Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Isabella

The door slams shut, and my scream echoes through the dark, damp basement, still tainted with the lingering scent of sweat and iron. My wrists ache from the cold metal of the restraints, but the discomfort fuels my resolve. I refuse to be broken, not by Lev or anyone else.

Minutes pass. Hours. I wait for him and allow myself to imagine what he's doing. Eating a steak? Watching a football game?

Jerking off to the image of my naked body suspended from his ceiling and the taste of my arousal still on his tongue?

Asshole.

My mouth feels as dry as a desert. I have to pee. He left me throbbing for release and nearly begging. I'm cold, my ass is killing me, and I'm so hungry, I'd eat damn near anything he'd give me, even those gross kholodets they like to eat, some jelly-like, gelatinous delicacy served in Russia.

Okay, maybe I wouldn't eat that, but I'd stoop damn low right about now.

Ha, who am I kidding? I've already stooped lower than I ever thought possible. Chained up in the basement of my enemy, fighting against the man who holds my fate in his hands.

Even if he were to be smacked by some fairy godmother's stick and he decided to grant me freedom… what he doesn't know is they wouldn't take me back. I'm damaged goods now, and my brother's probably already dancing with glee at his good fortune.Imagine his luck, no need to split our inheritance.

I cannot allow the Romanovs to think they've bested me.

This must be on my terms.

I draw in a deep, calming breath. Blink.

Focus.

Hell, I've been in worse situations than this. My late father once tried to marry me to a Colombian crime lord. I was fifteen years old, planning my quincea?era , one of the most pivotal events in a young girl's life as it marks the transition from childhood to adulthood.

Apparently, my father thought that meant it was time to sell and breed me. He and my mother fought. She threw the vase her mother had given her across the room. It shattered into pieces. In response, my father shattered her.

After she was discharged from the hospital, she left. I don't know how she managed it. I don't blame her for leaving, not really. I blame her for leaving me behind.

I blink my eyes and focus again. It isn't going to help me to think about that now. I've risen above that. I'm better than the past I left behind. I will leave a legacy behind me, and it won't be a woman who ever cowed to a man.

I take a deep breath and come up with a plan. So, I'm chained. He'll be back eventually, either to torture me again or let me go and try something else. It was kind of cute how he called me a little liar. Of course I'm lying. I could tell him so much information it would fill reams of notebooks and systematically decimate everything my brother has built and hopes to build yet.

I can't do that, though, and it has nothing to do with any half-assed loyalty to my family. I'm the one who will take over that cartel after I do away with my brother. I won't give away the keys of the kingdom for all the money in the world, much less a threat of pain.

Ha. It amuses me he even entertained the thought of intimidating me into giving up anything. I live for pain. It turns me on.

I calm myself and focus on my breathing. Of course, I know exactly how I'm going to get out of here, but he might have a camera on me, so I must play it safe.

I look around the room, searching for a source of video feed. It takes me a minute. It's hard to focus when I'm so starving. My vision keeps blurring in front of me. And the thirst. My God, I can hardly swallow.

Lev Romanov underestimated me. He thought he could chain me up and leave me here, and I don't see any evidence of recording going on. I suppose he was pretty confident in these chains he has.

But he has no fucking idea who he's dealing with. They call me La Sombra back at home—the shadow. I can be elusive and silent, capable of escaping anything.

And even naked, I'm prepared. With deft, quiet fingers, I maneuver the pin in my hair. It will take a little time, but I can undo this lock.

As I work, my fingers moving with muscle memory, his parting words echo in my mind.

This isn't over. I will find out everything you know.

Not everything, mi querido jefe.

He thinks he can break me? I trained my entire life for situations exactly like this—to resist and to survive.

I grit my teeth and concentrate. I stifle a chuckle when I feel the lock give way under my fingers.

Yeah, baby, I'm that good.

Click.

The barely audible sound is the sweetest music to my ears.

