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Chapter 1
ISABELLA
The room is silent save for the gentle ticking of the ornate grandfather clock in the corner. I stand before a full-length mirror, my reflection a picture of reluctant elegance. My dress, a masterpiece of ivory silk and lace, clings to my slender frame, the delicate fabric shimmering in the morning light.
The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork, hugs my waist before cascading into a flowing skirt that pools around my feet like liquid moonlight. It is a beautiful dress, but like my life, the dress was not of my choosing and not the dress I’d dreamed of one day getting married in.
My dark hair is swept into a loose chignon, a few rebellious tendrils escaping to frame my heart-shaped face. The dress, the hair, the makeup—it’s all perfect. Yet, the woman in the mirror feels like a stranger—a puppet with invisible strings dancing merrily to my master’s tune with the false hope of freedom on the horizon.
I found out two days ago that, like the horizon, my freedom was but an illusion in the distance—a cruel promise to keep me in line, playing the role of the obedient daughter. There was never any real hope for me to finally escape this gilded cage meticulously designed by my traitorous father.
My father has controlled every aspect of my fucking life: my education, my social circle, and now, my marriage. A marriage that I had no idea had been planned since I was three.
My hazel eyes, usually so full of life, are dull and lifeless, reflecting the bleakness of my situation. The heavy door to the room is closed, and guards are posted outside, ensuring I remain exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I glance towards the double glass doors, teasing me with a framed picture of serene beauty beyond—fuck you, glass doors, and your false promises too.
I know all that beauty it’s trying to tempt me with has dangers lurking around the edges of it. I also know, without even trying, that they are bolted shut. Even if I did manage to get out, there are probably guards built like brick shithouses and carrying big guns lurking unseen near them.
I’ve been trapped in my future husband, Andrey Belov’s penthouse for the past two days. On the first night, I tried a daring escapade of harrowing balcony hops down the highest fucking building in Boston. Until Andrey caught me and all chances of escape evaporated as I cemented my status as a flight risk. All balcony and fresh air privileges were revoked, and my guard doubled.
The only place I was ever alone after that was the bathroom. After the wedding ceremony, we are to go to my family home in Back Bay for what was supposed to be my twenty-first birthday party. Which is now also going to be the wedding celebration—happy fucking birthday to me.
A knock on the door jolts me from my thoughts. I turn to see my father enter. Marco Moretti, with his imposing presence, carries himself like a goddamn king—the king of criminal defense. He defends nearly every nefarious figure on the East Coast.
My mother, older brother, uncle, and aunt became victims of one of his disgruntled clients making a point when I was three. Their deaths haunt me like my own personal boogeyman.
That tragedy shaped my life, making me accept this existence and endure the grueling survival boot camps my father insisted on every Saturday and vacation. I was under the misguided impression that my father wanted to make sure I knew how to protect myself and disappear should one of his enemies come for me.
It was a pity I didn’t realize before two days ago that my real enemy was the man I’d trusted the most in the world. The man I thought was protecting me and always felt safe with was really the fucking big bad wolf all along.
After all these years of protecting me, my dickwad of a father never even batted an eye when Andrey basically told him he’d fucked me, and now the marriage had to be moved up by six months. Okay, so Andrey didn’t say fucked, although he did explain that I was no longer a virgin.
It was kind of funny when Andrey towered over my father and his, reminding them who the new king in town was and criticizing them for allowing me to escape. I loved the shocked look on my father’s face when he realized that his darling little Isabella had escaped to the notorious Velvet Lounge.
His eyes nearly popped out of his handsome head when Andrey went on to tell him about the rest of my plan. I was at the Velvet Lounge with the sole purpose of spiting my father by having a good time. There was no mistaking what kind of good time I had planned either from Andrey’s description.
There was a glimmer of satisfaction as I’d at least destroyed my father’s and Ivan’s plans of handing over the chaste virgin sacrifice to ensure world domination and power. Well, at least that’s how I think of it. I still have no idea what my father gains from this arrangement. Right now I don’t fucking care. I’m just staying focused on my mission.
All I really am to my father and Andrey’s father is a business transaction. To Andrey, I’m now a possession that he had been promised he could add to his collection. Then take out, command about, fuck, and do with as he pleases. According to Andrey—he now owns me.
I guess I’m lucky I got to have at least a bit of a life, even if it was in a cage before I learned of my eighteen-year engagement. My father planned on announcing it this Saturday. Just something else to ruin my twenty-first birthday. After meeting Andrey, I feel like I’ve been locked in a tower for the past two days. It may as well have been one, as it is twenty-six stories up.
I do get a teeny bit of joy thinking I at least got to turn that plan of his into a shit show, although it wasn’t quite how I had planned my great defiance to go. At least I’m not wearing virgin white to my wedding.
Now, I feel more of just a transaction than a sacrifice as I’m about to marry the man I had no intention of marrying and to whom I accidentally gave my virginity.
When I met Andrey at the Velvet Lounge, correction, when Andrey plowed into me at the Velvet Lounge, I had no idea who he was other than a dark, dangerous, extremely good-looking stranger.
Who, until he took my virginity, had no intention of marrying me either—so that was a major fuck up. Who knew that a bloodthirsty Bratva boss had a code of honor about taking a woman’s virginity?
And what are the fucking chances that the Bratva boss would be the very man I was trying to avoid giving it to?
My thoughts on this are that Karma bitch-slapped me because of what I’d done to sneak out to the club.
I can hear my father’s voice loud and clear in my head. Actions have consequences, Isabella. Some you can anticipate, but some you don’t see coming. The best you can do is be prepared and try to anticipate what reaction could result from your action.
How goddamn right he was too. I didn’t see the consequences of drugging my cousin and housekeeper to sneak out coming at all. Because the consequences had been doled out by Karma with her wicked sense of humor and irony sending me headlong into Andrey’s path.
