15. ANDREY

Chapter 15

ANDREY

I wake up feeling sluggish and heavy. My brain is wrapped in thick fog. My mouth tastes bitter, and my head pounds with each beat of my heart. I try to remember what happened, but my thoughts are scattered, fleeting images flashing through my mind like a broken reel of film.

Slowly, I push myself up from the chair. The room spins, and I have to steady myself against the desk. I take a deep breath and look around the room. The familiar walls of Marco Moretti's office surround me, but something feels off.

I hear footsteps and tense but it's only James. He's carrying a large pitcher of orange juice and a bottle of aspirin. He looks at me, concern etched on his face.

"Andrey, you okay?" he asks, his voice sounding distant as if I were hearing it through water.

"Yeah," I mutter, though I'm far from it, feeling like I've been anesthetized.

My mind is starting to clear, and fragments of the last few hours are coming back to me. I remember the vodka and its taste on my tongue. We were toasting. Isabella asked me to pour another round of shots, her eyes wide with something I couldn't place at the time. And then I remember my body feeling like it was turning to jelly from the inside out.

A memory pierces through the haze. The green-eyed giant. A flash of steel. My father. I push off the desk, swaying slightly, and stumble toward his prone form. My father's slumped back in a chair, his arm stretched out. Blood stains his sleeve.

Fuck I need to get something to clean it with. What did that motherfucker do to him? The world tilts and sways when I move, but standing still and breathing through the dizziness helps.

"Is there something to clean my father's arm with?"

James nods, pulling a first aid kit from the tray with the juice and throwing it to me. "There you go. There should be disinfectant in there."

Nodding my thanks, I stagger back to my father and kneel before him, rummaging through the first aid kit. This is going to burn like hell. I pull the disinfectant from the kit, put it on some gauze, and start to clean my father's wound.

"Holy fucking shit!" my father hisses, his eyes flying open. He lifts his head and then shakes it, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How much did we drink?" His head turns. "Marco!" His eyes widen with shock when he sees the man sprawled over his desk. "Is he?"

"No," James says, going to wake Marco. "He's fine." He points to the orange juice. "You should drink some juice. It will help."

"Keep still, Father."

"What the hell are you doing to my arm?" My father glares at me and then gapes at his bleeding flesh. "Who the fuck did this to me?" His eyes narrow.

"What happened?" Marco slowly comes around, pulling away from James who has just shaken him awake and handed him a glass of orange.

"You need to drink this and take a few aspirin," James instructs. "Or you're going to have one hell of a headache in a few minutes."

"Did we drink that much?" Marco's brows furrow, and he winces, rubbing his temple. Taking the aspirin and juice, he glances at where I've just finished cleaning my father's arm. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"That man who took Isabella carved up his arm." I look over to Marco with narrowed eyes.

"Someone took Isabella?" Marco bellows. "How?" His eyes narrow.

"I'm not sure," James tells us. "I went to find out if the guests were okay, but they were gone. Like the party, there was no sign anyone was here at all today. For a while, I wondered if I'd dreamed the whole thing." He frowns. "I called a few of them and they told me that they were told the party was over as Isabella was ill by two of your new men, Uncle Marco."

"I don't have new men!" Marco says before his eyes widen. "The men!"

"They're all fine. Not one casualty," James tells us. "I was the first to rise, and walking through the house and grounds, it was like being in a fucking Sleeping Beauty pantomime."

"How the hell?" Marco breathes confusedly, running a hand through his hair and downing another glass of orange juice. "Fuck, I feel like I ate sand. I'm so thirsty."

"That's why I brought a lot of juice," James tells him, drinking a glass. "Shit, now I've got to piss." He puts the orange juice down and rushes from the room.

"I have to go too," Marco grumbles, staggering from his chair. He's about to go to the bathroom in this office when he stops and sucks in his breath. "What the fuck!"

I look up from tending to my father's wound to see Marco staring at a silver dagger, pinning a note to the cabinet behind Marco. Before I can see what has Marco frozen to the spot like Medusa had turned him to stone, the congealed blood has cleared from my father's arm.

"Jesus!" My breath catches in my throat, seeing the two Russian words carved into my father's flesh.

Я живу

"Fuck!" My father is out of the chair so fast he nearly bowls me over. "I've been marked!"

I walk over to Marco's desk, standing beside my father.

"We both have." Marco's words are low as he pulls the dagger and note from the wall, dropping it on his desk. He looks at me. "Did you see who did this?"

"Yes." Nodding, I glance from Marco to my father. "The man who took Isabella."

Marco's jaw clenches, and my father sucks in a breath. "What did he look like?"

