of my lips. “Mikhail and I are back now, and we’re here to take care of you. Properly, this time.”

Nodding, Mikhail speaks, turning slightly so his body is pressed to my back so I can feel his hard length against me.

“We’ll treat you like our Queen.” He promises me, his voice a soft murmur. “We’ll claim you, and we’ll make sure that everybody knows it.”

A heavy sigh escapes me as I tip my head back against his chest, and place my hand above Nikolai’s hand.

How has it ended like this?

I still can’t understand it; going from being taken to being theirs.

Willingly.

Freely.

But it doesn’t matter now.

The only things I care about is their warmth around me, the strength of their words, and the quiet promises in their voices.

I wrap my arms around them both, pressing myself even further between their bodies.

Together, the three of us stand together in this quiet room, and it’s everything that I’ve ever needed.

I close my eyes for a moment, resting my forehead against Nikolai’s chest, trying to collect myself.

“I don’t know what is expected of me.” I admit slowly. “I have no idea how to handle all of this, but if you both are here…I’ll try. I want us to be together.”

Mikhail only presses further into me, leaning down to whisper into my ear.

“We’ll be here with you every step of the way. We’re in this together, and we’ll figure out whatever happens next.”

I nod, pulling away from Nikolai, and take a small step backward so I can look at both of them.

They watch me like I’m theirs, because I am.

Nikolai’s gaze is dark and possessive, a silent vow that nothing in this world will ever take me from him.

Mikhail’s is different; it’s hungrier, wicked too, like he’s daring me to run just so he can chase me, pin my body beneath his, and keep me trapped.

There’s a small part of me that says I should be scared of them, of the way they consume me whole, but instead, I feel worshipped, like I was always meant to belong to them.

Together, they reach forward again, cupping my face in their hands. They lean down, both whispering soft words to me in Russian, and although I have no idea what they’re saying, I can feel the affection of their words in the way that they’re holding me, and in the way that they’re speaking to me.

I realise that it’s almost like a vow, the words that they’re saying.

I swallow hard, trying to steady myself as we all stand there, the weight of everything now rushing back in.

The tension…the pressure…the history that ties us all together…

Despite all the uncertainty that’s gnawing at me, I don't feel as lost as I did before.

With Nikolai and Mikhail by my side, I feel a sense of stability.

I take a deep breath in as they finish speaking, both moving in to press a gentle kiss on either side of my face, then slide their hands down my body to wrap their fingers around mine.

Together, we begin to walk back towards the other room, where all of the men remain.

The air feels heavy as we approach, the sounds of their quiet murmurs drifting through the hallway.

I’m aware of the eyes that will be on us when we enter, the silent judgement from my family, but at this moment, with them both by my side, I feel a strange sense of confidence.

This is happening now.

This is my reality.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.

As we take a step into the room, I hold onto Nikolai and Mikhail even tighter, grateful that they’re here to keep me steady.

The atmosphere shifts slightly; it’s less tense now, but it’s still filled with unspoken words.

I can feel all eyes on us.

I force myself to stand tall between them both, my hands gripping theirs as they move with me, unbothered by all the eyes that linger on us.

As we stop walking any further into the room, Nikolai speaks.

“We’re going to make this work.” He tells him all. “Chiara is ours, and that’s final. She will be protected with us, and she will be safe.”

Mikhail nods, adding to what Nikolai has said.

“We’re in this together, and Nikolai and I will stand by Chiara’s side, always.”

The finality in their words make me smile, the weight of it all suddenly becoming real.

This is happening.

This is what they’ve decided.

And for the first time in so long, I find myself feeling like I might not be so lost after all.

I look away from them both to glance over at Papa and Dario, noticing them both standing across from me on the other side of the room. Their expressions are unreadable as they process everything.

I know they don’t understand it, I know they want me to fight against this, but I can’t.

Nikolai and Mikhail mean a lot to me.

More than I ever thought they would.

After taking a deep breath in, I slowly pull my hands away from theirs. Though their grips loosen slightly, they don’t let me go completely. Instead, they both look down at me, their eyes questioning me as I take a step forward, then they finally let go.

I don’t know why, but at this moment, I need to walk towards Papa and Dario.

I need them to know that I’m still theirs.

A daughter.

A sister.

They stand there, watching me carefully, and I feel something inside me ache as I slowly approach them.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around them both, holding them close as I sigh against Papa’s chest. He stiffens for only a second, then his hands are there as he pulls me in even closer, as Dario wraps his arms around us too.

I feel the weight of their concern as they hug me, the love and protectiveness that has always been there too.

“I know it wasn’t ideal, the way we  met.” I say softly to them both as I pull away slightly. “But they have been good to me. They are so good to me, Papa, and I know that I love them. They love me too, and they are so protective over me. They will keep me safe, always.”

Papa’s face crumbles, like he hates what he’s hearing.

I don’t like seeing him like this, but he needs to understand.

This isn’t just a decision that was made by Alessandro, or even the twins for that matter. I was part of this too, and I need them both to be happy for me.

“We can keep you safe, Chiara.”

Dario rasps out, looking down at me with such intensity in his eyes that I have no choice but to look away.

My chest tightens as I force myself to keep on breathing, and even shake my head at my brother.

It’s not true.

Dario can’t keep me safe, and neither can Papa.

Not in the way that Nikolai and Mikhail can, and have done.

I look back to Papa, tears slowly filling my eyes as I search his face.

“I don’t understand it, Papa.” I manage to whisper. “I really don’t, but I know that I love them. They love me too, Papa. I want to be with them. Please don’t make me choose between you both.”

He’s watching me intently, his eyes softening with every word that leaves my mouth.

After a long silence, he finally exhales a slow breath, his face relaxing slightly as he speaks.

“As long as you are happy, Chiara, then I am happy too.”

Papa says in a quiet voice.

I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat as his words settle over me.

This is everything I’ve needed to hear; the reassurance I’ve been longing for.

Papa, my protector, the man who has always tried to keep me safe; he’s giving me his blessing, even if this situation is anything but easy.

Papa’s voice is soft but steady as he whispers into my ear

“I love you, Chiara.” He says, his arms still around me, holding me close. “Always, no matter what. You are my daughter, and I want you to be happy. If you are happy, then I am happy too, va bene?”

A tear slips down my cheek, but I don’t wipe it away.

Instead, I close my eyes for a moment, letting the world around me fade away.

I breathe deeply, my shoulders relaxing, my body finally settling into the warmth of Papa’s embrace.

I feel content.

As Papa’s arms tighten around me, I release a heavy sigh. And with that simple, quiet sigh, I know that whatever happens next, I’ll be okay.

Because at this moment, I’m loved. And at this moment, I’m cherished.

I have Papa’s blessings.

Chapter Twenty

chiara

Sometimes, I find myself wondering how this can possibly be my life.

How did things change so quickly?

The air outside smells like home, and it’s crazy to even think that once upon a time, I never thought that I would ever see it again.

Now back at Papa’s home in England, we all take a seat at the dining table.

The room feels too big, too formal, like I’m now a guest in my own world.

Nikolai sits to my right, and Mikhail sits to my left.

Though their warmth bleeds into my sides, I feel the weight of my family across the table.

Papa.

Dario.

They’ve all been civil with one another so far, but now that we’re all in London, in the place that Papa has made his home…

I glance over at him sitting at the head of the table, and I smile softly at him.

His gaze is steady as he looks at me, concern hidden beneath his stern expression, even after all this time.

And Dario…my crazy, overprotective big brother…

His jaw is clenched so tight I wonder if it’ll crack, and his glare cuts straight through me.

It’s not hatred in his eyes—no.

It’s pain.

I can’t blame him for feeling this way.

Not really.

My heart pounds in my chest, my throat becoming tight.

“I like being with them.” I begin saying, my voice shaky. “This is my choice too, Dario.”

He scoffs, looking away.

“Some choice you’ve made.”

He mutters under his breath.

I swallow hard, looking back to Papa, hoping he’ll say something, when Isaak speaks instead.

“Family is family, Dario.”

His Russian accent seems more prominent now, thick as it curls around each word.

Somehow, it’s just as calming as it is terrifying.

My brother’s fists tighten on the table.

“Family? You’re joking, right?” He throws a glance over at the two men who are sitting on either side of me. “Your sons took my sister, and I’m supposed to what—welcome them both into my home with open arms?!”

Pain slices through me at the hurt in his voice.

“Dario—”

He doesn’t let me get another word in. 

“No!” His voice shakes as he carries on. “You don’t belong with them, Chiara. You belong here with us; with Papa, and with me.” His chest heaves as he shakes his head, his eyes full of emotion. “We’re your family.”

My chest aches, feeling torn between the two men who share the same blood as me, and the two men who have captured my heart.

A palm is pressed to my thigh from my right, and an arm is stretched along my shoulders from my left.

Their touch isn’t only for show—no. Their touch is there to make a point.

Not only to me, but to Papa and Dario too.

Comforting.

Possessive.

Mine.

My cheeks burn, even though they haven’t done more to me than just touch me, since Papa is right there.

Sitting opposite Nikolai, Isaak rises from his chair, looking over at Papa.

“Let us speak like fathers, Francesco.”

Papa looks at me for a fraction of a second before he looks away, nodding as he stands up too.

Together, the two of them move towards the hallway, and into Papa’s study, closing the door behind them both with a heavy thud.

The room feels heavier now that it's only us in here, the muffled voices of both our fathers fading away into the background.

Silence stretches as we stare at each other.

Thick.

Awkward.

Uncomfortable.

I don’t know how to make things better.

Dario drums his fingers against the table, each tap sounding more and more like a countdown to an explosion.

Nikolai sits relaxed in his chair, as calm as ever, but there’s a sharpness to his gaze—a predator sizing up to his rival.

Mikhail simply grins, like he’s itching to push my brother even further.

“So,” he drawls as he finally breaks the silence. “Is this the part where you threaten us again?”

Dario’s lips press into a thin line.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Nikolai chuckles.

“Aren’t you tired of these empty threats? It’s not like you even have the power to be able to do anything.”

His tone isn’t condescending—it’s a fact.

His words are a cold truth that’s been delivered with causal menace.

Because even if he wanted to—and I know that my brother desperately wants to—he can’t.

Nikolai and Mikhail…they are Bratva…men in training to become Pakhans.

And Dario…my brother isn’t even a soldier.

It wouldn’t end well if he even tried to do something.

“Guys.” I mutter as I squeeze Nikolai’s hand, and Mikhail’s thigh too. “Please don’t do this now.”

Dario’s eyes dart to mine.

His jaw tightens further as both Nikolai and Mikhail raise my hands, pressing their lips against my knuckles.

My face burns brighter.

“Do you really like being with them?” I don’t miss the way his voice cracks on that last word. “After everything that’s happened?”

I nod my head at him, feeling my heart twist even tighter in my chest.

Before I can speak, Mikhail leans forward, one forearm stretched along the table.

“We didn’t plan for any of this, fratello. We had no idea that Chiara was involved in this world of ours.” The Italian rolls off his tongue, so familiar, yet also mocking, all at once. “But she is ours now, and there’s no doubt about it. Nikolai and I will always protect her—better than anybody else can.”

Dario glares at Mikhail, jaw ticking as he scoffs slightly.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

My brother shoots back, eyes narrowed at him.

“It’s both.”

Nikolai says from my side, his voice smooth and steady.

It only makes Dario glare at them both even harder.

The storm brews in his eyes—wanting to fight, wanting to scream—but something holds him back.

Me.

As his gaze meets mine, it softens just a fraction.

He exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck as he swallows hard.

“She’s my little sister.” He whispers brokenly. “Sorellina mia. How can you expect me to be able to hand her over so easily—and to the Bratva of all people?”

I take a sharp breath in, shaking my head.

“You’re not handing me away, Dario. This is my choice.”

He mutters under his breath, still unable to see how much these two men mean to me.

I lean forward, reaching out to take his hand in mine across the table.

Immediately, he flips his hand around, holding mine tighter in his.

“It doesn’t feel like you have one, Chiara.”

Again, I open my mouth to speak—to defend myself, to defend them—but Nikolai beats me to it.

“We get it; she’s your sister. Naturally, she’s yours to protect.” His voice drops lower. “But she’s ours to love, and we don’t take that lightly.”

Dario’s shoulders slump, all the fight finally leaving him as he reluctantly begins to accept this—accept us.

“If you ever hurt her,” he murmurs as his eyes dart between either one of theirs. “I’ll end you both. Bratva heirs, or not.”

A breath of laughter escapes Mikhail.

“That’s the spirit, Dario.” He says. “The protective big brother act—I respect it. I might even need to take a few tips from you when it’s time to meet my own little sister.”

I roll my eyes at him, unable to believe that this is where our conversation has led to.

Squeezing Dario’s hand even tighter, I lean back into my chair, looking between both Nikolai and Mikhail.