I slide the chains off quietly. Now that I'm free, I have to move fast, every movement calculated so he doesn't notice. My heart races with a thrill of defiance. I am not some helpless damsel. I am Isabella Morales, and no one will ever keep me in a cage.

I quickly assess my clothes. Wrecked. Shit.

I slide into my shoes. They're clumsy, and I'd give anything for a pair of slim-fitting leggings and a tank top, but it'll do for now.

I silently move toward the door, every sense on high alert. The basement is tricky to navigate, but I've observed enough of the basic layout. I push the door open, a sliver of light guiding my way. I hold my breath as I step into the hallway, turn, and shut and lock the door behind me. That'll slow him down, anyway.

I move through the darkened basement, my feet silent on the cold floor. Every sound seems amplified: the creak of a floorboard, the distant hum of machinery. My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline surging through my veins. I must get out, to find a way to freedom. The adrenaline makes me feel like I could scale a wall if I had to.

I might have to.

He has video surveillance and guards, that much I know, but what I don't know is where he is. That could kill me. Do his guards have patrol routes? Where are the cameras trained?

Freedom is so close I can taste it. My hands tremble as I work another lock, but I force myself to stay calm.

Heavy footsteps approach. I quickly and silently duck into a closet filled with brooms and cleaning supplies. I hold my breath, the familiar lilac scent of Fabuloso overpowering.

The steps pass by me. Is that Lev returning, or someone else? If he finds I'm gone…

When the coast is clear, I exit the closet and head as fast as I can toward another door near the windows, telling me that this one will lead to freedom. I try the lock. My pulse races when the handle turns.

Yessss. I push it open. The cool night air hits my face as I step outside. It's early morning, dawn on the horizon. I'm so tired and so hungry, yet my heart races with exhilaration. I've made it.

I still have to get to the exit and then find my way out of here. I don't even know where he lives.

But as I near the exit, a shadow looms ahead. I freeze. I can't breathe. Is that… one of his guards or…

No.

A grim smile plays on Lev's lips. He stands, his hands anchored on his hips. "Going somewhere, are you?"

His voice is hard and cold, and his features show no sign of surprise.

Dammit.

Panic and frustration surge through me, but I force myself to stand tall. "You can't keep me here."

His eyes narrow. "Can't I?"

Frustration mixed with admiration flicker in his gaze. "You are very resourceful, I'll give you that. I was sloppy with the restraints. But no, Isabella, you're not going anywhere."

I move quickly. When he reaches for my wrists, I deflect, and when surprise registers in his eyes, I take my chance. I shove at his chest, pushing him off kilter, turn, and run.

I'm faster than he is. He curses behind me as he chases me, huffing and puffing, but lock picking isn't the only skill I've learned for a quick escape.

He's gaining on me. I can feel the heat of his breath behind me, and he's at an advantage because he knows something I don't. I have no damn idea where I'm going. And in the end, that's my demise. I nearly run straight into a chain-link fence in front of me. I come to a crashing halt.

Before I can react, he's on me, his grip ironclad around my arm. "Let me go!" I scream, but it's no use. He's too strong, and he's pissed.

"No," he snaps. "You're lucky I've let you live. If you think

for a moment I'm going to let you escape, you're mistaken." He curses in Russian. "If any of my men saw you…." He grits his teeth and whips off his tee.

It hits the top of my thighs. It's warm and it smells like him, but I'm fucking pissed.

I meet his gaze, defiance burning a hole in my stomach. I consider kneeing him between the legs, but he's got such a hold on me I'm afraid he'd easily deflect and then hurt me even more than he's planning to already. I'm in major trouble and I know it.

"You're staying here."

"You can chain me up, but that doesn't make me yours." It feels childish and petty to spar like this, but I can't help myself.

A glimmer of a smile plays at his lips. "You're so full of yourself. You think it's all about you, don't you?"

I don't respond. The rebuke stings.

"What makes you think I can't keep you here?"

