The Devil's Doorstep

ISABELLA

The drive to the coastal hill is incredibly treacherous. The winding roads are slick with freezing rain. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turns completely white.

I finally reach the massive iron gates of the Romanov estate. The towering stone manor looms menacingly in the darkness. It’s sat entirely abandoned for five long years.

Weeds choke the grand circular driveway and Ivy crawls aggressively up the imposing stone walls. I park near the crumbling front steps.

I unlock the heavy oak doors with my violently trembling hands. I step into the freezing, dust-covered foyer. The air smells of stagnant time and decaying wood.

Massive white sheets shrouds the antique furniture. They look exactly like silent ghosts guarding a forgotten graveyard. Locked doors lines the long hallway endlessly.

They hold suffocating memories I’d buried the day I married Marcus. I ignore the crushing weight of my past and head straight for the opulent master bathroom.

I rip off my soaked clothes in a frantic rush and step under the massive brass showerhead. I turn the water to scalding hot. The intense heat absolutely agonizing against my freezing skin.

I welcome the sharp, biting pain as I grab a coarse bristle brush from the marble counter and scrub my flesh raw. I desperately need to remove the phantom sensation of Marcus's vile hands.

I rub viciously until my skin turns into a mottled red. Tiny beads of blood finally well on the damaged surface.

I turn off the hissing water and wrap a thick towel around my violently shivering body. I wipe the heavy steam from the glass mirror and stare at my horrific reflection.

My hollow, dead eyes stare right back at me.

My skin looks sickeningly translucent under the harsh lights. I was the body of a ghost haunting a living shell.

A dark and feral shifts suddenly happens inside my chest. The weeping victim has died right there on the cold marble tiles.

I walk purposefully into the cavernous master closet. I find my old cedar trunk hidden in the darkest corner. I pop the heavy brass latches and pull out the dangerous life I’d tried so desperately to forget.

I slip into a clinging black silk dress and step into towering, dangerous stiletto heels, then I reach for the small velvet box resting at the very bottom of the trunk.

I open it slowly to reveal my father's heavy gold signet ring and I slide the cold metal onto my index finger. The immense weight feels exactly like a royal crown.

It also feels like a heavy iron shackle tying me to a violent world. I step back to the vanity mirror and applied deep red lipstick like thick war paint.

The weak suburban housewife is officially dead. The Romanov heir has finally returned to claim her throne.

***

The following evening find me standing outside The Inferno.

The pulsating bass from the exclusive nightclub rattles my teeth in my skull and blinding neon lights slice viciously through the dense city fog.

A long line of desperate people wrap entirely around the block, begging the security guards for entry.

I bypass the shivering crowd completely, walking straight up to the massive bouncers guarding the crimson velvet rope.

The largest guard steps forward immediately to block my path. He glares down at me with absolute contempt, but I don’t utter a single word. I simply raise my right hand into the air.

The flashing neon lights catch the heavy gold crest of my father's signet ring. The bouncer's eyes widen in sudden, terrified recognition.

Viktor has clearly done his preparatory work behind the scenes. The massive guard steps aside instantly.

He unhooks the velvet rope without uttering a single word of protest and I move effortlessly through the throngs of sweaty, dancing bodies.

The club air smells strongly of expensive perfume and spilled liquor. I locate the highly restricted VIP section on the elevated mezzanine.

I walk purposefully past the secondary security detail and enter the private area without an invitation. I spot Luca Moretti sitting alone in a crescent-shaped leather booth.

He is much younger than I expected from Viktor's terrifying stories. His eyes hold an ancient, terrifying coldness.

They are icy blue with striking gold flecks. A dark thorned vine tattoo crawl aggressively up the side of his throat and he wears a perfectly tailored charcoal suit.

The collar of his expensive dress shirt is casually unbuttoned. He didn’t bother to stand when I approach his private table. Why would he?

He simply watches my approach with the terrifying patience of an apex predator. His calculating gaze drops to the angry red scrub marks still visible on my neck.

He clearly sees the severe damage Marcus has inflicted but he doesn’t offer any pity or soft words.

"You’re a very long way from the quiet suburbs," Luca drawls. His voice is incredibly smooth and deadly. "I don’t do business with desperate, runaway housewives."

I meet his freezing stare head-on. I refuse to let him intimidate me. "The housewife is completely dead. She’s gone. You’re speaking to a Romanov."

Luca leans back against the plush leather cushions and he steeples his long fingers together in quiet contemplation. "Speak your piece."

"I have all of Marcus's private offshore accounts," I state clearly. "I also possess a comprehensive list of his bribed political contacts along with inside knowledge of his weapons network.

I can hand you his criminal empire on a silver platter."

Luca remains completely still. He doesn’t blink. "Oh Issa, I don’t want a temporary alliance with your family name."

My brow furrows in deep, genuine confusion. "Okay, then what do you want from me?"

"I want a wife," Luca replies smoothly.

The sheer audacity of his words completely steals the breath from my lungs. I stare at him in absolute shock.

"A Moretti-Romanov marriage would end the city's territorial disputes permanently," Luca explains calmly. He reaches slowly into his suit pocket and produces a brilliant, massive sapphire ring.

He sets it gently on the dark glass table between us and it glints under the club's flashing lights. "It’s a highly beneficial business transaction. Nothing more."

I look down at the glittering jewel and It’s just a different kind of terrible cage. This prison is simply jeweled instead of securely suburban.

"You have exactly twenty-four hours to decide your fate," Luca commands coldly. He stands up smoothly from the leather booth and he walks away into the dark club before I can utter a single word of protest.

I stand entirely alone in the pulsating VIP section. My phone buzzes violently inside my silk purse. I pull the device out to read the glowing notification.

It’s a terrifying photograph sent directly from an unknown, blocked number. The sinister image shows the front door of my father's coastal estate.

A glowing red laser dot is centered perfectly on the heavy oak wood. It marks the exact spot where I had stood just yesterday.

A chilling text message appears beneath the horrifying image.

"Don't keep the Boss waiting, little bird. The hunters are already waiting in the trees."

The absolute panic hits me like a physical blow. Marcus is moving incredibly fast and he has already found my hidden sanctuary.