Page 69 of Isle of Pain

No matter what I do, the people I love most will always end up suffering at my hands.

38

JULIAN

“THIS FAMILY MAKES ME WANT TO MURDER PEOPLE”

My skin buzzes with an excitement I haven’t felt for… fuck—a long time. It was late last night when Andrea Capaldi rang Lana’s phone to tell her Barychev died, Misha Petrov’s location as his last words.

Daydreams of blood, retribution and violence flash through my open eyes as Lana, my brother Lisandru, and I fly over the Channel. We’re set to land in twenty minutes in a private airport North of West Hill, and I’m almost squirming in my seat. Logically, I know there won’t be much for me to do but strategise with everyone when we arrive, but hopefully, I can go on a hunt with Nico and drain my dark energy before the main event happens. I’ve never seen him at work but his reputation as the literal angel of Death in the UK precedes him, and I need the outlet.

I ignore my brother and my best friend, whispering sweet nothings to each other in their seats in front of me. In the past fifteen months since my husband was taken from me, I’ve had a lot of practice. Because these two assholes always have their tongues down each other’s throat, for fuck’s sake. Not caringthat some of us have blue balls and don’t particularly enjoy their disgusting PDA.

“You two are gross, you know that?” I interject because I can’t help myself.

“Fuck you, Jules, we’re just talking about what’s next,” Lana retorts but the tip of her ears are turning red.Liar. Lisandru’s smirk confirms it, and I roll my eyes.

I’ve always been a bit of a shit-stirrer. It’s more fun to rile people up than to butter them up with what they want to hear. However, since I lost Igor, all my worst habits have become pure vice. The worst part is no one says shit because they pity me. They don’t know what to say to make me feel better.

They can’t, anyway.

Igor, my boyfriend since I turned eighteen, the only man I’ve ever loved, the one I married in secret almost two summers ago—and Lana’s bodyguard—is gone and nothing anyone says can change that. Worse part is, he knows I’m looking for him and is pushing me away, sending us the heads of any informer we send towards where he’s being sighted.

A head in a box. What a cliché. If he thinks that’s gonna deter me. I huff to myself at the thought. I don’t give a fuck how many men I send to their death if it means he’ll come back to me.

The seatbelt sign turns on in the cabin and we all click them in place, the descent making my ears pop. On the tarmac, Andrea and Giulia welcome us, Nico not far behind and looking more grim than he ever did before.

“What happened to you?” I probe with a frown.

“Fuck you,” he answers gruffly before turnings on his heels and disappearing inside his Aston Martin Valhalla.

“I thought you Italians were supposed to be warm and welcoming, Capaldi.”

My joke falls flat and I watch Andrea and Giulia exchange an uneasy look. They seem to be having a silent conversation andthe longing that’s carving my heart out of my chest threatens to send me to my knees.

“Shut up, you little shit.” Giulia hugs me tight, reminding me of a time when Lana, her and I were inseparable, the three musketeers of Kalliste. Concern is etched on her beautiful face, the dark circles under her eyes so unlike her. Giulia’s always well rested and ready to take on the world. I don’t know what’s going on but even as self-centred as I am and focused on my goal, the heaviness surrounding the Capaldis is hard to miss.

“Come on, we have to act quickly,” Andrea says and we enter his sedan, before he drives us through snowy forest and country roads.

I whistleas we cross the threshold to Giulia and Andrea’s house. The rustic exterior is a damn lie because the interior is all warm wood and sharp furnitures, contrasting perfectly to give it a modern cottage atmosphere that perfectly balances luxury and cosiness.

“You didn’t lie when you said his home was made for cottage sluts like you,” I tell Giulia and Andrea growls behind me, not too happy with me calling his wife a slut. Her words, not mine, though. She laughs easily, a hand on her husband’s shoulder and he settles immediately. Canoneinteraction in this godforsaken family not end with the reminder that my husband is missing?

Jesus Christ.

We follow them towards what must be their office, the soft rug and dark wood panels on the wall giving the room an aura of importance. It’s very different from my utilitarian studio inthe city centre of Sant Armellu, where everything is beige. The colourful throw pillows are at odds with the rest of the house but they scream‘Giulia’so much. They’ve made a perfect home. Something I won’t ever have again if we don’t annihilate Misha Petrov and his whole operation.

I clap my hands before rubbing them together. “So. When do we fuck Misha’s brains out?” I grimace. “Wrong choice of words. When do we kill the bastard?”

Andrea starts a lengthy explanation of how Misha’s been cooped up in Moscow, paranoid about an assassination attempt, not only from us but in his own ranks. He’s sent his most trusted advisors all throughout Europe to have the local Bratvas pledge allegiance to him, but it hasn’t been as well received as he thought. The Dobrev-Ventura alliance has helped with getting more support from the Russian-Italians in Italy, the U.K. and Croatia, but we’re still up against the rest of them. And it’s a fuck ton of them.

“Dobrev’s gonna marry the daughter of the French arm of the mafia so we can count them in as well,” Giulia says, and Nico scoffs to himself like he knows something we don’t. I ignore the grumpy asshole who looks like he could kill with only one look and address my best friend. Lana has always been my rock. I should say “our” rock because she holds the weight of our entire Empire on her shoulders and carries it with grace, too.

“Now is the time when you lay out your plan, sis’.” She hates it when I call her that and immediately clicks her tongue, which makes me grin even wider. We’re practically brother and sister with how close we grew up. We might not share blood, but we share everything else. Including custody of her idiot husband, who happens to be my half-brother.

Right now, he sits next to her, a silent vigilante ready to guard her. I know he still beats himself up for her ordeal lastyear. No one blames him but he’s been even more protective with Lana ever since.

“When are Dobrev and Ventura gonna be here?” Lana ignores me and asks Andrea.

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