Page 16 of The Bratva’s Captive Flame

"Drive," I grumble as we fall in. I count eleven men climbing into armored cars and finally take a moment to grimace at how painful my side is. It's so much, I almost black out, though I can tell it's not much deeper than the muscle.

The ride to the strip is a blur of black road. Isabela has her hands pressed against my side without my asking her to, leaning her whole weight into it, her jaw set even though her hands won't stop trembling.

"You're an idiot," she says, not looking up, but she's crying. "Why did you do that!" Her head shakes. "You shouldn't have⁠—"

"You're welcome."

"You could have died." The SUV jolts over rough road, tossing her. Her body presses into mine and I wrap an arm around her to steady her. She's what's keeping me from bleeding too much right now. But I can't even tell her why I went back. I don't even know why other than if I left her there, I'd have to think about that the rest of my life.

And I'd never have gotten this moment with her right now.

"You're worth more breathing. That's all."

Isabela doesn't speak again the rest of the drive back to the tarmac. The jet is already turning on the strip when we pull up, stairs down, engines spun up and waiting. My men move quickly, loading Octavio first, then the gear, then the wounded. I come up the stairs last with Isabela under my arm and don't let go of her even when one of the men reaches to help her into a seat.

"She's with me," I say, and he steps back, eyeing me cautiously. Her hands are covered in my blood and she clings to my side unapologetically.

They usher Octavio back to the cabin to be checked out, and I slump into my seat, ready to pass out from adrenaline and exertion, and to my surprise, Isabela doesn't leave my side. I figured she'd be back with her father but she stays with me, hovering even as Mishka crouches next to me.

"Boss. You need to hear this now, not later."

"Then say it."

"They were ready for us." He keeps his eyes on mine, avoiding the sight of my blood. "Not awake-ready—like waiting-ready." His eyes then flick to Isabela's and back to me. "They knew we were coming and doubled their security. Someone tipped them off." Again he glances at Isabela, but there's no way she could’ve done this. She was so resistant at first, and why walk into that mess if you knew what it was? This wasn’t her.

The cabin seems to go quiet as the plane starts to taxi out to the runway. We're clear, but I won't feel safe until we're airborne. "You're certain," I say.

"I counted them coming out of that south building. Nobody stacks that many men in an empty room on a guess." He glances at the back where Octavio groans, then back. "Somebody told them we were coming, Boss."

There weren't very many men who had knowledge of our plan, only a handful of soldiers who got their pieces a few hours ago, and never the whole. The list of people who could have sold tonight is short, and every name on it is a name I've trusted with my life more than once—Mishka, Bart, Mikhail… No way they'd rat us out.

Someone put my team in more danger than necessary and I need to get to the bottom of that, but right now, I need a drink, and I need to rest.

"Get some rest," I tell Mishka calmly. "Tell no one what you just told me. Not Bart. Not Mikhail. No one."

"And Sebastian?"

"I'll handle him," I grumble as I look out the window at the tarmac rushing past. My arm is still locked around Isabela, but now there are more questions than answers. If someone inside my organization is spilling my secrets, we have a bigger problem than whether Solano decides to take revenge.

My uncle is going to need to know about this.

As soon as I get this wound patched up.

11

ISABELA

We come through the gates as the sky is beginning to glow on the horizon. The long night is finally over and dawn approaches. I've been awake so long, my body's running on whatever's left after the fear burned off. Papa is curled in a ball in the back of the SUV and Demin is resting with his eyes shut, though I don’t think he's sleeping. The bleeding has stopped for the most part, but it's caked on my hands and wrists.

I'm still in shock, too paralyzed by what I witnessed to do anything other than sit here next to Demin trying not to close my eyes. I want to—God, am I exhausted—but every time I do, I see the bullet hit that man in the head and his blood spray all over the building. I know Demin warned me about this and I thought I could handle it, but I can't. I feel sick and I want to go home—wherever home is now.

The SUVs pull around the drive, stopping by his front door, and doors start opening. Demin shrugs back to life, sliding out his side, so I follow, but before I can get out of the SUV all the way, Mishka and another guard have Papa in their arms, dragging him toward the house.

"Wait." I tighten my grip on my father as the guards try to take him away. "Where are you—what are you doing?" We just got reunited. They can't separate us now. I won't let them. I don’t have much energy left, but what I do have, I use to try to restrain them.

"Medical wing," one of them says. "He needs looking at."

"Then I'm coming with him."