All Chapters of BLOOD, LIES, AND THE ROMANOV HEIR: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

ISABELLACatherine Hale doesn’t walk into a room, she occupies it as a hostile occupying force.Three days before the wedding, Luca's personal attorney arrives at the garment district warehouse. She is a striking woman in her late fifties, with sharp silver hair cut into a severe bob and an impeccably tailored charcoal suit. She’s the kind of lawyer who only smiles when she’s about to completely destroy someone's life on paper.We sit across from each other at the heavy steel table in the surveillance suite. "The marriage serves three immediate and critical purposes, Isabella," Catherine begins, She slides a thick, bound document across the cold metal table. "First, it legally detonates Marcus's theft charges. The moment you sign the marriage certificate, you fall under the protective umbrella of the Moretti corporate entity. The city prosecutor will drop the case rather than face our legal division in a decade-long war.""Second," Catherine continues, tapping a manicured finger aga

ISABELLAAll the guests are gone making the house quiet in the way large buildings get quiet after people leave. I cross to his desk and pour two bourbons from the crystal decanter and hand him one.He takes it and downs it all in one go. Luca leans against the window frame with his tie loosened and collar open, the one detail always undone."The prenup clause," I say. "The embryos. You didn't have to include it."He looks at his glass. "No.""So why did you?""Because they're yours," he says. "No contract should change that."I set my glass down, he watches me and there it is.. the thing I’ve seen in glimpses for weeks, the thing he keeps swallowing back. His jaw tightens and his eyes drop to my mouth and climb back up instantly.I step toward him and he holds himself in place with a visible, almost painful restraint, the stillness of a man at the end of his rope, holding on with both hands.My fingers go to his collar and I begin to unbutton his shirt. His chest expands on an inha

LUCAI’m standing in the shadows of the surveillance suite, my arms crossed over my chest, watching my wife sitting at the center of the conference table. Isabella isn’t the shattered, trembling woman who walked into the VIP section of The Inferno a few weeks ago, wearing a signet ring and a death wish. She’s pulled her dark hair back into a knot, currently dismantling her husband’s media strategy. "The tabloid is a symptom, not the source," Isabella says, her voice slicing cleanly through the hum of the servers. She taps a finger against a corporate flowchart Mara projected onto the screen. "Look at the ownership structure of the publication. They’re a subsidiary of a larger media conglomerate, which shares a parent company with a boutique public relations firm. That PR firm is kept on a permanent retainer by Marcus's legal counsel."Mara’s fingers fly across her keyboard."She's right. The money flows in a direct circle. Marcus is paying his lawyers, who are using their PR arm to

ISABELLAWe don’t kick the doors down this time. This isn’t a raid. It’s a retrieval.As we step inside, the service corridor is empty. I hear frantic, erratic movement coming from the master bedroom.I walk down the hallway and stand in the open doorway of the bedroom.Sarah is frantically shoving clothes into an overnight bag on top of the mattress. She looks exhausted, her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy knot, the dark circles under her eyes stark against her pale skin. Marcus abandoned her here while he played the victim on the news.She turns to grab a stack of silk blouses from the dresser and freezes as she sees me standing in the doorway. I watch her face cycle through three emotions in three seconds.First, absolute shock, then raw terror, her eyes dropping immediately to the holster resting on my hip. And finally, a cornered defiance.She drops the silk blouses onto the floor and bolts for the door.I step squarely into the center of the threshold, completely blocki

ISABELLAThe next morning, I wake up in the master suite for the second time. But this time, the space beside me isn’t empty.I open my eyes, blinking against the morning light and Luca’s already awake. He’s propped up on one elbow, watching me breathe.“Morning Little bird. Did you sleep well,”“I did. I think,” I reply biting the insides of my mouth. I lie still against the dark pillows, the heavy sheets pooled at my waist, and I meet his gaze. His expression is something I can’t fully read. He’s looking at me like I’m an incredibly complex equation that keeps changing its variables every time he gets close to the solution.I don’t not look away, and I don’t pull the sheets up to cover my bare skin. I let him look, and I hold his gaze until the silence in the room becomes a physical weight.“You should probably go shower. Big day ahead,” Luca states, grabbing his shirt and walking towards the door.“Yes. I should.” I head into the shower and allow the water to trickle down my enti