“My brother means it, you know.”

Nikolai smiles down at me.

“We know he does, darling.” He says, amusement clear in his tone. “We would be disappointed if he didn’t.”

Again, Dario says something under his breath—but there’s less heat to his words.

A lot less fight too.

This is a step forward in him accepting them both.

This is something I’ve been desperately waiting for.

dario

I should be punching them.

I shouldn’t stop until they’re both so bloody and bruised up, my sister has a hard time recognising which twin is which.

I should make them pay for taking her.

But I don’t.

It’s not because I like them—fuck, never that—but it’s because my sister’s hand is still wrapped around mine.

Her eyes, the same ones as our Mama’s, are staring up at me with pure hope.

Hope that I won’t mess this up for her.

Hope that I’ll let her leave again.

With them.

It’s what this is, though.

It’s about letting Chiara go, and letting them both have her.

Freely.

Willingly.

Not in the vile way they had taken my sister.

I release a shaky breath, watching the three of them.

Mikhail leans back in his chair—in my chair—like he owns the goddamn room.

And now that I’ve known him for some time now, he probably thinks that he does.

Russian brat.

When Chiara turns to speak to the other twin, Mikhail flashes me that grin, the one that almost pushes me to the edge.

Hit me, it screams, I dare you.

My fist tightens, the one I’ve forced by my side so my sister won’t see it.

I’m fucking close to throwing hands with them both, and I don’t care if Chiara will hate me for it.

But when she turns away to look at me, I know I can’t.

Those eyes…Mama’s eyes…

It’s the only reason why I haven’t been more stern with all of this.

If Papa is happy with this arrangement…I’ll need to be happy with it too.

Beside Chiara, Nikolai sits there, as still as a goddamn statue.

Cold.

Calculating.

He watches me like he’s monitoring my every move, ready for me to do anything so he can jump into action.

So he can prove himself to be the good guy my little sister thinks he is.

And as I look back to Chiara…I can’t lie any longer.

My little sister is glowing.

She’s sitting between these two men—these awful beings who once had eagerly taken my sister from me—and she looks happy.

Safe.

Like she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

I hate it.

I respect it.

I hate that I respect it.

It doesn’t make sense—none of it does.

But they make her happy, and they keep her safe.

My chest tightens as I force myself to take a heavy breath.

“What now?” I say as I break the silence, desperate to be involved in these plans my sister is rambling about. “What are your plans for the future? Or are you both winging this entire kidnap and fall in love with some random girl from the streets of London thing?”

Chiara’s mouth drops open, and her cheeks soon fill with colour.

The corners of Nikolai’s lips twitch.

And Mikhail snorts.

“That’s a very harsh word.” He says. “It wasn’t like that, dearest fratello.” My eye twitches. “We would never kidnap a woman as beautiful as my beauty over here.”

My eyes dart between him, Chiara, and Nikolai, then I look back to Mikhail once more.

“You stole my sister.” I deadpan. “You took her from her flat—one which she didn’t even get to spend a night in, if I may add.”

Mikhail only grins at me.

“Sure, we took her.” He says. “And now, we’re keeping her.”

Nikolai butts in.

“If Chiara misses that small apartment so much, we can always build something identical in New York. Property is not an issue for us.”

My jaw tightens at his smug tone, and my eyes narrow in his direction.

Bratva bastard.

“Our future involves Chiara. That’s all you need to know.”

My eyes move back to Mikhail, my anger more apparent now than it was before.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

I snap at him.

“It should.” Nikolai says, his voice as cool as ice. “Because it’s the truth, Dario.”

Chiara only squeezes my hand tighter.

“Dario…” Her voice is soft, almost as if she’s pleading with me. “I chose this. I chose them.”

Goddamnit.

I drag my free hand down my face, forcing myself to take a few deep breaths before I can look at her again.

“You do realise that this isn’t normal, right, Chiara?” I don’t miss the way she flinches. “You were kidnapped, and you were with them for weeks on end, forced to do fuck knows with these mad men. This situation isn’t normal, sorellina. Do you understand that?”

She blinks, and her bottom lip trembles.

I hate that I’m the one making her feel this way, but if nobody else wants to give it to her straight, I’ll need to.

Even if it makes me the villain here.

“Nothing about this situation is normal, dearest fratello. Not the way our past is connected, or the way our future will be formed.”

Mikhail quips, clearly amused.

I ignore him, focusing on Chiara instead.

She’s curled her bottom lip into her mouth to stop it from trembling, and she’s blinking rapidly, like she’s trying to stop herself from crying.

Fuck.

Outside, the rain taps against the windows; England’s lullaby.

It feels like home.

It feels like a lifetime ago that Chiara and I were sitting here at home.

“We’re not forcing you to like us, Dario.” Nikolai finally says, causing Chiara to look away from me to look over at him instead. “But you need to understand something; we don’t play any games when it comes to Chiara. She is ours. We will protect her with everything that we’ve got. She will never be left unprotected with us.”

I shake my head, feeling my throat beginning to tighten up with emotion.

Fuck, not now!

Leaning forward, his elbow on my table, Mikhail looks my way.

“Look, Dario, I get it. If anybody came for my little sister like that—even though I have no idea who she even is—I would be dropping bodies like flies. I respect what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work. Chiara has accepted that she is ours, and she knows that we are hers. End of discussion.”

I swallow hard, feeling my throat bob as I do.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

I croak, not bothering to hide the emotion in my tone.

Mikhail only shrugs.

“It’s not. I’m only stating facts.”

Chiara’s gaze bounces between us, nerves flickering across her face.

“Can we not do this now?”

She asks us softly.

I force myself to continue breathing.

“Tell your boyfriends to stop being insufferable.”

Mikhail clicks his tongue.

“I like that you're now accepting us as her boyfriends.” He tells me, grinning. “And we’re delightful, to be honest with you.”

Nikolai breathes out a laugh.

“Speak for yourself.”

I almost laugh.

Me.

Instead, I shake my head.

“This is all insane.” I mutter. “But if it means that my sister is happy…” I swallow hard, feeling like I’m choking on glass. “Then that’s what matters.”

Mikhail’s grin only widens.

“Good, because we’re planning on keeping her that way.”

Nikolai nods, adding to his brother’s words.

“She’ll always be happy with us.”

Always.

Damn them for meaning it.

Leaning back into my chair, I feel the tension slowly leave me.

It doesn’t mean that I trust them—fuck no—but…I believe them.

And somehow, that’s even worse.

“If you hurt her,” I say in a low voice. “That’s it. I don’t care who you are, and I don’t care what power you’ve got—I’ll come for you both.”

Mikhail winks in my direction.

“We would expect nothing less.”

Nikolai agrees.

“True. It’s what a brother should say.”

My jaw tightens.

I’m her brother. Her protector. And now…I’m supposed to let her go.

Chiara’s hand tightens around mine again, and I glance over at her, finding her smiling softly at me.

I somehow find it in me to smile back at my little sister too.

Even if I hate it—this situation, this arrangement—I’ll accept it.

What more can I do when these two men bring my sister happiness?

Isaak

The door shuts behind us both.

Francesco takes a seat at the desk, and I take a seat across from him.

As he pours two glasses of whiskey, he slides one across to me.

“Peace.”

I say simply.

Francesco eyes his drink before he downs it in one go, slamming the glass to the desk before he looks at me.

“Easy for you to say.” He almost sneers. “You are not losing your daughter.”

For a moment, just a breath long, I see it.

The flash of regret.

The weight of choices that were made many long years ago.

I throw back the vodka, letting the burn scorch down my throat.

Fuck!

My mind drifts—unwanted, unwelcome—to her.

My daughter.

Moya zvyozdochka.

My little star.

Alexis.

She is a woman now.

Is she safe?

Is she happy?

Those are the types of questions which gnaw at me daily.

Francesco clears his throat, but I raise a hand.

Our gazes lock, two lions sizing each other up.

Years ago, we wouldn’t have hesitated to kill each other without blinking.

And now?

Now, we’re talking about family.

Our family.

“Our past is our past.” I say. “We cannot change what has been done, but our children are our future. My sons adore her, and I know she feels safe with them too. She is safe with them.”

The silence stretches between us, then finally, he nods.

“They love her.” He admits in a thick voice. “I never thought I would say it, but I have seen them with her, and I know it is true.”

I nod at him, knowing it’s true.

I see it every day at home.

Together, we both sit in silence, two old men battered by life.

Finally, I stand up from my seat as I offer him my hand.

“For them”

He murmurs as he stands up too, accepting my hand.

Firm.

Respecting.

Accepting.

“For them.”

I agree.

The handshake lingers; it’s a symbol neither one of us thought would ever be possible.

Not friendship.

Not forgiveness.

But understanding.

For our children.

For the ones we love more than our own pride.

I release my hand from his, watching him sigh as he rubs his own hand across his face.

“Do you ever wonder…” he begins to say. “Do you ever think that if you and I had not made enemies of each other…maybe our kids would not have been caught in the crossfire?” He pauses for a second, taking a sharp breath in. “My daughter would not have been taken if we lived in Italy. Your daughter would not have been forced to move, either. Perhaps…in another life, she lived with you, grew up with her older brothers by her side too.”

I release a heavy breath, feeling my chest tighten with tension.

“Regret is a heavy drink, Francesco.” I say. “If you sip it too long, you’ll find yourself drowning.”

He releases a humourless laugh.

“Is that what you tell yourself at night?”

I force myself to look away from him, images of my daughter flickering in my head.

I only ever saw her when she was a small child.

A toddler.

A baby.

She would stumble over her own two feet trying to reach me, but she would succeed—every single time—and I would take her in my arms, throwing her high over my head, just to hear those sweet giggles leave her mouth.

She loved me, even if she only saw me a few hours at a time, and I loved her too.

Fuck, how I loved my sweet little star.

Emotion fills my throat.

What would she say if she saw me now?

I’m sitting across from the man I’ve blamed for everything, and I’m working to make amends.

I hope she’ll realise one day that I am also doing this for her too.

“No.” I finally admit. “Most nights, I just drink.”

A beat passes between us both.

Heavy.

Honest.

We both sit down in our chairs.

Francesco reaches for the bottle, pouring more whiskey into our glasses.

“She is my entire world. After Serena died…she is all I had left. Dario and I butted heads, unable to see clearly with everything that was happening, but Chiara was always there, doing her best to keep our family together.” He pauses, his jaw tightening. “And now, my daughter is with them; your sons.”

I swirl the whiskey in my glass.

“My sons are not me.” I say quietly. “They have their own hearts, and those hearts are hers.”

Francesco scoffs, shaking his head.

“You talk like you have it all figured out.”

I manage to smile, the expression as foreign as the talk that is happening between us.

“I don’t, but I do know my sons. They love Chiara, every part of her, and they won’t stop loving her until they are in the grave.”

His jaw tightens as he looks away.

“Men like us…we do not get happy endings, Isaak.”

I release a heavy breath, knowing he’s right.

“I agree, but maybe they can. This is a different time, Francesco. Don’t forget that.”

It’s strange—this…peace we’re trying to achieve.

It’s unsteady, like a bridge that’s been built over old wounds, but it holds.

Francesco finishes the last of his whiskey.

“Do you really think this will end well?”

He asks.

I look at him.

“I think this will end based on how they do it. Our history has no importance in their future.”

His gaze moves towards the closed door.

“My daughter is stronger than she looks.”

I nod at him, knowing he is right.

You can’t survive being with my sons for as long as she has without being strong.

“So are my sons.” I say. “That is what happens when you raise fighters.”

There’s silence again, but it’s different now.

Here, we sit as two fathers who are tired of burying pieces of themselves.

Outside, life waits.

Whatever comes next, our children will face it together.

And for the first time in a long while, it feels like enough.

francesco

My chest tightens as I watch Chiara.

She remains seated between the two men who took her, and the two sons of the woman who is responsible for her mother’s death.

It is a special kind of hell watching her like this.

She is laughing at something Mikhail has whispered into her ear, and Nikolai is watching her like she is the only thing in the room.

They love her.

It is obvious.

But it does not mean that I have to like it.

Leaning against the doorframe, I watch her.

My little girl.

Not so little any more…

She is a woman now.

And the worst part of it all is that she does not need me any more, not when she has them.

I see it in the way Mikhail’s hand brushes hers, casual but protective, and the way Nikolai positions his body to keep her covered.

They notice everything.

Each glance she makes.

Each breath she takes.

It is not perfect—it is far from perfect—but it works.

And if my daughter is happy…that is all that matters.

Even if it kills me inside.

I stand there, watching them.

Chiara.

Mikhail.

Nikolai.

If she truly loves them…I will try to understand.

Even if it means biting my tongue, even if it means swallowing down all this old bitterness, I will do it.

For her.

I will not pretend that this is easy. It will never be easy.

They have taken my daughter from me, but I see what she has with them.

It is real.

