Page 27 of Shackled

“Easy,” Mikhail says. “Think about it. What would we do if Polina sabotaged our efforts?”

“She fucking has,” I say, shaking my head. My sister’s penchant for being compassionate and fair has gotten her in loads of trouble. “You wouldn’t beat her, Mikhail.”

“Of course not,” he says.

“Then what are you saying?” I snap.

Viktor growls, and Aleks’s brows shoot up to his hairline. Mikhail clears his throat. “Watch it, Lev.”

I draw in a breath and let it out slowly.

“What I’m saying is this. You are not going to lose your shit on her brother because of some kind of misplaced chivalry.” He leans forward. “Am I clear?”

I’m shaking with the effort of controlling myself. They don’t know what she’s like. I’ve never seen a woman as tenacious and fucking brilliant as Isabella Morales. If some small-minded, tiny-dick asshole thinks hitting her is the way to get her compliance, I absolutely am fucking going to remember that.

I blow out a breath.

“Lev,” he says warningly. But he can’t intimidate me like he used to. When I was young and wild, before I’d sown my oats and been fully inducted into the Romanov Bratva, my older brothers acted the part of guardians. They kept me in line, made me obey the rules, and taught me discipline and respect, and as an adult, I’m grateful for that.

But sometimes, they don’t remember that I’m not that fucking unruly, unpredictable kid anymore.

Still, Mikhail is my pakhan, and I do owe him my allegiance and respect. I know I do.

I nod. “Yes. I understand. Isabella is a wild card.”

“Exactly,” Aleks says. “Which makes her both dangerous and highly valuable.” He sets the tablet down. “We need to decide how to handle her. If her brother finds out she’s here, things could escalate quickly.”

“It isn’t a matter of if,” Ollie says softly. “But when.” I almost forgot he was there.

I nod. He’s right. I take another sip of espresso, my mind racing. Her fierce resistance, her skills, and now this new intel paints an interesting albeit complex picture. She isn’t just a pawn. My suspicions about her are correct—she has her own agenda.

“I’m gonna watch her closely,” I say, determined. “Make no mistake. If she tries to betray us, she’ll learn what happens when you cross the Bratva.”

Mikhail nods. “Good.”

I won’t let anything jeopardize my family, not even the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

I glance back at the screen where Isabella lies and lift my mug. I blink. Look harder. Shit.

She’s fucking gone.

“Motherfucker,” I mutter. “I’ll be back.” The alarm indicating she’s crossed the edge of my property blares. One of my brothers chuckles, and another one curses in Russian.

I tap the surveillance footage and can see clearly where she’s escaped. She’s a sleek little mouse, easily moving from one place to the next undetected. Christ. How am I going to keep this woman under my thumb?

I force myself to stay calm while I watch the footage to see how she escaped and how I’ll get to her. She moves silently through my house, using her lock-picking skills to bypass several locked doors. Her movements are precise and calculated, and there’s a small smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes that tells me she’s enjoying herself immensely.

Fucking brat. We’ll deal with that later. She’s a few paces from the courtyard with no possible escape. She’ll trigger the security lights and alert the guards.

I’ll have to find another way to keep her shackled.

I take off at a run and reach her just as the blare of a second alarm sounds. She swivels to me, her eyes momentarily widened.

“Jesus,” she mutters.

I walk toward her, my steps deliberate and measured, flanked by my men.

“You have no idea how badly I want to drag you across my lap and whip that ass until you’re screaming for mercy,” I mutter as I reach her. I deftly nab her wrists, secure them to her side, and toss her over my shoulder. “If only you didn’t fucking like it.”

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