I snort. "You plan on keeping me chained up here forever?" I retort, my voice steady despite my shaky nerves. "Even then, I'd find a way. A lock is only a game for me. You'll see."

"I have other methods of keeping you under my thumb."

My God. I want to smack his smug, handsome-as-sin face.

"You don't intimidate me."

He pulls me closer to him, his eyes flashing. "I haven't even tried yet."

I smirk. "Bring it."

He smiles, baring his teeth. "Oh, I intend to. But first, let's get you back where you belong."

Where I… belong?

He leans closer to me, his presence overwhelming. I didn't realize how big he was until now. Compared to his other brothers, he looks a bit smaller, but… compared to me, the idea of using the word "small" to describe him is damn near laughable.

And I'm definitely aware of how strong he is now.

Damn it, focus, Isabella.

I blink, caught off guard by his sudden proximity. Despite everything, I can't ignore how good he smells: warm and spicy and masculine. His face, now inches from mine, highlights his sharp jawline and heavier stubble. His eyes pierce straight through me.

"You're wasting your time. I'm not going to break." It's getting harder to fight him, though. I'm in pain, I'm famished, and I'm so damn tired and thirsty.

His eyes flash with chilling amusement, a challenge dancing in their depths. "We'll see about that," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that makes me shiver. I turn away from him and wobble. I fall to my knees. The air in front of me seems to shimmer. I'm dimly aware of him cursing behind me before he bends to me. I grit my teeth, ready to fight him if he's going to hurt me again, but instead… he doesn't.

He lifts me. The world grows a bit hazy and unfocused. I blink my eyes, half expecting I've fallen into a dream, but it's definitely not that.

Maybe he wants me to get stronger again so he can question me more. Fair enough. If his plan involves food and some water and sleep, this will be perfect.

I didn't get far from the house. I tell myself that if I were well, I could've nailed this. I would've slipped through his fingers like fine sand. I'm compromised. That's the only reason he caught me.

But even as we walk, my mind is churning with possibilities and a glimmer of hope surfaces. This doesn't have to be a simple, predictable game of cat and mouse… does it?

In the dim light of early morning, a light breeze kisses my cheek. I chance a glance at Lev to find his face stoically set, determined. He's a man on a mission, but he doesn't seem angry or resentful as I'd expect him to.

I've done my research with these guys, though. I know what they're like. I know what their strengths are. Their weaknesses. Lev Romanov is a strategist at heart. He's cunning and ruthless, and I can't ever let myself forget that. Lev is like a master chess player… always several moves ahead of his opponent.

I'd do well to remember that.

It smells faintly of burnt wood and damp moss as we make it up to his front porch. This house is stunning, so different from what I've grown up with. At home, I grew up in a large, colonial-style home with stucco walls and terracotta roof tiles, traditional where I'm from. His home, though, is secluded from the city. A large, imposing structure with a fortress-like appearance shows his need for security and control. It's modern and minimalist and somehow seems perfectly fitting for a man like him… at least what I know about him.

His arms are warm around me.

That doesn't matter.

He's so strong, he walks with me in his arms as if I'm a little waif. I'm small, yes, but still, there's something undeniably attractive about being overpowered like this.

When we get to the door, it opens of its own accord. I'm a little confused as I try to see how he did that—before I note a guard at the door. Glaring at me.

I wonder if he's friends with the loser I ratted out. Whatever.

"Look away," Lev snarls, and the guard practically gives himself whiplash when he obeys.

He walks with me toward a room with a wide-open door, then lays me on a large, upholstered couch. Like everything here, like him, the room is minimally furnished and practical, but everywhere I look I see hints at high-end security with a modern flair. The walls are a stark, utilitarian gray, only a shade lighter than the couch and coordinating armchair nearby.

Discreet cameras blink at me from the corners of the ceiling, their lenses following every movement. A reminder there's no privacy here, and he trusts no one. The floors are varnished hardwood, and in the far corner of the room sits a sleek, modern desk made of straight black lines with monitors and computers and all sorts of gadgets. I'll have to look more closely when I'm rested and fed.