My hand tightens around the doorframe as I swallow hard, forcing myself to carry on breathing.

If Serena was here…

She would see it too.

She would see the way Chiara lights up whenever she talks to either one of them, and the way she feels so at ease with them.

She would see the way our daughter belongs with them.

Our little girl is all grown up now, and she has found her place, even if it is not the place I ever imagined for her.

But for her, I will try to accept it, because she deserves to be happy.

If this is what she wants…then I will be here.

Always.

I will watch her.

And maybe, just maybe, I will learn to let go.

Just like Serena would have wanted.

She is happy, I think to myself, closing my eyes briefly to take heavy breaths.

Chiara is happy, and that is what matters the most.

Chiara

The English air is cool as it bites at my bare skin.

The streets I once grew up on stretch out before me, familiar yet distant all at the same time.

In a few hours from now, I’ll be back in my new home.

New York.

I shiver, but it’s not because of the cold.

Mikhail shrugs his jacket off, draping it over my shoulders, his warmth lingering in the fabric as I feel my body melt into it.

“Are you feeling cold, beauty?”

I look up at him, smiling.

“Only a little, but I was actually thinking.”

Nikolai joins us, standing close enough that our hands brush by our sides.

“Thinking about regrets, darling?”

My smile only stretches wider as I look between them both.

“Absolutely none at all.”

They’re pleased, judging from the way they both breathe a little easier now.

Dario calls my name from behind me, and as I turn around to face him, I see him stepping out from his car once again.

For just a moment, I see the anger crack.

“Be happy, sorellina mia.” He says. “If you’re not—”

I smile at my brother, feeling my chest becoming lighter.

“I am happy, fratello mio.”

I tell him.

He nods at me as he smiles.

It’s small. Pained. But it’s also real.

I raise my hand to wave him goodbye as he gets into his car again, then I turn back around, slipping either one of my hands into Nikolai’s and Mikhail’s, feeling warmth blooming in my chest.

They both help me up the stairs and into the jet.

I don’t hesitate to sink into the chair at once, glancing around to find Isaak in the corner, sipping on a drink.

Nikolai sits beside me, scrolling away on his phone.

Mikhail sprawls on the opposite side, his feet propped up, his eyes locked on me with that playful glint shining in them. 

As we take off, I notice Isaak lean back into his chair, his sharp gaze shifting between us all.

When he speaks…it makes my stomach twist with nerves.

“What does the future look like for the three of you?”

There’s a moment of silence.

Being tied down to two men who will eventually lead the Bratva means that things aren’t so simple for us.

I’ve thought about it too—numerous times—but the truth is that things are different now.

What I once considered as normal is definitely not possible in my case, not when I’m the daughter of a former underboss, and they are the sons of the Pakhan.

My fingers tremble in my lap until Nikolai’s hand covers mine, grounding me.

He brushes his thumb slowly against my skin, wrapping his fingers around each of mine.

I release a heavy breath, wondering what they’ll say.

Nikolai speaks first.

“Our future contains Chiara as our woman—the woman who will stand by our side. Always.” He looks from his father to me, and I notice the way his gaze softens for me. “Not only as the woman we love, but the woman who is part of everything that we are.”

I swallow hard as Mikhail speaks too.

“Chiara will always be there for us…and we will always be there for her. No matter what comes, we’re doing this together.”

Their words immediately ease all of my worries at once.

I didn’t realise just how badly I needed their reassurances until I heard them now.

I won’t be perfect, but I’ll try to do everything that I can, because they deserve it.

And maybe, just maybe…I deserve it too.

Isaak nods slowly, approval glinting in his eyes.

“That is exactly what I wanted to hear.” He tells his sons before his gaze shifts to me. “You will be cared for, Chiara. Not just by my sons, but by me too.”

I manage a small, grateful smile in his direction, feeling my throat becoming tight with emotion.

This life isn’t one I ever imagined, but maybe, just maybe, it’s where I’m supposed to be.

Isaak continues speaking, his voice a little rough, but kind too.

“You will be safe in our territory.” He tells me. “You will be looked after like a daughter by me.” He looks to both of his sons. “And you will be loved like a woman deserves to be loved by both of my sons.”

Heat floods my cheeks.

Mikhail winks my way, whistling low, and Nikolai squeezes his hand around mine.

Isaak stands, ready to head into one of the rooms that are available on this jet.

“Look after her, my sons.”

He murmurs to both Nikolai and Mikhail, the command in his tone undeniable.

“Always.”

Nikolai promises without any hesitation.

“She’s stuck with us now.”

Mikhail adds.

I find myself laughing softly.

It’s half filled with nerves, and half filled with something so tender I barely recognise it as mine.

I can’t believe that this is really my life.

Taken from my old world, and thrown into this one.

And yet…I don’t want to go back.

I have no desire to.

This is where I belong.

With Nikolai.

With Mikhail.

With both of them.

I don’t know what the future holds for us.

There will be challenges, that is undoubtable, but as I glance between them both, I know one thing is for sure.

I’m not alone.

And with both of them by my side, I never will be.

Hours after we’ve returned to New York, Isaak’s words still echo in my mind.

Family.

Loyalty.

Love.

These are words I never would have imagined after the situation I found myself in.

Was I taken?

Yes.

Was I changed?

Of course.

I find myself smiling as Nikolai wraps one strong arm around my middle, tugging me all the way into bed with him, whilst Mikhail turns over to press a kiss to my temple.

This isn’t the end.

This is just the beginning.

And this—them, this life, this love—it feels like coming home.

Chapter Twenty One

Nikolai

The room feels different now—it’s quieter—but in the best way possible.

A few weeks ago, we broke down a wall in our wing, connecting two rooms into one big space for the three of us.

I didn’t realise how much we all needed that until it was done.

It’s ours now, completely and undeniably ours.

Our bed sits in the centre of the room, large and inviting, as selected by Chiara herself.

The linens are soft, mixtures of whites and pale blues that are peaceful, calming too.

The new wardrobe is massive, taking up one entire wall, and a vanity has been placed near the windows.

Every single thing in this room of ours has a woman’s touch to it.

It’s subtle—a knitted throw blanket, soft pillows, a vase full of fresh flowers to bathe in the soft morning light—but it’s enough to have changed this space from something cold into something comfortable.

And she is here too.

Chiara is still asleep, curled up on our bed, relaxing. A small frown plays on her lips, one I now know so well, but it softens as she breathes out through her mouth. Her hair is spread all around her, and the way her skin glows under the soft light of our room is something I’ll never get over.

She looks like an angel.

I can’t help but watch her sleeping.

It’s hypnotising, the way she breathes, the steady rise and fall of her chest.

She’s completely at peace like this.

I’m so lost in her, I don’t even notice as Mikhail steps out of the bathroom until he clears his throat, drawing my attention.

I glance over at him, seeing him dry his hair with a towel, his expression unreadable as his eyes move to her, in the exactly same way that mine do.

“She’s beautiful.”

He says quietly.

“She is.”

I agree.

Together, Mikhail and I watch Chiara for a moment, taking in the sight of her as she lays there, unaware of the two of us admiring her from the foot of our bed.

I glance over at Mikhail, spotting the tenderness in his gaze that makes something inside me tighten.

After everything I’ve now found out…after everything that has happened to my brother…things have changed.

I look out for him a whole lot more now.

I should have been doing it right from the start.

Chiara shifts slightly, and I look back at her.

I find myself holding my breath, watching her face for any signs that she’ll wake up, but there are none.

She remains asleep, so still and so peaceful in that bed of ours.

Mikhail stalks forward, reaching out to brush his fingertips lightly against her arms. He traces the curve of her shoulders, dragging his fingers all along her soft skin.

I watch Mikhail as he does, and for a second, I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing that I am.

She. Is. Ours.

My brother finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I never thought we would get here.”

I raise an eyebrow as our gazes meet.

“No?”

He shakes his head.

“No. Not like this. Not after everything that happened.”

Ah.

I know what he means.

I allow a beat to pass before I speak again.

“Do you think she’ll really be happy with us?”

I ask Mikhail quietly.

He only shrugs, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“I hope so. And if she’s not, we’ll make sure that she’s happy. Always. Forever.”

I nod in agreement, glancing back at her.

The peacefulness of this moment lingers, and I realise that despite everything—the past, the history, the secrets—this is the way it was always meant to be.

Together, Mikhail and I leave the room, silently closing the doors behind us as we make our way down the hallway. The quiet of our house envelopes us, the only sound being the soft sound of our footsteps against the floor.

Mikhail breaks the silence first.

“Do you ever think about how…different things are now?”

I glance over at him, meeting his eyes briefly before looking ahead once again.

“All the time.” I admit. “We never planned for any of this to happen, brat, but now that she’s ours…”

He releases a heavy breath, nodding as we turn from our wing into the main hallway now.

“Chiara is truly ours now, in every way that matters.”

I smile to myself, knowing it’s true.

She accepts us now, more than she ever did when she was first taken, and she welcomes us both with open arms.

“We won’t allow anybody to take her away from us. Not now, not ever.”

Mikhail nods, his lips curving into a small smile.

This is real, what my brother and I have built together.

It’s more than just a bond; it’s our lives, intertwined with hers.

There’s no turning back now.

Once we reach our father’s office, we both step inside, shutting the door behind us.

He looks up at us at once.

His gaze is sharp, as always, but there’s something softer there too.

Although he doesn’t say it outright, Mikhail and I see the approval in his eyes.

“You should see how she’s adjusting.” My brother says. “How happy she is, now that we’ve made her ours.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back into his chair, his expression unreadable as Mikhail and I take our seats across from him.

“I see that, my sons, but how long do you think this will last? It’s not always easy making a woman yours, and keeping her happy too.”

There’s a flicker of something across his face—concern, perhaps—but I keep my own face neutral.

“It will last as long as we make it last, and we will keep her happy. Always. Forever. She's ours, and that’s all that matters.”

Mikhail nods beside me.

“Though the circumstances weren’t ideal, we’ve built something real with her, and nothing is going to destroy it. Not anybody. Not anything.”

Our father looks at us for a long moment, then he gives us both a short nod.

“Good. Make sure you boys keep it that way.”

We don’t need to say anything else.

The look that he gives us now is different.

It’s not only the look of a father protecting his children; it’s the look of a man who understands what it means to fight for what is his.

To fight for her.

For a moment, we all sit like that in silence.

Our father's gaze softens slightly as he speaks again, but this time, his voice cracks a little.

It’s subtle, but I catch it, and so does Mikhail.

We glance over at each other briefly, aware of the emotions that are behind our father’s words.

He’s talking about her.

Our little sister.

“Alessandro showed me a photo of her.” He murmurs softly. “She looks so much like her mother. Pretty. Smart. Strong.” He pauses, steadying himself. “I already know she carries herself like the way her mother did. It’s hard to stop myself from thinking of the woman she could have been if she was here with us, raised with two protective older brothers, a loving mother, and a proud father.”

The mention of mother makes my jaw tighten.

I glance over at Mikhail, noticing the way his face has changed ever so slightly, and I know that even though months have passed since the truth came to light, the wounds are still there.

Our mother; the woman who caused all of us so much pain…

She still haunts us, even from the grave.

I don’t need to say anything to my brother—I can feel his discomfort.

That whore of a woman drugged my brother, then dragged his body into a bathtub, hoping to kill him by drowning him.

I didn’t speak to our father for a week straight after he finally revealed all the details, telling me, and only me, how bad Mikhail’s state really was.

My brother has no idea about the effects it had on him, and I’m guessing it’s his brain’s way of protecting himself, because he still hasn’t asked either one of us about his time at the hospital yet.

And every time I think about the things my brother had to endure at the hands of that woman…

I force myself to breathe out, to look at my brother, and to see that he is alive and well.

If I was in New York, she wouldn’t have dared.

But she was cunning, an evil cunt, and not only did she want to ruin us by murdering my brother, she wanted to humiliate him in a way that made it look like a suicide.

Like my brother wasn’t able to handle the pressure of being inducted.

Like death was the only way out for him.

Even now, I hate my father for not bringing me home from Russia when it happened.

At that moment, I was sent there as part of my training.

I had no contact with our father, or with Mikhail during my stay there, so I thought that when I returned here, and Mikhail wasn’t in contact with me, he had gone to Russia to complete his training too.

I don’t know why I didn’t question it more.

I should have known better.

The past still lingers, even though we’ve moved on.

I turn back to face our father, changing the subject before things can become any deeper.

“Do you really give him your approval to marry her?”

I ask him, my voice steady.

I’m not sure where I stand on the matter, but I need to know our father’s thoughts.

Even though she wasn’t raised alongside us, she is our little sister after all.

And Alessandro is the Don.

Does she even understand what that means?

Our father raises an eyebrow at me, clearly surprised by the question.

We haven’t spoken much about her.

