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My eyes widen as the penny starts to drop for me. “You’re Grigory Belov’s son!” I splutter.
“Your older cousin and the rightful Belov heir,” Konstantin says, his eyes darkening with pain. “Or at least I would’ve been if Valentina had lived.”
“Is that why you hated Marco?” My brows knit together. “Because he didn’t tell you, you were a Belov?”
“No. I started hating Marco when he believed Ivan’s story about me breaking into my mother’s lab and raping Hannah,” Konstantin explained. “Then, when Sergei put me in that container, he made it seem like my father and Ivan had sold me.”
“So your threat you pinned to Marco’s wall that you came to get back what your father stole? What was the Belov legacy?”
“No. It was mine and my sister’s freedom,” Konstantin says bitterly.
“The I live you carved into my father’s arm?”
“A message from someone from your father’s past.” Konstantin’s eyes become hooded. “Now, are we going to stand here gasbagging the whole day or go find my sister and your fucking psycho brother?”
Chapter 24
ISABELLA
“Isabella?” A soft voice pierces the haze of unconsciousness, pulling me back to the surface. “Hey, sleeping beauty.”
Something sharp and acrid floods my senses, burning its way through my nostrils and down my throat. The smell is overpowering, like a pungent wave of ammonia, making my eyes water and my stomach twist violently in protest. I instinctively recoil, gasping for air as my eyes snap open, the world blurring into focus.
“Son of a fucking bitch!” I manage to yell, but the words barely leave my mouth before a surge of nausea overwhelms me. I double over, retching uncontrollably, and the bile rises fast, spilling out and splattering all over the shiny, expensive Italian shoes in front of me.
The rich, leathery scent mingles with the acrid stench that brought me back, making my stomach heave again, but all I can focus on is the dark stain spreading across those once-pristine shoes. It gives me an odd sense of satisfaction ruining the bastard’s shoes that shoved that shit beneath my nostrils as I retch again.
“Isabella!” This time, it’s a familiar voice calling to me. It’s laced with panic, and as I vomit once more, the memory of what happened races back to me. “Oh, fuck! I’m so sorry.”
He kneels beside my chair, holding out a bottle of water. My breathing is shallow as my stomach slowly stops churning. I go to take the water and realize I’m tied to a chair.
“What the fuck!” I start pulling at my constraints, and as I do… the bile rises once again, and this time, I turn my head and vomit all over Harry Thompson’s designer outfit.
“Jesus!” Harry hisses, but to my surprise and disappointment, he’s not worried about his clothes but about me. “Fuck, I told you we should’ve got a pregnant-safe sedative. I’ve hurt her.”
“Stop whining about that!” The other male voice commands. “I read that stress can bring out this response in a pregnant woman. That’s all this is—stress.”
“That’s so comforting,” Harry shouts at the other man. “That you actually took the time to read how to treat a pregnant woman, but Isabella is carrying twins, so it probably put even more stress on her body!”
“Jesus!” The other man hisses. “I thought you said you were over your childhood crush on Isabella?”
“I’ll always care about her!” Harry throws back at the man. “Someone had to keep an eye on her and make sure my crazy sister didn’t hurt her.”
What the fuck is the asshole talking about? I lift my head to look at the man whose shoes I vomited on, and my eyes widen in surprise. “You look like my mother.”
“That’s because she was my aunt,” the man tells me, smiling. “Hello, Isabella, I’m your cousin Lucien Andreev.”
“Isn’t it Zhukov?” I ask. “I thought your last name was Zhukov!”
Lucien shakes his head. “My father took on the Andreev last name in order to become Pakhan of my mother’s family’s organization. He was born a Zhukov.”
“Please, have some water,” Harry says. He gently cups my head and brings the bottle to my lips. “I’m sorry I knocked you out the way I did. I didn’t want to hurt you or the babies.”
“So dropping the blood flow to my brain to make me pass out was your best option?” I take a few sips of water because my throat is dry as fuck and burning like wildfire. “Like you even care, you fucking pervert!” I sneer at Harry.
“Isabella…” Harry begins, but I headbutt him, and he staggers back.
“I told you not to get too close to her, Harry,” Lucien says impatiently.
