Page 26 of The Bratva’s Captive Flame

"You would threaten my daughter," he says, but his voice is more of a growl. As if he can actually do anything to me right now. Some frail old man is the least of my worries.

"I'm telling you that everything in this house has a cost," I say, standing, "and that refusing me has one too. I'd rather it didn't come to anything ugly. That's up to you more than it's up to me." I push the chair back where it was. "Eat your food, Octavio. Think it over with a clear head. The offer stands a while longer, but I won't wait forever."

When I leave his room, he's still staring out that damn window, watching the sun set over the Moskva River. One way or another, he's going to be useful. If he won't cook, his formula can easily be given to another chemist and Octavio disposed of. I really would rather avoid that, since my zeal for his beautiful daughter would certainly be hindered. But it is what it is. I don't have an emotional attachment—or at least not one I can't easily get over if she has to be removed too.

Isabela's already at the table when I come down to dinner, sitting stiffly in the chair to my left with a plate in front of her she's barely touched. She's wearing the dark dress Danya laid out, her hair down, the bruises on her face nearly gone now. She looks up when I come in and then quickly back down at her plate with indignation in her eyes.

"You spoke to him," she says coldly. Someone must've told her where I was and why I've been delayed.

"I did." I sit, shaking out my napkin, nodding for Danya to pour the wine. "He turned me down… The stubborn old mule. The Cruz family sure has a knack for that." The food smells delicious, but my thoughts immediately go to her. I've been craving her again, letting my thoughts linger on how amazing that shower encounter was.

"Because we know right from wrong." Her hands are knotted in her lap. "What happens now?" Still she doesn't look up at me. I can see the same beaten-down expression on her face that Octavio had. Both of them have been mules for so long, they don't know what true freedom is. It's easy to push them, though they fight back, but like lambs to the slaughter, they will follow the path of least resistance.

I wait while Danya finishes pouring and slips out, and then I give it to her straight. She seems to appreciate being blunt with me, so I can return that favor. Besides, I'm not playing games anymore.

"Now we have a problem," I say. "Your father's the only thing that made this whole venture worth the time and money it cost. Without him cooking, I've spent a fortune and bled my men to bring a stubborn old man across a border for nothing. On top of that, I've made an enemy of Solano in the process. That's not a position I can afford to sit in." I take a slow sip of the wine. "Your father needs to be convinced. And the person who can convince him isn't me. It's you."

"I already told you I won't⁠—"

"I know what you told me." I set the glass down and give her a stern look. "I'm telling you what happens if you don't." Isabela's eyes flash with fire, but I continue. "First, he will be tortured, and then you will be tortured in front of him. And then you will die, and if that still doesn't work, he will be forced at gunpoint to deliver his full formula, and then he will die."

She's gone pale, her breath coming faster. It really sounds harsher than it will be. Octavio will fold the instant I raise a knife to her in any way. He'll never let her be taken, but it's honestly easier for me if she does this.

"There's another way," she says, quietly. "Let me talk to him. Not to make him cook—to give you the formula. He could write it down, every step, every measurement, and you find another chemist—someone who already does this for a living. He's spent thirty years perfecting it, but it's just chemistry, Demin. Another set of hands could follow his notes. He'd give me that. I know he would. He could be free, and you'd still have what you actually want, which is the product, not the man."

It's a good try. It's clever, and it's exactly the kind of thing she would land on, looking for the door that lets everyone walk away whole. For half a second, I almost wish I could give it to her.

"No," I say.

"Why not? You'd have the formula⁠—"

"Because a formula on paper is worth a fraction of the man who wrote it." I won't even bargain with her. "Solano had your father's notes. They had the formula and they still couldn't let him go because the difference between his hands and another man's reading his notes is the difference between product I can sell at the top of the market and product I can't move at all."

"Then take me… Keep his formula, let him show you how to do it… Keep me and let him go." Her lip trembles. It's so sweet of her to offer herself to me, as if I don't already own every part of her, including that body she's trying to trade. I'd take this trade in a heartbeat if it wouldn't be showing weakness, which my men would shun. God, do I want to. It's tempting, but I can't.

"No." I say it bluntly, so she gets the point. I'll have her anyway, and this way, I get the chemist I want too.

The hope drains out of her face, and rage takes its place. She pushes back from the table, scraping the chair legs on the flooring. "Then we're done talking," she says, standing. "I'm not going to terrorize my own father for you. Find another way, or don't, but I won't be your tool to do it." She turns as if she'll walk away, and I rise to my feet.

"Sit down. We're not finished."

"We're finished," she spits, glaring at me. "And don't fucking talk to me again."

When she storms off, I let her go, knowing Mishka stands outside the door ready to escort her the rest of the way to my bed where she'll be waiting for me when I retire.

And when I sit to enjoy my dinner, seeing she hasn't touched hers, I know eventually, I'll break them both. I just have to be patient.

And I have to hope Sebastian will be patient with me. Because it might take longer than the eight days I have left to meet his deadline.

15

ISABELA

I'm tired as I walk toward Papa’s room in the medical wing of Demin's home. He didn't look good the last time I saw him, having starved himself for days, but I told him if he wants to be strong enough to escape this place, he had to eat. I'm praying when I see his face, he looks healthier this time. I'm not sure escape is an option, but watching him waste away is killing me.

"You don't have to walk so close," I grumble at Bart. I hate how these idiots think I'm going to run or something. I'm not leaving here without my father. They don't have to police my actions as I walk across the house so carefully.

"Doing my job, nothing more." Bart is grouchy today, right up to the point he opens the door so I can walk into my father's room and I see his smile first thing.