He leans back further into his chair, folding his arms across his chest as his eyes flicker to the side, thinking.

“Alessandro is a good man.” He says slowly, his voice much more firm now. “We have had our differences, but he has always stood in our corner. He has treated my daughter well, and he has been looking out for her since the moment she was sent away. And though he doesn’t say it directly, I know there’s something there between them. I see it in his actions. He loves her, in his own way, and he will protect her, like he always has. I trust him to keep her safe.”

I feel the weight of his words sitting heavily on my chest.

I look over at Mikhail again, knowing that we’re thinking the same thing.

Love.

It’s a powerful thing.

I look back to our father, and I realise that he’s waiting for our responses.

Mikhail nods first, breaking the silence.

“As long as she’s happy, we’ll have to accept it. It’s her life, after all, not ours.”

I nod, agreeing with him.

There’s no use in arguing against him.

Since Alessandro is already a part of her life, I’m sure she’ll have a good understanding of the type of man that he is.

And as long as he is good to her, that’s all that matters.

We all fall silent again, but it’s a comfortable silence now.

Soon after, we change the subject once more, now talking about business matters.

But for some reason, I can’t shake the thought of our little sister, of the love she will receive, and the life she will live.

And as we move on to other matters, I catch Mikhail’s gaze once more as a silent agreement passes between us.

We’ll protect them both, our sister, and our woman, exactly how we’ve promised to.

We took longer than we hoped for, but at least we’re home now.

The air inside feels different, like it always does after we’ve been away for some time.

As soon as Mikhail and I step through the doors, we’re hit with the wind of laughter, and that familiar melodic sound tugs at something deep inside me.

Chiara.

I glance over at my brother, and together, we both head towards the source of the sound without even uttering a word.

As we round the corner, I spot her.

She’s sitting with our father, laughing so freely beside our father that it makes something in my chest tighten.

He says something to her, and although I can’t hear his words clearly from here, I see the way she smiles so wide at him that it makes my heart skip a beat.

Mikhail grumbles under his breath, his lips curling into something close to a snarl, his words loud enough for our father to hear.

“Our old man is eager to steal our girl.”

I can’t help myself but laugh quietly.

It’s hard not to feel a little protective whenever we catch them both together like this; our father so eager to act fatherly towards her, and Chiara never hesitating to soak it all up.

Before I can say anything to Mikhail, she spots us.

Her eyes light up, and she practically leaps from her seat, rushing over towards us both with a bright smile plastered on her face.

Our father doesn’t even seem bothered by it, he just watches her go, his eyes twinkling with something like approval.

Chiara reaches us in a flash, throwing her arms around both of us in one go.

Her touch is warm, comforting, like it always is.

We both wrap our arms around her body, holding her close to us.

She’s the centre of everything, and I feel that truth in every beat of my heart.

“I’ve missed you both.”

She says, pulling back just enough to look up at us.

Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are sparkling.

“We’ve missed you more.”

Mikhail says, his voice low, but full of affection as he cups her face in his hands.

I follow suit, rubbing my thumb over her cheek.

“And you’re looking as beautiful as ever, darling.”

She laughs softly, looking down at the floor briefly as a soft pink tint creeps up her neck.

Then, as she looks back up at us, her lips curl into a mischievous grin.

“So, are you both hungry?”

She asks us, and I know what she’s doing.

That playful tone gets to us every damn time.

I glance over at Mikhail, sharing a look with my brother before I turn back to Chiara, giving her a sly smile of my own.

“Oh, we’re starving.” I say, leaning in closer to whisper against her lips. “We’re very hungry indeed.”

Her cheeks flush a deeper red as she immediately looks away from us, but I can see the amusement in her eyes.

I know exactly what she’s thinking.

She’s got that glint in her eye, the one she always gets whenever she’s about to tease us, or whenever she’s trying to hide the way she becomes affected by us.

Before she can say anything else, Mikhail and I take her by her hands, leading her towards our bedroom.

Our footsteps are quick as we guide her into our space.

Though there are smiles on our faces, there’s a tension in the air that only the three of us understand.

It’s the kind of tension that builds between us, a kind of hunger, not only for food, but for each other.

For Chiara.

She may have laughed and teased, but she knows exactly what we want.

It’s what she wants too.

And in a moment, I know we’ll take care of her in every way she needs us to.

The door closes behind us, the sound of the outside world fading as we step inside, and just for a moment, it’s only the three of us here, the world outside no longer important.

It never is when we’re with her.

She’s all that we see.

She’s all that we want.

She’s all that we need.

Mikhail’s on her before I can even catch my breath, his hands in her hair, tilting her head back as his mouth claims hers.

The kiss is all heat and hunger, his fingers already tugging at the bottom of her dress, needing her naked between us.

She melts into him so easily, her soft little whimpers filling the room, and fuck—it’s been too long since we’ve had her like this.

Mikhail’s hands move fast as I watch, stripping her out of her clothes like he’s been starving for her—and we have been.

Every moment away from her…every second spent apart…

It’s a slow torture.

Chiara moans softly into our room, moving closer to him as her bare skin meets his.

Her hands wander all over, pulling at his shirt, needing more from him.

But then she pulls back just enough to turn her head, her eyes finding mine across the room.

“Nikolai…” She whispers, soft and sweet, but there’s a breathless little plea in the way she says my name. “Come here.”

I should.

I should move.

But for a moment, the only thing I can do is stand there, and stare at her.

Her skin is flushed, her lips are swollen from Mikhail’s kiss, and her hair is a wild halo around her face.

She’s so fucking beautiful.

Mikhail’s fingers skim down her ribs, across her stomach, making her squirm.

“You should see yourself, beauty.” He murmurs, nipping at her jaw. “Laid out for us like this, already so needy.”

She blushes, but she doesn’t look away.

“Nikolai.” She says again in a softer voice. “Please.”

Fuck.

I’m moving before I’ve even realised it.

Positioning myself between her knees, I slide my hands up her bare thighs, spreading her open for me.

She gasps, her hips moving instinctively, offering herself to me without any hesitation.

“You want my mouth, darling?” I rasp, my fingers tracing the soft, slick heat between her legs. “You want me to taste you?”

She nods, her breath catching when I lower my head, but I don’t touch her.

Not yet.

I hover over her, breathing her in, the scent of her arousal hitting me at once.

My fingers slide higher, spreading her folds, watching her glisten for us.

“Look at you.” I murmur, more to myself than to her. “So. Fucking. Perfect.”

Mikhail kneels beside her, his hand sliding into her hair, angling her head so she can look down at me.

“Watch him taste what belongs to us.”

Her breathing stutters as she watches us from under hooded lids, and when I finally press my mouth to her, her whole body jerks as a soft cry spills from her lips.

I groan against her, my tongue sliding through her wet folds, tasting her, claiming her, in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

She is ours.

Always.

Forever.

“Sweet fucking heaven.” I growl as I continue licking her, my tongue curling deep as I taste every inch. “You were made for us, Chiara.”

I watch Mikhail stroke her cheek, kissing her softly as I feast on her.

The three of us are locked together in a moment so perfect, so right, it’s almost too much.

Almost.

But we’re nowhere near done.

Chiara’s thighs tremble around my head, her soft cries echoing in my ears as I devour her, licking and sucking like I’m a man starved.

And in a way, I am.

We’ve been apart for too long; too many hours have been spent without her taste on my tongue, without her scent filling my lungs, without her body spread out for us like this.

I grip her hips, holding her still as I press my tongue deeper, curling it inside her, dragging a long moan from her lips.

She’s so slick, so soft, so perfectly ours, and every flutter of her walls, every helpful rock of her hips, only takes her one step closer.

She belongs to us.

Completely.

“Fuck, Chiara.”

I groan, dragging my lips over her clit, sucking it into my mouth until her entire body jolts.

She wraps her fingers in my hair, pulling me closer, forcing me to remain against her like she needs me there, like she can’t bear the thought of losing contact for even a second.

My tongue circles her clit again, then I slide two fingers inside her wetness, curling them until I find that perfect spot which makes her gasp.

“There it is.” I murmur against her skin, teasing her with my breath. “Give it to me, darling. Let me taste you as you come.”

She clamps her thighs around my head, and then she falls apart.

Her back arches as a beautiful moan spills from her throat.

I hold her down, my fingers thrusting slow and deep as my tongue works her through it, and I don’t let her go until she’s coated my mouth and my chin, and until she’s dripping down onto my fingers.

When I finally do lift my head, I find that her scent is everywhere, and her taste is smeared all across my face.

I don’t bother wiping it away.

I want Chiara to see it; to see herself on me, to see her marking me in the same way that we mark her.

And as I drag my eyes up her body, my breath catches in my throat.

Because Chiara is no longer just lying beside Mikhail—no.

Her soft, trembling hands are working to open his jeans, tugging them down slowly.

Her cheeks are still flushed, and her breathing is still uneven, but there’s a hunger in her eyes that makes my cock throb all over again.

She’s learning.

She’s becoming bolder.

She’s becoming ours.

My brother groans above her, his head falling back as her small hand wraps around his cock, stroking him slow and uncertainly, but eagerly too.

“That’s it, beauty.” Mikhail murmurs, his voice rough and low, but full of praise all at the same time. “Just like that.”

Chiara looks up at him with wide, trusting eyes, and it’s enough to make me want to climb up and claim her mouth right there and then.

But I can’t move.

I’m rooted in my place, caught somewhere between pride and primal jealousy at the sight of her touching him like that, leaning in closer as her lips parts open, and her tongue flicks out to taste him.

“Fuck!” He hisses between his teeth, his hand sliding into her hair to guide her closer. “So. Goddamn. Perfect.”

She’s still so shy, still so hesitant, but she’s so fucking eager to please.

Her tongue swirls over the head of my brother’s cock, her lips parting wider as she takes him deeper into her mouth.

My own cock throbs at the sight of them together like that; this sweet, innocent girl whose lips are stretched around my brother’s cock, her taste still smeared on my face.

Mikhail tugs her upward, his mouth crashing down onto hers as they kiss.

Messy.

Breathless.

So fucking beautiful.

Her mouth is still wet from him, but he doesn’t even care.

The sight of them together like this, tangled up in pure need and want, is almost too much.

Almost.

I move in, sliding my hand up her body, cupping her jaw between my fingers.

And when Mikhail finally breaks the kiss, I take her mouth for myself; tasting her, tasting him.

Tasting us all tangled together.

Chiara moans softly against my lips, her arms around my neck.

The trust our girl has in us steals my breath.

She is ours.

Always.

Forever.

Chapter Twenty Two

Chiara

Everything is quieter now, it’s the kind of silence that only comes after a storm.

It’s strange to think about how it’s all settled so quickly; how everything has fallen into place, even when it feels like nothing could ever be as it was.

I’ve become familiarised with their touch, their voices so soothing and comforting. The way they both look at me, and the way they both protect me too.

Stepping into our room, I can’t help but smile as I look around it, appreciating the small touches they’ve added because they know I’ll love it.

Things like the light curtains that sway slightly whenever the soft breeze comes through, or the stack of books on my nightstand, the ones I haven’t had a chance to read yet.

Things still feel new, but somehow, it feels like it’s always been this way; like this life we’ve built together is the only one that was meant to have happened.

I sit on the edge of our bed, patiently waiting for Nikolai and Mikhail to join me.

Only a few minutes later, and the door opens quietly.

I feel the weight of their presence before they even step into the room.

Nikolai is always quieter, always careful, and Mikhail is like a force of nature.

But as they both move towards me, it’s with the same sense of purpose.

I see it in their eyes.

They are here, and they are mine.

Just as I am theirs.

It fills my heart with joy.

Mikhail reaches me first, his hands warm as he tilts my jaw up, meeting my gaze.

“What’s wrong, beauty?”

He asks, and I hear the clear softness in his voice, the care that always lingers there.

I open my mouth to speak, but soon close it when I realise a lump has appeared in my throat.

Nikolai moves closer, pressing his hand to my shoulder, grounding me.

His eyes soften as he looks down at me.

“It’s not like you to come to bed so early.”

I take a sharp breath in, eyes darting between both brothers before I swallow hard.

After clearing my throat, I smile at them both.

“I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

Nikolai takes a seat beside me, and so does Mikhail.

“Are you thinking about us?”

Nikolai asks, the edge of a smile tugging at his lips.

“I was thinking about everything.” I whisper. “How is it possible that we got here? After everything that’s been revealed? How did we ever go from all of that…to this?”

Mikhail chuckles softly, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

“We’re here because we’re meant to be, and nothing will ever tear us apart.”

I take another breath in, nodding my head.

I believe him.

I really do.

Nikolai’s hand slides down as he wraps his fingers around mine.

“And that means we’re never letting you go, and we’re never letting anybody take you either.”

I laugh, but it’s soft, and a little breathless too.

I still can’t believe how everything has changed, and how everything has led to this very moment.