"A giant with dark hair and green eyes."

I see Macro's eyes widen in surprise before he sways and steadies himself, leaning on his desk. "Fuck, I have to piss." He turns and staggers into his bathroom leading off from his office.

James walks back into the room. "Christ, I pissed like a horse." His eyes fall to my father's arm, and he frowns, translating the words carved into his flesh. "I live!" His eyes move to the desk where Marco threw the dagger and message. His face pales. "Jesus." He picks up the message, reading. "I'm back for what was stolen!"

"He's back!" my father mutters, paling a little more. "And if it is him then why aren't we all dead?" My father looks at Marco as he walks back into the office.

"Because this wasn't an assassination," Marco tells us. "He wanted to show us that we're at his mercy." He flops into his office chair. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I have to go to the bathroom." My father goes to Marco's bathroom.

The air in the office is heavy with silence for a few minutes until my father comes back from the bathroom and takes a few aspirin, sitting back in his chair. "And to leave us a message. That's why none of our men were killed." He adds to Marco's statement from before he left the room.

"What message?" Now I'm getting pissed off with these two men speaking in riddles.

"The he can get to us any time he fucking pleases!" My father's eyes meet mine.

"And he now has Isabella!" Marco closes his eyes and his jaw clenches.

"Is that why he took Isabella? Is she a hostage, or did he take her for another reason?" My stomach knots. I'll fucking rip his head off if he lays a hand on her.

"Have you checked the security feeds?" Marco ignores my questions and turns to James.

I'm about to lay into him when James nods, picks up the remote, and clicks on the security monitors lining the wall in front of Marco's desk. He goes back three hours, but nothing shows on it, as the feed just stays the same. There's not even any sign there was a party at the house.

"Fuck, they looped the feed," James hisses, further forwarding. "It's like an average day, and there's not even any trace of the party." He fast-forwards the feed.

"Stop!" Moving toward the monitor, I turn to James. "Click on Marco's office and run to two hours ago."

The surveillance starts when Isabella enters Marco's office. My heart and cock jolt when I see her. Jesus, the woman has me possessed. Just seeing her on a monitor sets me off. I force myself to concentrate on what's happening around us.

I watch as one of Marco's staff members walks into the office. He hands Isabella a juice and… "Stop!" I walk closer to the screen, turning to James "Do you have any other angle. One that shows this guy's face and Isabella's?"

"Why?" Marco asks, moving closer to me and trying to see what I do.

James switches the feed to a different angle and rewinds it.

"There!" My jaw clenches. Son of a bitch. "The look he gives Isabella. He gives a slight nod before she takes the drink." Another image of earlier. The same guy gave Isabella a glass of champagne. "Fuck!" I spit and run a hand through my hair, then turn to James. "Who is he?"

"Davey Conti. He's Genevra's adopted son." James frowns. "Why?"

"I think we've been drinking whatever the shit Isabella gave us the whole day." They look at me with disbelief as I tell them of my suspicions. "I remember Davey giving Isabella her drinks. I don't think I actually saw her take one from anyone else."

"No way," Marco refuses to believe it. "Isabella wouldn't." He frowns at the monitor. "Although Davey and Isabella have always been good friends." He shakes his. "No they wouldn't."

"Really?" Turning to James, I indicate that he should continue showing the security feed. "Right before Isabella asked me to pour more of the vodka she gave you, I saw something in her eyes." My head pushes slightly forward, watching. "There."

James freezes it at the perfect moment. "Oh shit. She looks almost…"

"Gleeful?" I turn to James.

"Bitch!" My father snarls.

"That's my wife you're speaking about," I remind my father warningly.

"I don't care," he retorts. "Isabella stood there watching us drink the drugged vodka with a look of glee in her traitorous eyes."

"A silent declaration of how she outsmarted us, and we never saw it coming." James breathes out and gives a soft laugh with a glint of pride that disappears as fast as it appears.

I make a mental note to keep an eye on James. Something's off with him. He wasn't as affected as we were by the drug. Before I can think more about it, Marco's voice grabs my attention.

"I see satisfaction, vindication, and defiance," Marco says. "Shit! And I never saw it coming."

"She learned from the best," James says, and I swear I see him hide a grin as he turns away.

There's definitely something there. I must ask Urie to keep an eye on James. He might just know where that green-eyed fuckhead took Isabella or even lead us to him. There must've been someone on Marco's payroll who helped these bastards get into his fortress.

