Blood Is Thicker Than Water

ISABELLA

Rain hammers aggressively against the windshield of my car. The rhythmic slapping of the wipers does absolutely nothing to wash away the crushing weight in my chest.

I drive blindly through the decaying industrial district, and every passing shadow seems to mock my shattered life. My husband is a monster and my best friend is a traitor.

The betrayal tastes like bitter ash in my mouth. I spent years believing my body was failing me, I mourned empty nurseries while crying until my voice gave out.

All the while, Marcus had been feeding me substituted pills to ensure I never carry our child to term. Sarah had known everything from the very beginning.

And she smiled in my face while secretly stabbing me in the back.

I navigate the treacherous, flooded roads until Viktor's compound finally appears in the gloom. It’s like a sprawling graveyard of forgotten machines.

Mountains of crushed cars rusts away under the stormy sky and coils of razor wire gleams maliciously in the faint streetlights.

The smell of wet iron hangs heavy in the damp air. This place is a monument to broken things. It almost feels like a fitting destination for my current state of mind.

A hulking guard steps directly into the glare of my headlights. He carries a heavy shotgun resting casually against his shoulder.

He blocks the heavy iron gate completely, and water pours off his dark slicker in massive sheets. I roll down my window.

The freezing storm instantly soaks the side of my face. I ignore the bitter cold biting into my skin.

"Tell Viktor the little bird is here," I yell over the roaring wind.

The guard stares at me with dead, unblinking eyes. He slowly raises a hand to the microphone clipped to his heavy jacket.

He mutters something I couldn’t hear and an agonizingly long minute pass in absolute silence. My heart pounds against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Finally, the massive metal gates ground open with a metallic shriek.

I park my sedan haphazardly near the main building and I run through the torrential downpour toward the heavy steel door. I pull it open and step inside.

The atmosphere of Viktor's headquarters offers a jarring contrast to the ruin outside.

The air inside was incredibly warm, It smells sharply of aged leather and potent gun oil. The smooth, polished concrete floors reflects the harsh fluorescent lights overhead.

There’s an eerie stillness here. It’s like a sanctuary built on extreme violence.

Viktor sits behind a massive oak desk at the far end of the room. He’s meticulously stripping a black pistol. His thick fingers move with terrifying, practiced precision.

He doesn’t look up when I enter. He offers no warm greeting for the niece who just had her entire world incinerated.

He simply set a heavy crystal glass on the polished wood and he pushes it slowly across the desk toward me. It’s filled with amber bourbon.

"You married a snake," Viktor rumble. His voice sounding like gravel grinding together. "You did it because you wanted to play house in the sunshine."

I walk towards the desk on shaking legs. I pick up the heavy crystal glass.

I tip it back and swallow the burning alcohol in one desperate gulp. The fire in my throat matches the rage building in my veins. I slam the glass back onto the wood.

Then, I lay my completely shattered soul bare. I tell him everything. I recount the agonizing months of discovering the substituted pills.

I explain Marcus's horrifying, calculated betrayal, and detail Sarah's sickening involvement in my repeated tragedies.

I speak of the profound grief that had nearly destroyed me completely. I want Viktor to understand the absolute depths of my humiliation. He’s family after all.

I expect Viktor to show deep sympathy. I desperately want him to rage on my behalf. Instead, his jaw simply tightens into a rigid line.

He didn’t soften his severe gaze just picks up a metallic component of his weapon and then snaps it into place with a resounding click.

His comfort has always been spoken in the brutal language of weapons.

"Marcus is getting sloppy," Viktor states coldly. "He has been moving his operations into Moretti territory. He did this without asking permission because he’s built an illusion that he’s invincible."

My stomach drops at the infamous name. "The Morettis?"

Everyone in our dark underworld knows that name. They are ruthless and are utterly untouchable.

"Yes," Viktor confirms. "The man who holds the power to utterly crush your husband is Luca Moretti. The underworld calls him the Ghost of the East Coast."

Viktor opens the bottom drawer of his heavy desk and pulls out a thick leather folder. The ornate Moretti family crest is embossed heavily on the dark cover.

He tosses the file onto the space between us and It lands with a heavy thud.

"Luca wants to dismantle Marcus's entire operation from the inside out but he needs to do it without starting a highly public gang war. You are the perfect key to that plan."

I stare at the leather folder in absolute disbelief. "Me? I’m just a betrayed wife. I have no real power."

"You are a Romanov," Viktor corrects sharply. "You forgot who you are. Head to the family estate, wash the coward off your skin and come back to us as a queen. Don’t return as a broken doll."

I nod slowly as the weight of his words settle over me. The victim I was yesterday has to die. The woman I need to become is entirely unknown to me. I stand to leave his office.

"Isabella," Viktor calls out.

His tone shifts entirely, sounding strangely casual. It feels highly unnatural for him to sound so relaxed.

"You still have your father's ring, yes? You have not let Marcus pawn it?"

I pause, my hand steady on the cold doorknob. The question feels incredibly pointed. It’s far too specific for a simple inquiry about jewelry.

I look back at him and his eyes are locked on my face with intense scrutiny. He’s searching for a very specific answer.

I reach instinctively for my right hand. My thumb brushes the heavy gold band sitting on my index finger.

The cool metal grounds me. I’d hidden it from Marcus for years. He always wants to appraise it and I refuse every single time.

"I still have it," I confirm.

Viktor exhales a heavy, ragged breath. He looks visibly relieved by my statement.

"Good. The Romanov crest should only leave your hand when they pry it off your corpse."

“If.” I correct sharply,

“Now that’s the spirit,” he grumbles, dismissing me with a curt nod. I walk back out into the freezing storm and climb into the driver's seat of my car.

My hands are shaking violently as I start the engine. I navigate back through the maze of rusted metal, the heavy gates closing behind me with a sickening thud.

As I pull away from the scrapyard, I notice a shift in the darkness behind me. Bright headlights flare in my rearview mirror.

An unfamiliar black SUV pulls out from a hidden alleyway and begins tailing me down the desolate road. It stays exactly two car lengths behind my bumper.

I speed up and It mirrors my exact speed. I take a sharp left turn and the heavy vehicle follows seamlessly. I know I’m being hunted.

Panic spikes in my chest as my phone pings loudly from the passenger seat. The sudden noise makes me jump in absolute terror. The screen illuminates the dark cabin of my car. It’s a text message from a blocked number.

"Don't run, Isabella. We are just making sure the prize gets home in one piece."

I stare at the glowing words while my heart hammers against my ribs. I realize with chilling clarity that the real game has already started and I don’t even know the rules yet. Marcus isn’t the only predator circling in the dark.