I’ve seen the way they protect me, and the way they fight for me.

They’ve made me part of their world, and their future too.

In turn, I’m ready to give them mine.

We don’t need a grand ceremony or a big celebration to know where we stand.

What we have is enough.

What we’ve built is more than enough.

With my fingers still wrapped around Nikolai’s, I lean into Mikhail’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You’re ours, Chiara. Always. Forever.”

In that moment, I know that I am.

I’m theirs, just as much as they are mine.

Together, we’ve built something beautiful, and something real.

As I close my eyes, I let myself feel it; the peace that comes with belonging.

And finally, I let go of all the uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath in, I open my eyes once more, feeling my heart skip a beat as I notice both pairs of icy blue eyes gazing down at me.

I slip my hand out of Nikolai’s, and I move away from Mikhail.

I feel my body beginning to tremble, because I know that this is the moment.

I’ve been holding it inside for too long, unsure how to say it, but now, I can’t keep it in any longer.

Slowly, I take hold of both their hands, and I inch them closer towards my body.

I move them lower to my stomach where a tiny life resides.

Confusion flickers in their eyes, but something shifts in them soon after.

Realisation dawns on them.

And finally, they understand.

I smile softly, my voice thick with emotion as I speak.

“I’m pregnant.”

I say, the words tumbling out, filled with pure joy as a few happy tears slip down my cheeks too.

For a moment, neither one of them speaks.

Their eyes are locked onto mine, then they move to my stomach, and then to each other.

There’s disbelief in their expressions.

Nikolai’s hand tightens around mine, his eyes never leaving me.

“Are you sure?”

Mikhail finally croaks out, his voice soft, full of wonder and awe, as if he can’t quite grasp the reality of this.

I smile through my tears, nodding at them both.

“I’m sure. I’ve missed my period, and I took three different tests too.”

The tension in their bodies break, and without another word, they both move in, their arms wrapping around my body as they hold me tighter than they ever have before.

I bury my face between their chests, my eyes filling up with tears from the sounds of their racing hearts, as well as the soft whispers of promise that fall from their lips.

“We’ll keep you safe.” Nikolai says, his voice rough with emotion. “And our baby too. I swear it, Chiara.”

Mikhail’s arms only tighten further around my body.

“We’ll love you both with every breath we have. Always.”

I close my eyes, sighing softly as I let the warmth of their embrace settle over me, and the weight of their love wrap all around us.

I feel their joy as it fills every inch of our room.

It’s overwhelming in the best way possible.

My heart swells, and I know that this is everything I’ve ever wanted.

This is my family.

This is where I belong.

The room becomes still, like time itself has paused to let this moment sink in.

They both hold me like I’m the most precious thing in their world, and in some way, I am. I feel it in their every glance, and their every touch. I feel it in the way their hearts beat in sync with mine.

For a moment, I think of everything we’ve been through to get here—the chaos, the pain, the uncertainty—but I know that it doesn’t matter any more. All that matters is now, this specific moment, and the future we’re building together.

Our little family, growing, with love as its foundation.

Looking up at them with my hands pressed to either one of their chests, I feel their steady heartbeats beneath my palms.

Nikolai lifts one hand to gently caress my cheek, his eyes searching mine.

“Our baby will be raised in a world full of love, darling.”

They’re both watching me intently, their expressions soft, but filled with a fierce protectiveness too.

“We’ll be with you both every step of the way, beauty. Every single day.”

Mikhail says, his voice a deep promise.

A soft, content sigh escapes my lips, and I let my eyes flutter shut for a moment.

It feels like everything is finally falling into place.

They have me.

I have them.

And now, we have our precious little baby too.

“I’m so happy.” I whisper, barely able to speak through the lump in my throat as I open my eyes again. “I didn’t think I could ever feel like this…not with the way everything started out.”

They look away from me to look over at each other.

I know they feel it too; the weight of what we’ve all built together.

Mikhail reaches out to brush a stray tear away from my cheek, his thumb gentle against my skin.

“You deserve this happiness, Chiara. You deserve everything. And we’ll give it to you. All of it.”

Nikolai nods in agreement, adding some of his own words too.

“You and our unborn child are the most important people in our lives. Nothing will ever change that, Chiara.”

I smile, feeling my heart overflow with love and gratitude.

“Thank you.”

I murmur softly, though I know that the words don’t quite capture what I’m feeling.

It doesn’t matter though.

They understand.

They always do.

Pulling me close again, they wrap me in their warmth.

Their hands roam my skin, slow and tender, a gentle contrast to the hunger they always seem to carry for me.

It’s different now, not less intense, but softer somehow.

It feels like they’re memorising me all over again, tracing the shape of my body with their fingertips.

Nikolai’s thumb strokes up and down my side as he presses his mouth to the side of my neck, and Mikhail’s lips brush over my temple.

Their warmth seeps into me.

I shift slightly, and their hands adjust with me, never losing contact.

Nikolai’s hand drifts down my thigh, curling around my leg to pull me in even closer.

“Are you okay, Chiara?”

He asks me, his voice soft.

Mikhail’s palm settles low on my belly, his fingers slayed possessively, like he’s already imagining what it will feel like when I’m round with their child.

“Yeah.” I reply, my eyelids becoming heavy, and my body relaxed between theirs. “I’m perfect.”

They both move to kiss me at once.

Nikolai’s mouth finds mine first, kissing me slowly before he pulls back as I turn my head slightly, meeting Mikhail’s lips soon after. We kiss, slowly and unhurriedly, then I turn back to Nikolai, breathing him in.

There’s no rush.

No urgency.

Just the quiet certainty that we belong here, like this together, with each other.

Their hands move again as they each continue kissing me, sharing me with one another, loving me in a way so sweet.

I know I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Between them.

Always.

Forever.

Chapter Twenty Three

Mikhail

 Months Later

Chiara’s hands grip the sheets, her swollen belly brushing against the mattress as I kneel behind her, my hands holding her hips as I guide her body into the slow, lazy rhythm we’ve found.

Like this, she’s on all fours, the perfect curve of her ass tilted up for me, her skin flushed and glowing.

Every part of her feels softer now, fuller too.

Her hips.

Her thighs.

Her breasts.

I’ve never been so obsessed with her as I have over these last few months she’s been growing our baby.

She’s perfect like this.

So round with our child.

So sensitive that Nikolai and I can barely touch her without her melting into us completely.

She’s always desperate for more.

She’s always needing us in the same way that we need her.

“Fuck, beauty.” I murmur as I brush my thumb up her spine, pushing into her deeper, feeling her stretch all around me. “You’re so fucking tight like this.”

She moans softly, but her mouth is already occupied by my brother.

Chiara’s lips are stretched around Nikolai’s cock, her hands braced on his thighs as he holds onto her with his fingers threaded through her hair.

“What a good girl.” Nikolai hums, his voice full of praise and hunger. “Look at you, darling, taking both of us so perfectly.”

Chiara whimpers around him, and I feel her walls flutter around me, her body tightening with every little tease and praise we whisper into her skin.

Every soft noise she makes only makes me drive into her even deeper, my grip on her hips tightening as I fight to keep my rhythm steady.

“Do you like this?” I murmur, leaning forward so my chest brushes against her naked back, my breath hot in her ear. “Being full from both ends, taking everything we have to offer you?”

Her moan turns into a helpless, muffled cry as she digs her nails into Nikolai’s thighs.

And I swear, I can feel her body tense in a way that tells me she’s close—so close.

“Let go for us.” Nikolai says, his thumb pressed to the corner of her mouth as she drools all over him. “Come for us whilst we’re both inside you.”

I pull my hips backward, thrusting into her harder, sharper, grinding deep against the spot that always makes her fall apart for us.

“Come for us, Chiara.” I growl. “Milk my cock. Soak me, beauty.”

Her body locks up, her entire form trembling beneath me, and then she’s going.

She falls into pleasure, and it’s a ripple that moves through all of us.

Her pussy squeezes me so tight, I can’t hold back my own curse as her moans become broken, muffled all around my brother’s cock.

“That’s it, darling.” Nikolai praises softly, bucking into her mouth. “You look so fucking beautiful like this.”

I’m still inside her, my hips rolling slower now, my cock slick with her release.

I savour the way her body pulses around me.

As she pulls away from Nikolai’s cock, she sags forward, resting her weight on his thighs as she sighs loudly.

I begin easing backwards, hoping to shift her into a more comfortable position, and that’s when it happens.

I feel it before I see it.

A sudden, warm gush is all around me, so much slicker than before, flooding down my cock, soaking the top of my thighs.

For a second, I freeze entirely, my heart slamming in my chest.

Have I hurt her?

“Chiara?” I slide a hand to her belly, protective instinct hitting me faster than panic. “Are you okay?! What was—”

She gasps, her eyes wide as she looks back over her shoulder at me.

“I—oh no.”

Nikolai’s eyes move away from her face to where my cock is still buried deep inside her, both of us staring at the mess beneath her.

The clear liquid is still trickling down her thighs.

Realisation hits me at once.

“Fuck.” I manage to croak out, holding her hips more gentle now, like she might break apart if I’m not careful. “Is that…”

Her breathing is fast and uneven, her hands cradling the underside of her belly.

She blinks, still wide-eyed, but now she’s smiling through the shock.

“My waters.” She whispers as her voice trembles. “It just broke.”

There’s awe in her voice, and something that’s a mix between giddiness and disbelief.

My heart stops, then it slams back to life so fast, I almost lose my balance above her.

“Holy fuck, darling.” Nikolai breathes out, his hands reaching out to hold her, his touch tender even though I can see the same wild panic and joy in his eyes that I’m feeling inside. “This is really happening.”

I ease out of her slowly, watching as her face lights up.

She’s all flushed and beautiful, and she’s all ours.

Chiara reaches out for the both of us at once, linking her hands with ours as she draws us into the moment with her.

“We’re having a baby.”

Her lips curve into the softest, brightest smile I’ve ever seen.

We’re having a baby.

Fuck.

This is really happening.

This moment feels frozen in time; Chiara with her wide eyes filled with awe, her breathless little smile, the way that her fingers are curled tightly around both mine and Nikolai’s fingers, like she’s anchoring herself to us.

Then, reality slams us both back into place.

We need to move.

Now.

Nikolai is already moving, reaching out for his phone.

Though his face is calm, I can see the tension in his jaw, and the sharp focus in his eyes.

“Let’s get you more comfortable.” I say, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead as I help her move. “I’ve got you, beauty.”

Her legs are still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm, or maybe it’s the sudden shift into labour as her body is already working to bring our baby into the world.

I slide my arms around Chiara’s body, careful and steady, lifting her from the soaked sheets.

She makes a soft, startled noise as her hands grip my shoulders, but she doesn’t protest.

Of course she doesn’t.

She trusts me.

I carry her out of our bedroom and into the next room—it’s one we’ve set up for the birth of our baby.

Everything is ready here, and the space is warm, dimly lit, exactly how Chiara wanted it.

The bed for her to rest is already prepared, and extra towels and sheets are stacked nearby.

But before I can even think about helping Chiara get settled in, I need to get her changed first.

“Can you stand for me, beauty?”

I murmur into her hair as I ease her feet onto the floor.

My hands stay firm on her waist, holding her steady as she sways slightly.

“I think so.”

She whispers, leaning into me, resting her forehead against my chest.

I run my hands down her back, grounding her.

“I’ve got you. Just keep leaning on me.”

Nikolai’s voice carries from the other room, smooth and levelled as he speaks into his phone.

“Yes, her waters broke a few minutes ago. Mikhail and I will set everything up now.” There’s a brief pause. “She hasn’t said anything about contractions yet, but we’ll be ready for you.”

Reaching over, I grab the loose dress from the cabinet we set aside for this very moment, and I slip it over her arms, gently guiding it down her body as I help her become dressed.

My fingers brush over her swollen belly, and I feel how tight it’s now become.

Chiara’s breath hitches slightly, and I know it’s happening now.

The first contraction.

Her fingers tighten around my arms, her body tensing. The pain is enough to make her suck a sharp breath in.

Shifting my stance, I steady Chiara with one hand on her lower back, and the other supporting her as I press it under the curve of her belly.

“Breathe, Chiara.” I murmur, my voice soothing. “Let me help you.”

She exhales shakily, pressing her body further into mine.

She relaxes, just slightly, as I slowly begin swaying with her, rocking her body from side to side.

We’ve practiced this numerous times, so I know it helps her.

My hands move with her, massaging slow, firm circles over the tightness in her lower back.

“That’s it.” I whisper, keeping my body close to hers, letting her use me as her anchor. “Let your body do what it needs to do. I’ve got you, beauty.”

She hums a soft, relieved sound with her forehead still pressed against my chest.

“It feels good.”

I smile, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“That’s what I want to hear. We’ll keep doing this for as long as you need, okay?”

She nods, and that’s when I spot movement at the entrance of the room.