The surveillance feed catches my attention once again. We watch the whole scene unfold. My jaw clenches when I see Isabella grab the bottle of vodka, wave, and declare our divorce. She admits to disabling the surveillance, alarm, and our men. Isabella's about to leave when she runs into two large men dressed like a SWAT team, all in black.

I suck in my breath when I see the green-eyed giant who makes sure he stays in focus of the cameras at all times, showing he knows precisely where they are.

"Fuck!" My father hisses, and Marco draws in a breath.

Their faces have gone ashen, and their eyes flash with fear. My fists clench at my side when the green-eyed giant tells the man with him to hold Isabella. He finishes carving a message into my father's arm and pinning one to Marco's wall.

Right before he leaves, the green-eyed giant collects all the shot glasses we were drinking from. He takes the vodka bottle from Isabella and walks to the camera near the door. He holds the bottle up,

"Never drink or eat anything delivered to you from a pissed-off woman. Isn't that what you once taught me, old man?" He laughs, and that's when I notice it. The tattoo of the dagger on his wrist.

"James, can you run it back and freeze it when that fuckhead's talking." Walking to Marco's desk I pick up the dagger.

The dagger has a dragon intricately carved into the silver handle with back-to-back K's and the number 1 below it as an emblem in the middle of the creature's chest. My blood runs cold, seeing the deadly blade stained with my father's blood.

Leaning closer a memory flashes through my mind—I've seen it before. Seeing the tattoo, I'm now sure it's the same one that had killed my older brother. The memory isn't too sharp as it sears through the fog of that night one year ago. Someone had sprayed me with something as my brother and I walked out of Belov Towers.

My body had felt much the same as it had after drinking whatever shit we were drugged with earlier today. I dropped like a rock when my legs gave in, and I lost control of my limbs before the world faded into a blur and I passed out.

I was sure the man spoke Russian. My memory of what he said was fuzzy. My brow creases, taking a closer look at the symbol on the dragon's chest—Ж. It's not back-to-back K's. It's a Russian character.

"That fucking bastard," I mutter under my breath. "It was him. The green-eyed giant killed my brother. This is the dagger I saw in his hand that day. I remember the dragon with the Russian character on the top. I also remember his dagger tattoo on his wrist." My throat is once again dry. "Now he has Isabella."

A thought strikes. I turn back to the video feed. My eyes take in the man that I'm going to enjoy killing when I find him. What draws my attention is the red symbol on both men's flat jackets. It's the same symbol that is on the dagger, Ж. The green-eyed giant has the number 1 next to the symbol on his flat jacket, and the man with him has the number 2.

Well, that explains the man's arrogant confidence the first night I met him at the Velvet Lounge three nights ago. My eyes widened as two or three thoughts hit me. "Fuckkkk!" I hiss through my gritted teeth. "He was at the club the night I met Isabella. He wasn't scouting out my club. He was after Isabella."

No one answers me. They're all standing, staring at the monitor. "This wasn't just a warning or to torment you or my father." I look accusingly at Marco. "This was an extraction. He was only here for Isabella and to make sure you knew it was him."

Marco's eyes are blank as he looks at me and nods. "Yes."

"And I've just realized where I've seen this symbol before." My fingers trace the dragon. "Ж—Zhe." My father and Marco turn toward me. Now I know why they're not just afraid but terrified, and so they should be. "What the fuck did you two do to piss off the Zhukov Special forces?" I hold up the dagger. "And by this symbol, I'm pretty sure it's not just anyone you pissed off, but the head of the operation."

"His name is Konstantin Zhukov," Marco tells me. His eyes move back to the screen, and behind the fear, there is remorse in his eyes.

"What?" Anger burns through me. "He's Roman Zhukov's son?" My eyes widen, and ice seeps through my veins. "Please tell me Isabella isn't what was stolen from him." My voice is low and warning. "Because Isabella is likely carrying my child, and I'm sure that won't sit well with the Prince of one of the oldest and most feared Bratva in Europe and possibly the world."

"What?" Marco snaps out of his weird fear, remorse filled daze. "No, Konstantin would never harm Isabella, and the reason he extracted her is not the one you're implying."

Before I can advance on him and demand answers, I have the most intense need to take a piss. "I'll be back."

I rush out of the office and into the guest bathroom around the corner from Marco's home office, making it to the toilet just in time, where I piss like I haven't been able to in days. When I'm done washing my hands, I frown, remembering that the last time I was sprayed in the face with something similar, I had the same sensation.

Walking toward Marco's office, I hear them talking. Stopping near the door and cocking my head to listen.

"Christ, all we needed were a few more months," Marco says. "Then we could've fixed this once and for all."