He taps a watch on his wrist and barks out orders in Russian. I don't know a lick of Russian, but a moment later when the door opens and the security guy comes in with a bottle of water and a plate of food, I can hazard a guess at what he was ordering.

"Drink," he orders, thrusting bottle of water at me. I take it gratefully and must wince when I hold it without realizing it because he frowns. "What's wrong with your hand?"

I look down at my palm. The splinter from earlier is tightly wedged beneath the flesh, the skin around it raw, red, and swollen.

" Maldita sea ," I curse under my breath. "I got a splinter in the damn loft." I give him a smile. "I was so distracted by your enjoyably effective methods of torture that I forgot all about it."

Frowning, he stands and lifts his phone again, barking out another order.

"Do you always talk to your staff like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like they personally offended you, and if they don't do what you say, you'll kill them?" I smile sweetly and take another gulp of water before eyeing the food on the tray—bread, butter, and a wedge of cheese. Typical prisoner food, but with flair.

"I don't get offended. That's childish and a waste of time. As far as doing what I say, they know better. Now eat." His tone is gruff. "We'll eat a proper breakfast after you rest, but you need to eat something now."

"Fattening me up for the kill?" I ask sweetly before I slather butter on the bread and take a large bite. My mouth waters, and my belly churns. The past month before I came here, I put myself on a strict diet regimen so I could shred. I haven't eaten bread in ages.

His expression remains stern, but there's a hint of something softer in his eyes. "Just eat. You need your strength. We have a long day ahead of us."

The effort of holding my head up is becoming too much, and though I'd never let him know it, even talking is exhausting to me now. I enjoy the simple food, even under his impassive, penetrating gaze.

He doesn't talk or ask questions, and for that, I'm thankful. After I have food and water in my belly, I lie back on the couch. It's warm in here, and I'm so damn tired. My back and ass ache from where he struck me, and this damn splinter?—

"Give me your hand." My eyes fly open. I didn't even realize I'd closed them, and I have no recollection of him retrieving first aid supplies, but here we are.

I let my eyes close again and give him my hand. My eyes are so heavy. Did he drug me? I don't even care at this point. I need rest, and tomorrow, I'll make my next move.

His warm, rough hand holds mine. It hurts like fuck when he opens my palm, so I crack an eye open, but I don't flinch. I'm not afraid of pain or discomfort. I've learned to cope with both. Instead, I eye him curiously as he pokes at my palm with metal tweezers.

The painfully reddened skin screams as he digs in deep, but I don't move. I watch his concerted effort, the way his brows snap together.

"Don't take this as me hitting on you, but you really are the most handsome of all your brothers. Do you know that, or are you one of those guys who has no idea he's gorgeous?"

The Romanov men are delicious specimens of masculine perfection, and their one sister is absolutely stunning. But this guy… there's something about his brooding countenance, the warmth in his eyes, the fullness of his stern mouth and the coiled strength in his muscled body that checks off all my boxes.

I hiss in a breath when he finally grasps the splinter in the tweezers and yanks it out, but a second later, there's almost instant relief. I let out my breath slowly.

"Looks are fleeting," he says with a shrug. "We'll all be worm food one day." He dabs disinfectant on my palm before he slides a bandage on it.

I close my eyes and snicker. "Worm food. I like that." It's like a pragmatic way of living the whole YOLO thing. If you only live once, you might as well make the most of it.

I close my eyes, and my head falls back. I'm so damn tired. I'm just going to rest my eyes for a minute. He's saying something to me, but his voice is distant. It sounds like I'm underwater, and he's talking above me.

Something warm and soft falls over me. My subconscious starts putting pieces and parts together.

The Romanovs. I'm alive. My brother. The cartel. Power.

Visions of weddings and rings and crowns fill my head, and I fall into a deep sleep.