Nikolai steps in, his phone tucked away into his pocket, as his sharp eyes sweep over us.

He nods, looking straight at me.

“The doctor is on her way. Everything is falling into place now.”

A silent exchange passes between us.

We’ve got her. We always do.

Chiara sighs against me, rocking slowly as another contraction appears.

My brother moves into the room, his arms sliding around Chiara’s waist as she leans back into him, groaning slightly.

We move in sync with her, swaying softly as she breathes sharply with each contraction.

She trusts us to carry her through this, and we will.

Every step of the way.

It feels like time bends and warps around us.

I have no idea how long it’s been—minutes, hours—but none of it matters.

All that matters is her.

Chiara is in the birthing pool now, her body half-submerged in the warm water, her belly round and tight with every contraction.

She’s glowing like this, sweat-damp and flushed, with strands of hair clinging to her face.

And fuck, she’s never looked more beautiful.

More powerful.

More ours.

Nikolai is behind her, kneeling on the floor just outside of the pool, supporting her with his hands pressed firmly on her shoulders.

His lips brush the side of her head as he murmurs soft words of encouragement into her ear.

I’m in front of her, kneeling inside the pool itself, holding her hands as I rub my thumbs over her knuckles every time another contraction hits.

She’s panting now, her body trembling, her fingers squeezing mine so tight it sends a dull ache up my arm.

But I don’t care.

I’d let her break every bone in my body if it meant that I was taking even an ounce of pain away from her.

The obstetrician kneels nearby, her presence calm and steady, her voice soft but firm.

“You’re doing beautifully, Chiara.” She praises. “The baby is almost here. Just a little more, and she will be right here with you, bundled in your arms.”

Chiara lets out a small, choked sob as she drops her forehead against my shoulder.

“I can’t.” She gasps, her whole body shaking. “I don’t think I can.”

Nikolai shakes his head behind her, moving in closer towards her to press his lips against the side of her neck.

“You can, darling.” He murmurs as he keeps her grounded, pouring every ounce of love he has into his voice. “You’ve got this. You’re so strong, Chiara. You’re doing so well. We’re right here, and we’ll be here with you throughout it all.”

I tighten my hold on her as she lifts her head, then I tip my forehead to hers.

“Just a few more pushes, beauty. We’re almost there.”

Chiara clenches her jaw, nodding weakly at me, but I can see the sheer determination flickering back into her eyes.

My chest tightens with pride.

That's our girl.

Another contraction hits as she bears down, a deep, primal sound ripping from her throat.

“There we go.” The doctor encourages. “There’s the head crowning. All we need is a little more now.”

I shift slightly, adjusting my grip on her, and that’s when I see it.

Pale hair, slick with water.

It’s the smallest glimpse of the life we’ve all created together, and it’s ours.

Fuck.

My vision goes blurry, my throat tightening as my heart slams into my ribs.

“You're doing it, beauty.” I whisper, my voice thick. “Our baby is almost here, just one more push, and we’ll meet our baby.”

She sobs with her forehead still pressed against mine, and she pushes with everything she has.

And then, everything changes.

A rush of warmth.

A sharp inhale from the doctor.

A pause, thick with anticipation.

The doctor is gentle, swift as she lifts our baby from the water.

Chiara opens her arms at once, taking our child onto her bare chest.

And finally, a cry.

High, sharp, and perfect.

A daughter’s cry.

Our daughter.

Chiara’s body becomes limp, an exhausted sob escaping her lips as she collapses back against Nikolai’s chest, her body trembling against mine.

She’s crying, overwhelmed, and I can barely breathe around the lump in my throat.

My eyes burn as I stare down at the tiny, squirming, crying life in Chiara’s arms.

Our baby.

My heart clenches so hard, it’s almost unbearable.

Almost.

Our baby is so small, so perfect against her mother's body.

Her tiny fingers curl instinctively against Chiara’s breast, her wet hair plastered to her soft small head.

Her face is red and all scrunched up, her lungs strong, and her cries the most beautiful fucking sound I’ve ever heard.

Nikolai releases a shaky breath behind Chiara, his lips pressing into her damp hair.

“She’s perfect.”

He murmurs, his voice raw with emotion.

Chiara is sobbing now, clutching our daughter close, pressing kisses to her small head, whispering soft words of sweetness into her ear.

And me?

I don’t know if I’m even breathing.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe again.

Because this moment—this exact moment—just rewired something in my chest, broke me open, and rearranged me from inside out. 

I wipe at my face, but it’s fucking useless.

Tears keep falling, and my hands are shaky, my entire body wrecked with emotions.

I finally move, cradling Chiara’s face as I kiss her.

“You did it.” I breathe against her lips, my breathing unsteady. “You did so fucking good, beauty.”

She laughs softly through her tears, turning slightly to look back at Nikolai too.

Our daughter is cradled between our three bodies, and we all reach down to touch her.

“We did it.” Chiara whispers. “She’s finally here.”

Nikolai leans in, pressing a kiss to her cheek as his finger brushes over our baby’s head.

“Our little family.”

And I know that this is it.

Everything I’ve ever wanted is right here.

Everything is silent outside, and everything is peaceful inside.

The soft creak of the rocking chair.

The warmth of the dimly lit nursery.

The quiet hum of our family settling into place.

Chiara sits in the rocking chair, her body relaxed, her skin glowing with the aftermath of bringing our eldest daughter into the world.

She’s draped in one of our shirts, the fabric loose around her body, falling off of one shoulder.

My entire attention is on the tiny, perfect baby who’s cradled in her arms.

Our daughter nurses quietly, her small mouth latched onto Chiara’s breast, her tiny fingers curled around her mother’s skin.

Chiara strokes her delicate back with slow, careful movements, her touch so soft, so full of love, it makes something in my chest tighten.

Nikolai kneels beside the chair, one hand braced against the side of it.

The other hand rests lightly over our baby’s swaddled legs, as if he still can’t believe that she’s real.

I know the feeling.

I sink to my knees too, one arm draping over Chiara’s lap, with my free hand resting gently against our daughter’s impossibly small stomach.

She’s so tiny like this, her body curled up like she’s remembering what it felt like to be inside Chiara.

My throat is tight as I watch her.

Too tight.

“She needs a name.” I murmur, my voice low, hushed in the stillness of the room. “She’s ours, but she’s yours too. Tell us, what do you want to name her?”

Chiara lifts her gaze away from our baby as she looks between Nikolai and myself.

Her eyes are soft and tired, but she’s glowing as a quiet smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

She shifts her hold on our baby slightly, adjusting her in her arms, and I watch the way her fingers gently stroke over our daughter’s soft cheek.

Then Chiara breathes out a single name.

“Anastasia.” She says. “I like that name for her. What do you both think?”

Nikolai makes a low, pleased sound.

“Anastasia.”

He repeats, his voice smooth, and approving too.

My fingers curl around the fabric of our baby’s swaddle, my thumb rubbing across her full cheek.

“Anastasia Vasiliev.”

I breathe out, looking up at Chiara.

She tilts her head, a small knowing smile touching her lips.

“Do you both like it?”

She asks us softly, her voice full of something tender.

I release a breathless, shaky laugh as I press a kiss to Anastasia’s soft hair.

“I fucking love it.”

Nikolai chuckles under his breath, brushing his knuckles over our baby’s small hand.

“It’s perfect.”

Chiara sighs, settling deeper into the chair as she shifts Anastasia higher against her chest.

Our baby has stopped nursing now, her little lips parted, completely content with the milk she’s drank, her breathing soft against Chiara’s skin.

She’s safe here with us.

I lean up, pressing my lips to Chiara’s, kissing her deeply and slowly, making up for everything I don’t have the words for.

She sighs softly into my mouth, her free hand sliding into my hair, and as I pull away from her, Nikolai is there, brushing his mouth against hers next.

A silent thank you.

A promise.

A claim.

Anastasia stirs slightly, her little fingers clenching around Nikolai’s finger, even in her sleep.

I can’t help but laugh.

“She’s got a grip already.”

Nikolai smirks, moving his finger gently so she’ll hold onto him again.

“Of course she does.” He says. “She’s a Bratva princess.”

I smile, stroking slow circles against our daughter’s tiny back.

“A princess.” I echo, my voice soft. “She doesn’t even know it yet, but it’s in her blood.”

Chiara hums, leaning down to kiss Anastasia’s forehead.

“She’s more than that.” She murmurs. “She’s us.”

Nikolai tilts his head slightly, studying Chiara, because she’s right.

Anastasia is all of us; the daughter of two Bratva men, but also the granddaughter of a former Italian underboss.

She is a child of two worlds, belonging to neither, and both, all at the same time.

Our daughter is the bridge.

Our daughter is the balance.

Nikolai brushes his thumb over Anastasia’s delicate cheek, his voice quiet.

“Anastasia Vasiliev.” He says, testing her full name again, letting it settle. “It suits her.”

It fucking does.

Our daughter shifts slightly in her sleep, mewling almost as she smiles contently, and my heart throbs in my chest.

I swear, every time I look at her, something inside me breaks and rebuilds itself all over again.

Nikolai exhales a slow breath, his shoulders losing some tension.

I see it—the quiet shift in him—the realisation of it all.

For the first time in our lives, we aren’t just soldiers, training to become leaders of the Bratva.

We are fathers.

Chiara must see it too, because she lifts her head, her tired eyes meeting Nikolai’s before they move to mine.

“Are you both okay?”

She asks us softly.

I breathe out a small laugh, dragging a hand through my hair.

“I’m nowhere near that.”

Nikolai chuckles under his breath, but there’s something raw in his eyes too, something that mirrors exactly what I’m feeling.

“I don’t think we’ll ever be okay again.” He admits. “But that doesn’t matter as long as we have you both by our sides.”

Chiara smiles sleepily, her eyes still full of so much love and exhaustion, and fuck, I love her so much it physically hurts.

She leans backwards against the chair, sighing heavily.

“We did good.”

Nikolai makes a low, approving sound, his hand protective over Anastasia’s small form.

“Yeah, darling, we did.”

I watch my family; Chiara sitting in the chair, our small daughter nestled against her body, and Nikolai kneeling beside them both.

I could stay here like this forever with my family, staying with the only people who have ever truly mattered.

And I know that deep in my bones, this is it.

This is ours.

Always.

Forever.

Chapter Twenty Four

Isaak

The house is quieter than usual.

It’s not the kind of silence that comes before war, the tension-laced quiet, or the quiet that’s present as you wait for a kill.

No.

This is different.

This is peace.

For the first time in years, this house—built purely by blood, power, and violence—feels like a home.

I step towards their room, drawn by the soft mummers inside.

The door is slightly ajar, and from the hallway, I can see both of my sons.

Mikhail is in front of Chiara, and Nikolai is beside her.

And in Chiara’s arms, wrapped in a delicate white blanket, rests my granddaughter.

How beautiful.

My chest tightens with every step that I take, memories of my own daughter coming to mind.

I force them out to focus on the present as I watch my two sons glancing down at the baby they helped create like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

And in a sense, she is.

Just as my daughter is my world, their daughter is theirs.

Nikolai is the first to sense me.

His sharp blue eyes flicker up, meeting mine through the dim light of the room.

There’s no warning in his expression, no hardness—just acceptance. 

A silent invitation.

I step into the room to join them all.

Chiara’s tired eyes lift to meet mine, and she smiles at me.

Soft.

Content.

Completely at ease.

“Come meet your granddaughter.”

She murmurs, standing up slowly as I move forward, my steps slow, and careful too.

Both my sons help Chiara, and they move to stand on either side of her, and their baby.

My chest swells with pride.

I stare down at the tiny, sleeping girl in her arms, finding myself smiling softly at the content expression on her little face.

She’s so small.

Her lashes flutter as she stirs slightly in her mother’s hold.

For a moment, I don’t move.

I can’t move.

I’ve seen a lot in my life.

Men taking their last breaths at my feet.

Power shifting with a single kill.

Empires built and burnt in a matter of days.

But this?

This is something else altogether.

“Go on.” Chiara whispers as her smile grows wider. “She won’t bite.”

Mikhail lets out a breathless chuckle as Nikolai smirks.

“Yet.”

He adds in.

Chiara rolls her eyes at his antics, but there’s nothing but pure love in them.

I huff quietly as I shake my head, taking a deep breath in before I even think about reaching out.

My hands—hands which have held more weapons than children—settle gently around my granddaughter’s small body.

She’s so light. So warm.

I lift her carefully, holding her close, her little head resting against my arm.

Something in my chest cracks wide open as I look down at her, life created from life I created.

“She’s perfect.” I murmur, my voice rougher than intended. “Does she have a name yet?”

Chiara nods, running the top of her finger along her daughter’s button nose.

“Anastasia Vasiliev.”

I smile, saying my granddaughter’s name out loud.

“Beautiful.”

Nikolai rests his hand on Chiara’s shoulder.