"We should've known he'd strike," my father replies. "It's a good thing that Isabella ran into Andrey when she did."

"I have to agree with you," Marco tells my father. "If she is pregnant, we may still be able to salvage the plan, especially if we can find the fucking missing documents."

"We need to find her, or we'll never get the other information," my father says. "Is there still no luck finding out who the attorney or this messenger is?"

"No." Marco blows out a breath. "We've been looking for fucking eighteen years. Let's hope whoever it is, they're not dead."

"That would be a big problem for us!" my father warns. "Now that they have Isabella we don't really have leverage."

"They still need us for something or we'd be dead," Marco points out.

"You okay?" James sneaks up on me.

Fuck, the man moves like a goddamn cat. "What are they talking about?"

"What did they say?"

I tell James, and he shakes his head. "What a fucker," he spits. "It's no wonder my cousin was so desperate to get away from this." He looks at me. "You know that Isabella doesn't know that Marco is the head of the Boston Mafia family."

"I realized that." Inclining my head, I ask again, "What missing documents are they talking about?"

"Marco and Ivan have been keeping me, Hannah, and even Sergei out of the loop more and more lately," James confesses. "They locked us out of some of the business systems over the past seven weeks."

"Jesus!" My eyes turn toward the office and ask for the third time. "What are they talking about, missing documents?"

A noise inside the office gets our attention and I glance at James. "We'll talk later."

James walks into the office, and I follow. What the fuck is going on here? Whatever it is, my father and Marco are worried shitless. What was it that my father always said? The only thing that scares a monster is a bigger, worse one. Well, Zhukov is definitely that. Fuck!

Anger seethes within me. We're not prepared for a war with Zhukov especially with all the shit that's going with these fucking painted ladies. My gaze shifts to James—maybe together with the Moretti mob we'd be able to taken on the Zhukov.

The problem is that now Marco Moretti and Ivan Belov have been marked, and because of them, both the Belov Bratva and Moretti Mafia are vulnerable—unless...

Time to bring about a change of management! While it might bring about a bit of uncertainty with the men, they will feel a lot more secure without marked leaders. My focus is on Marco as I take a seat in front of his desk between my father and James.

"Why did Konstantin come for Isabella?" My eyes move from Marco to my father. "And how can you be so certain he wouldn't hurt her? What does Roman Zhukov's son want with my wife?"

"He's not Roman's son," my father answers. "Roman never married."

Marco and Ivan exchange a glance, making me raise an eyebrow.

"What is he to Roman or you?" I look at both men.

"I know that Konstantin won't hurt Isabella because he made her a promise when she was three that he'd be back for her and save her before he and his mother were about to leave for Russia," Marco tells me.

"Save her from what?"

"You!" My father tells me. "Konstantin didn't agree with Marco about betrothing Isabella to you when he overheard us talking about it."

"What the fuck business was it of his?" I snarl. "Is that why he stole my wife because of a childhood crush on her on a fucking three year old? Fuck he must've been what… nine or eleven at the time. That's kind of sick!"

" Don't speak about Konstantin like that!" Marco's eyes blaze, and his voice booms. "He may hate me and probably thinks he has good reason to." His eyes narrow and a smug smile lifts his mouth. "And don't sit there on your high horse. If I were you, I'd be praying my daughter doesn't hate you as much as she obviously hates me and Ivan."

Okay, that's interesting. Marco defended the man that had marked him and was going to kill him. "I'm not afraid of him. But I am afraid for Isabella, especially if he finds out she's pregnant with my child. I have a feeling he doesn't want another Belov in the world, especially not a Belov-Moretti child."

"I think you'll find that's just the child we all need," my father said under his breath.

Before I can comment on that, Marco quickly moves the subject back to Konstantin.

"I can assure you without a shadow of a doubt that Konstantin will not hurt Isabella," Marco tells me again.

"So you said." I sit back and watch the two men closely. "But I am curious to know why you're so confident about that and why you have such a love-hate relationship with him." My eyes narrow dangerously. "I'm not going to ask you again. What is Konstantin to you both?"

"He's my godson," my father surprises me by saying.

"You could've led with that!"

"Or told you who Konstantin really is," James adds and looks at Marco. "Tell him or I will."

"Konstantin would never hurt Isabella." Marco blows out a breath. "Because his real name is Konstantin Moretti. He's my son. Isabella's older brother. He's here to take Isabella to her uncle so she'll fall under his protection."

Now it's my turn to gasp, but it comes out as a choke. Marco's fucking son killed my brother, marked my father, and stole my wife—this just gets more and more messed up because Isabella is going to hate me even more when I kill her brother!