“Our daughter obviously gets that from her mother.”

I smirk, my gaze flickering up to Chiara.

“Of course.”

Mikhail grins, nudging me.

“But she’ll have your glare though.”

I release a low, amused hum as I stare down at this little girl who is a piece of all of us.

She’s Bratva.

And even though Chiara didn’t grow up in it, she’s part of the famiglia too.

Anastasia is the bridge between both words, no matter the awful history both sides share.

The thought settles in my chest, strong and unshakeable.

My granddaughter will be loved.

My granddaughter will be protected.

My granddaughter will never want for anything.

Because she is ours.

I lean down, pressing my lips to her forehead, before I gently place her back into her mother’s arms.

Chiara holds her daughter close, both my sons immediately reaching out for their little girl too.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and as my sons become tense at the sound, I turn around, nodding at the two men who stand on the other side of it.

Francesco.

Dario.

Chiara gasps behind me.

“Papa.” She breathes out. “Dario. What are you both doing here?”

Francesco enters first.

As soon as he steps inside, his entire body tenses, his sharp eyes locking onto the baby nestled in Chiara’s arms.

I grow tense, knowing I have no real reason to.

Anastasia is just as much my granddaughter as she is his.

For a long moment, he says nothing.

The air grows thick with silence.

Then, he slowly moves forward.

I see the shift in him before he even speaks, the hardness cracking in his expression, and the wariness fading too.

“I had to come and see you. Are you okay, Chiara?”

He asks his daughter, his eyes full of emotion as he reaches out, holding her by the side of her face.

My throat grows tight as I watch them, and my heart hammers in my chest as she moves in closer, hugging him.

“I’m perfect, Papa.” She whispers out as she pulls away. “Look at your granddaughter.”

His eyes dart between either one of hers before he nods, looking down at the small bundle in Chiara’s arms.

“She is so small.”

Francesco murmurs, his voice quiet.

Chiara laughs softly, looking down at her daughter with so much adoration in her eyes.

“My Anastasia was only born a few hours ago, Papa.”

He huffs, shaking his head.

There’s something unsteady there as he takes his next breath.

I see it.

I feel it.

The realisation that little baby is his blood.

A life created from both of our families, regardless of all the ugly history we’ve shared in the past.

He reaches out, his hand unsteady, before he lightly brushes his finger over my granddaughter’s cheek.

His jaw clenches.

His throat bobs as he takes a deep breath in, and he swallows hard.

“She is perfect.”

He croaks, his voice hoarse.

Chiara only smiles up at him, her eyes shining.

Dario, who’s been silent throughout this entire interaction, sighs dramatically, catching all of our attention.

“Okay, fine.” He mutters, stepping forward to be closer to his sister, and his niece. “Let me see her before everybody turns into a pile of mush.”

Mikhail shakes his head, breathing out a laugh.

“Good luck keeping up the tough guy act, dearest fratello.”

Dario only waves him off, now having grown used to my son’s constant teasing.

Chiara’s lips stretch wide across her face as she moves closer to her brother, proudly showing off Anastasia to him.

And the second his eyes land on his niece, the cocky smirk falters.

His expression shifts.

“Dario.” She murmurs as she offers him a better look. “Meet your niece.”

He stares at her.

That’s all he does for some time.

And then, very carefully, he reaches out, brushing a single finger over her tiny curled fist.

“She’s so small.”

He whispers, breathing out, leaning down to get a better look at her.

Nikolai smiles, nodding towards Francesco.

“That’s what your father said too.”

Dario doesn’t move.

He only stares at her, his gaze locked on Anastasia’s sleeping form.

“She’s going to be so loved.” He finally mutters, pulling away from her to hold Chiara by the back of her head, pressing his lips to her forehead. “You did good, sorellina mia.”

Her smile is shaky, and she’s blinking a lot more now.

“Both our daughters will be loved.” She tells her brother in a small voice. “How many more months left until you meet your baby?”

Dario’s smile becomes brighter as he runs his hand through his hair.

“Only two more months, and then my princess will arrive.”

Chiara brings her own daughter closer to her, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as she looks up at Dario, smiling.

“It’s a beautiful thing; being able to carry your baby in your womb for nine months, then carrying her in your arms all over again. Tamana will know what I mean.”

Her brother releases a shaky breath of laughter, rubbing his knuckle over my granddaughter's cheek.

“And until I’m able to hold my princess in my arms, I’ll spend my time spoiling your daughter. My little Anastasia”

I clear my throat, directing all attention to me.

“Anastasia will be spoiled by all of us, and she will be raised like the princess she is.”

Francesco shakes his head as a chuckle escapes him.

“She already has some of the most dangerous men wrapped around her tiny finger.”

A bubble of laughter leaves Chiara’s mouth.

“As she should, Papa.”

Together, we leave this room to move into one of the main rooms, somewhere with a little more space so we can all catch up, and spend some more time bonding with the new addition to our family.

The room settles.

We all gather around mother and daughter, our hearts soft as we watch over them both.

Francesco rises, moving closer to sit beside her as he wraps a protective arm around Chiara’s shoulders.

I stand back, my gaze sweeping over my two sons, and the man I once considered an enemy.

Dario mutters under his breath, still watching Anastasia like he can’t quite believe that she’s real.

And my sons?

They stand there, their presence protective as they remain close to the two most important women in their lives.

This is everything.

This is family.

This is ours.

Epilogue

Chiara

It’s been years since the chaos first entered my life, but in the end, it’s the love that’s made everything fall into place.

The walls of this mansion have never felt more like home.

I step into the nursery, my eyes softening at the sight of my baby asleep in her crib. The light from the window is gentle, casting long shadows across the room, and I watch as my little one shifts slightly in the blankets, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.

Mikhail stands by the window, his back to me as he gazes down at our little baby.

Nikolai stays near me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder as he watches me with a tenderness that still manages to take my breath away.

These two men, the same men who changed my life in every which way, are now the pillars that support me.

And now, we have this; our family, our future.

I’ve often thought about how I ended up here, and sometimes, I still can’t understand it.

So many twists and turns happened to bring me to this place, and though I could never have ever imagined it happening, I’m glad it did.

If I wasn’t taken, the tension would have remained.

If I wasn’t taken, these two men wouldn’t have found their sister.

If I wasn’t taken, I wouldn’t be here with them, raising our two daughters under their roof.

“Come here, Mama.” Nikolai calls softly, his voice low but steady. “You need to rest.”

I glance over at him, catching the small smirk that plays at the corners of his mouth.

There’s a playfulness in his eyes, and I can’t help but smile in his direction.

Both Nikolai and Mikhail have been my strength throughout these years, in every single way that I’ve ever needed them.

I walk over towards him, feeling the weight of both their gazes now on me.

And as I turn my head, I find Mikhail’s eyes on mine.

He stalks towards me, and it doesn’t take long before they’re both standing on either side of me.

“We’ve talked about this.” Mikhail tells me, his voice so tender. “You need to rest whenever our babies are resting too.”

My smile only widens, because I know he’s right.

We’ve spoken about this numerous times now, but for some reason, I can’t seem to rest whenever my girls are. They’re both so sweet as they sleep, so peaceful, that it makes it difficult for me to rest too.

“I’m fine staying up.” I say to them, my voice soft, but firm too. “But thank you both for looking out for me. I’ve never felt more loved before.”

Nikolai reaches out, taking my hand as he raises it higher, leaning in to press his lips against my knuckles.

“And you will always be loved, darling. We won’t let anything happen to you, or to our babies. Not now, not ever.”

I nod at him, knowing it’s true.

They’ve proven it time and time again now.

So together, the three of us stand in the quiet nursery, watching over our little Aurora.

Both my girls will grow up in their home, surrounded by love, strength, and protection too.

“I know a lot has happened since the beginning.” I say as I look at both of them. “But I truly believe that everything that has happened has led to this; to this moment. Our family. Our girls.”

Mikhail moves forward, pressing a kiss to my forehead, his lips warm against my skin.

“We’ve been through hell and back, beauty.” He whispers, and I find myself shivering, knowing it’s true. “The fear…the secrets…the blood on our hands. The night we almost lost you. The deals we made. The people we buried.” His voice remains soft, but each word lands heavy. “But the one thing we never lost was each other, and that’s all that matters.”

Nikolai nods, knowing that Mikhail is correct, with his gaze locked on mine.

“Through every war, and through every betrayal, darling.” He adds. “We have always found our way back to you, Chiara.”

I take a shaky breath in, my mind drifting back to the memory of that awful night.

The smoke.

The screams.

The way my blood turned to ice.

They fought for me.

They found me.

And they tore through my attackers like they were nothing more than shadows in their way.

Ruthless.

Unforgiving.

Mine.

And after, once everything was finished and we were back in Bratva territory, they showed me exactly what I meant to them.

Not with grand gestures, but rather with quiet devotion.

Fierce protection.

They didn't just promise to keep me safe.

They proved it.

With blood.

With fire.

With love.

“We’ll protect this family. Always.”

The heavy weight of their words sink into my bones, and I close my eyes for a moment, letting the truth of it settle over me.

We’ve made it.

We’ve survived.

And now, we’re thriving.

But it’s not just the three of us.

It’s our two babies too; our Anastasia, and our Aurora.

It’s the rest of our family as well.

And as I open my eyes again, looking at both my twin protectors, I know that this is only the beginning.

We leave our little baby in her nursery, switching the nightlight on so she’ll have a gentle glow around the room for when she wakes up.

I glance back at Aurora’s sleeping frame one last time before we can completely leave the room, and when I see that she’s sleeping safe and sound, I turn back around, walking out completely.

Nikolai holds onto my hand, and Mikhail wraps his arm around my middle.

“Our girls are perfect, aren’t they?”

I whisper, my words meant for both of them.

Nikolai and Mikhail know exactly what I mean.

We’ve created something beautiful together; our daughters.

They both glance over at me, their eyes soft, and a deep understanding is shared between us.

“Our girls both are.” Mikhail agrees, his voice filled with pride. “Sia and Rory may be protected, but they’ll grow up learning to be strong too.”

I nod, knowing it’s true.

We walk down the hallway, and as we approach our eldest daughter’s bedroom, I can feel my heart rate pick up.

Our Anastasia, our fiery, passionate girl, sleeps soundly in her bed.

She looks like a dream with her lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling in the slow, deep rhythm of sleep.

She looks like her fathers, with her pale skin, blonde hair, and striking blue eyes.

Nikolai steps closer to her bed, his hands brushing the strands of hair away from her face.

There’s a softness in his touch. He’s a man of few words, but the way he cares for our children speaks volumes.

As I step forward, I feel my heart swell with a mixture of emotions.

I can’t help but smile as I look at her.

My daughter.

My baby.

The one who came into our lives so unexpectedly, but who now belongs to us as we belong to her.

I lean over the bed, careful not to wake her.

She stirs slightly as I kiss her forehead, my lips lingering there for just a moment longer.

She sighs in her sleep, a tiny, peaceful sound that makes my chest tighten with love.

She doesn’t wake though.

She never does, not when she’s deep in sleep like this, content and free from any worries after everything we’ve been through.

It’s a reminder that we’re doing right by her, and that she’s safe.

She’s ours.

As I pull away, I turn to look at Nikolai and Mikhail, both who have been watching me silently.

I smile at them.

“Chiara.” Nikolai says in a voice that’s just over a whisper. “Let’s head to bed now. Our babies are okay. They are safe.”

I nod, looking back at Anastasia for a brief moment, before turning back around.

And in their eyes, I see the love they carry for me, and for both of our babies.

“Come on.” I say softly as I step away from her bed. “Let’s go.”

Nikolai reaches for me, his arms opening wide.

“We’ve got you, darling.” He promises. “Always. Forever.”

I nod my head, swallowing hard.

Mikhail stands beside me, his expression tender but protective.

“Nobody will ever harm our daughters.” He adds, his voice almost a vow. “Or you, beauty. Nikolai and I will always keep you all safe.”

I step into their embrace, sighing softly as I feel the familiar strength of their arms around me, and the unspoken bond that we share.

Together, we are whole.

Together, we are unstoppable.

We walk out of Anastasia’s bedroom, shutting the door behind us, as we make our way into our own room.

It’s where we belong, all three of us.

The soft lighting from the lamp on the nightstand casts a soft glow across the bed, and I’m suddenly overcome with a sense of peace.

We’ve been through so much now.

So. Much.

From the moment they took me, when I was more terrified of them than anything else, to the quiet, steady way they both taught me I was safe with them.

They’ve never threatened me.

They’ve only ever challenged me.

They’ve pushed me to see them—to really see them—for exactly who they are underneath all that danger and control.

And throughout it all, they’ve never let go of me, and I’ve never stopped choosing them.

Not when secrets were revealed that almost broke us completely, and not when the pressure of them both stepping into their roles as Pakhans of the Bratva became too overwhelming.

Now, we’ve created something even stronger; a family, built on love and trust, and the shared commitment to one another.

Our future has never looked brighter.

As we settle into our bed together, I pull the covers around us, feeling their warmth, and their love, surrounding me.

I lean my head against Nikolai’s chest, my hand resting on Mikhail’s arm.

The three of us share a quiet moment, letting the weight of the world fall away as we find peace in each other’s presence.

“I still can’t believe it’s like this for us.”

I whisper, my voice content.

Mikhail leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead, his lips warm against my skin.

“We never imagined it could be like this either, Chiara, but it’s perfect.”

I smile, closing my eyes, allowing myself to relax finally, with both their protective arms around me.

I know we’ve made it through the hardest parts, and now, we’re just enjoying the beauty of what we’ve created together; our family, our love, our future.

As I drift off to sleep, the last thing I hear is the sound of Nikolai’s voice, soft and steady, whispering into the quiet night.

“We’ll always protect you, Chiara. Always.”

And in my heart, I know that he means it.

They always do.

I can’t breathe.

Or maybe I can, but the air is too thick.

It’s thick with the scent of sweat and sex, with the heat of their bodies pressed so tightly against mine, with the sound of my own desperate, broken moans echoing in our bedroom.

My skin is flushed, every inch of me is hot and trembling now, but they won’t stop.

They won’t, not when it’s this good.

And it’s not like I want them to.

Mikhail’s fingers twist in my hair, tugging just enough to make me look up at me as he slams his mouth over mine, stealing every gasp, every cry, directly from my lungs.

Nikolai’s hands grip my thighs so wide that I’m stretched open for him, helpless, as my body becomes entirely theirs.

I can still feel him inside me, so thick and deep, it’s impossible to tell where he ends, and where I begin.

Every shift of his hips sends fresh heat cascading up my spine, making me clench so hard around him.

My body is already so sensitive, and I’m on edge, all over again.

“Look at you.” He groans, his voice low and rough with pure need. “You’re so fucking wet, Chiara.” He breathes out a laugh, pinching my throbbing clit between his fingers, making me cry out. “You love it, don’t you, darling? You love being bred over and over again until you can’t think straight. Isn’t that right?”

I can only whimper into Mikhail’s mouth.

He pulls back just enough to let me answer, but the only thing that comes out is a soft, desperate sound; part plea, and part surrender.

“Tell him.” Mikhail murmurs against my lips. His fingers trace down my throat, so possessive yet so tender, all at the same time. “Tell my brother how much you love being filled. Tell my brother how much you need us to put another baby in you.”

My stomach tightens at his words, heat rushing so fast through me, I swear that I almost black out.

“I—” My voice cracks, trembling as I try to speak again. “I love it.”

Both pairs of icy blue eyes darken instantly.

“What do you love?” Nikolai asks as he drags one thumb up my inner thigh, pressing around his cock where he and I are connected. “Say it.”

I swallow hard, feeling my pussy clench all around him.

“I love it when you both fill me.” I gasp, the words tumbling out of me all broken and needy. “I love it when you both breed me.”

Mikhail hums, clearly pleased with my answer.

“Good girl.” He praises, his fingers tangling even tighter in my hair. “Our perfect woman, made to take our seed, and to grow our babies.”

I swallow a moan, squirming harder.

I love it when they talk to me like this.

It’s like I’m not just theirs, but I’m meant to be theirs.

It’s like my body has been made to be owned by them, to be filled by them, and to carry what is theirs.

It’s too much, and it’s not enough, all at the same time.

My entire body clenches, slick heat flooding between my legs where Nikolai is still buried deep.

“You want it, don’t you?” He growls, thrusting slowly and deep, grinding against the spot inside me that always makes me see stars. Always. “You want us to fuck you full again—you want to feel our cum leaking down your pretty little pussy all night, knowing we’ve put another baby inside you?”

Just the thought of that has me seeing stars.

“Please!” I cry out, my fingernails digging into Mikhail’s forearm. I’m hurting him, I know that I must be with the sharpness against his naked flesh, but I can't stop. I’ve become too desperate from this overwhelming need that’s been building inside me. “Please, I need it—I need both of you!”

Mikhail groans like I’ve wrecked him completely, his hand sliding down to cup my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers.

Nikolai’s pace quickens as he thrusts deeper, harder, until there’s barely air left in my lungs.

The only thing I feel is them; filling me, surrounding me, claiming me.

All over again.

“Take it, darling.” Nikolai grits out, his hand sliding down to press over my belly. “Take all of us.” His breathing becomes heavier as he thrusts deeper, forcing more moans out of me. “Feel me fill you up until there’s no doubt who you belong to. We own this pretty little pussy of yours, Chiara, and we own you.”

Mikhail’s mouth claims mine again, all wet and messy, my moans swallowed by him as Nikolai thrusts deep one final time, heat flooding me as he comes, thick and hot, spilling everything inside me.

My body breaks apart with it, my orgasm crashing through me in sharp, relentless waves as my pussy clenches all around him, milking him for every single drop.

But they don’t stop.

They never do.

Nikolai pulls out as Mikhail pulls away from my mouth, and then I’m flipped onto my stomach.

Before I even have the chance to catch my breath, they move.

I feel Mikhail’s cock pressing into me, sliding through the mess Nikolai has left behind.

I’m stretched wide now, so sensitive that I’m left sobbing in the sheets, but my hips still rise, my body craving him even as I shake.

“Such a good girl.” Mikhail groans, sinking inside me with one slow thrust. “Look at how you take us both so perfectly. We’ll fuck you again, filling you over and over until you’re dripping with our cum, beauty.”

My body gives out, my face buried in the pillow, but they hold me up, and they keep me exactly where they want me.

Spread open.

Taken.

Bred.

Every dirty word…every deep thrust…

It sends me spiralling into another orgasm, my body no longer mine, but rather a vessel for their pleasure, for their seed.

It’s for everything they want to give to me.

And by the time Mikhail spills inside me too, I’m wrecked.

I’m a trembling, whimpering mess with my skin damp with sweat, and my thighs slick with the remnants of both of them.

They gather my body between theirs, hands stroking my skin, lips whispering soft praises into my ears.

I find myself drifting somewhere between bliss and exhaustion.

“Perfect.”

Nikolai says quietly, his hand resting on my belly.

Mikhail kisses my neck, my cheek, the corner of my mouth, and as he moves in closer, Nikolai’s lips find mine too.

They both kiss me, soft and messy, keeping me between them where I belong.

Always.

Forever.

The room becomes quiet and warm, and I’m held by the two men who have become everything to me.

Their presence surrounds me as I lie between them, the sound of their breathing steady and comforting.

Mikhail’s hand rests gently on my stomach, and the warmth of his touch seeps into me, grounding me.

I’ve never felt more at peace than now.

But then, a conversation begins to stir, one that makes my heart race.

“Chiara.” Nikolai begins saying as he leans in closer. “Mikhail and I have been thinking…”

My lips part open as I watch them both, wondering what this might be about.

I feel Mikhail's hand press a little firmer into my belly, and he moves in closer too.

“We want to add to our family.” He says, his tone filled with certainty, a quiet sort of power behind his words. “We’re not done, Chiara, not yet. You’ve given us so much already, and we've been thinking that it’s time for more.”

Nikolai takes over the conversation now, and just like my eyes are darting left and right to watch them as they speak, my breathing only becomes faster, heavier too.

“We want to make our family bigger. We want to fill our home with even more love.”

I blink up at him.

Both pairs of eyes are on me, and I can’t help the small smile that forms on my lips.

“More love?” I ask softly, my voice laced with surprise and excitement all at the same time. “How much more love do we need?”

Mikhail’s lips curl into a soft smile, his thumb brushing over my hand in a gentle caress.

“Plenty more, beauty.” He answers. “We want to add a third, and maybe even a fourth too. We want to see you carry our children again, and we want to see our family grow.”

As he speaks, I feel his hands trailing lower until two fingers are sliding through me, pushing the cum back inside of my pussy.

I gasp, squeezing around Mikhail’s fingers, realising why this is why they’ve been fucking me so senselessly over the last couple of days.

My heart skips a beat.

They want more.

Another child.

A bigger family.

A thrill rushes through me as my chest swells with love and gratitude.

It feels so right; the thought of carrying another life.

It fills me with a joy I can’t quite describe.

Nikolai’s hand moves to my waist, pulling me a little closer into his side.

His voice drops down to a whisper, his breath warm against my ear.

“Our family will only ever know love, Chiara.” He murmurs softly. “We will love this child, in the exact way that we love you, and our other children too. There won’t be a single day where our babies don’t feel adored or cherished. We’ll raise them in a house full of nothing but love.”

I close my eyes, letting his words wash over me.

Love.

Mikhail presses a kiss to my temple, still stroking me.

My chest tightens with emotion, and I feel a lump form in my throat.

I can’t imagine anything more beautiful than that; carrying their baby, all over again.

I swallow hard, nodding slowly at them both.

“I’m so happy.” I whisper, sliding my palms to their chest, feeling the way their hearts beat in sync. “I never thought I would be able to have this…this life after everything that happened…but I’m grateful for it. I’m so incredibly grateful.”

Nikolai’s thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away the tear that has escaped my eye.

His gaze softens as he looks at me, and his lips form a gentle smile.

“We’re grateful too, Chiara. You’re our entire world.”

Beside me, Mikhail nods in agreement, his hand now resting on my stomach again.

“And we’ll make things even better for all of us with more children to bear, and more children to love. Our family will be complete.”

I pull them in closer, my heart so full from everything, I can barely put it into words.

I feel everything in that moment; love, warmth, and security.

This is everything I’ve always wanted, and it’s everything I’ve always needed too.

Two men who adore me.

Two children born from love.

A father-in-law who has become my rock.

A father who has always kept me safe.

A brother who has always been there for me.

I have everything.

“Thank you.” I whisper, feeling my voice tremble slightly. “For this. For everything. For all the love you’ve shown me. For all the children we’ve created. For all the babies we’ll make.”

Together, they both hold me tighter, their arms wrapping around me as they keep me close.

And in this moment, I know without a doubt that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

With them.

My family.

Our family, built on love.

A family that will always stand together, no matter what.

I never imagined it would be this way.

But as I look between the two of them, feeling their hands around me, and their bodies so protective on either side of mine, I realise something.

I’ve found something I never thought I would have been able to find with them.

Love.

Or at least, what I call love.

It may not look like what I expected, but it’s real.

Theirs, and mine.

And somehow, we’ve built something pure from this chaos.

Two things, to be precise.

And perhaps, even a third now.

I have chosen this. I have chosen them.

Nikolai.

Mikhail.

Both men who are mine.

This is my happily ever after.

This is my family.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

THE END

Thank you for reading Taken!

THANKS, ETC.

Taken is a story that wasn’t supposed to exist.

At first, it didn’t make much sense.

The story didn’t seem to belong in my universe, and the characters felt as though they didn’t quite fit.

Because why would a pair of Russian Bratva twins take a woman to keep as their own? What significance would she have in the bigger picture?

But the more I thought about it, the more it just felt right.

As I dove deeper into their world, made a few tweaks to the details, and trusted the characters to lead me…I realised that everything fit perfectly.

And just like that, Taken would officially become the first book I published under Nova Hale.

Stay tuned—there’s plenty more to come from Nikolai & Chiara & Mikhail!

There are many people I need to thank for supporting me throughout this journey.

First and foremost, thank you to my alpha and beta readers. Angel, Chloe, Larissa, Lou & Sauieh. Thank you all for reading through those first few rough drafts of Taken and still choosing to continue helping me out. Your individual feedback helped massively in getting this book ready for release!

To Stephanie who became a dear friend from reading my other books. Your role in helping me publish this book came so randomly, but I’m so grateful that you reached out to me when you did! Thank you for not only helping me perfect this story with your editing & proofreading skills, but for all of your constant encouragement too.

My cover artist Marika Veil (Covers By Marika Veil). I was absolutely in awe the second I came across the cover, and I just knew that I needed it for Taken! Thank you for creating such a beautiful cover for Nikolai & Chiara & Mikhail.

To Shaley (prettylittleimages) for creating some of the most gorgeous graphics for me to use! I’m still just as obsessed with them all as I was the very first day you showed them to me so thank you for creating those for me to use.

To Avery (AveryxDesigns) for not only helping me create graphics, but for also helping me format the ebook & paperback too! Thank you for being so responsive to all of my emails and answering my every question.

To Sweata (plotandpetalsauthorservices) who has been a massive help in helping me organise this story! I always go back to the doc to find exactly what I need so thank you for all of your help.

To every single person who shared news about Taken: thank you for spreading the word about this release & for being so supportive too!

And to all of my readers who have read this far. Neither Taken nor Nova Hale would have existed if it wasn’t for your constant support so again, thank you.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. <3

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