Page 4 of Bratva Beast

“Yes, sir.” I wait for his nod of dismissal and walk to the door. He says he’ll call, but he never does. I hug the housekeeper as she opens the front door. Grabbing my backpack, I walk to the black SUV idling in the drive. Cynric is papa’s oldest son, always groomed to be his successor, but Cynric was badly injured in a car racing accident and disfigured. He’s been a recluse in his Manhattan penthouse ever since.

CYNRIC

My cell rings, and I snag it off the desk. “Papa?” I can sense his irritation before he speaks.

“Cynric. I’m sending Isabella to live with you.”

The image of thirteen-year-old Isabella slams into my brain. “Why?”

“She needs a place to live, and you’re right down the street from her college.”

“How old is she now?”

My father grumbles. “She just turned twenty-five. If you hadn’t been hiding in your cave, you’d be aware of what was going on in the family.”

Fuck. I shouldn’t ask questions. “Okay. I’ll have the housekeeper set up a room. Anything else you want me to know?”

“No. She’s your responsibility.”

Why would she need me to look after her? “Is there a problem?”

“She’s beautiful, and I haven’t decided who she should marry. I want her kept safe until she goes to someone that will protect her with his life.”

“She’ll be safe, Papa. I guarantee it.”

“Good. And it’s time for you to leave your condo. I’m not getting any younger.”

Fuck you, old man. I don’t need you telling me how to live. “Someone’s at the door. I’ll speak with you later.”

He growls as he ends the call, and I blow out my breath, trying to remember what his ward looks like. He became her guardian after that night we took her home. I don’t remember the last time I saw her. My hand instinctively rubs up the side of my face to my hairline. The rough skin reminds me I resemble a beast. I am a beast. A distant memory hangs in the back of my mind. Isabella standing next to my bedside holding my hand so I don’t scratch the bandages. The thought drifts out of reach. I bark atmy housekeeper as I exit my study. She needs to prepare a room. I lied to my father. No one could come to my door without me knowing it.

A little over an hour later, I’m back in my office as the elevator dings, and the doors slide open as I watch my security screen. My youngest brother and three cousins step off with boxes, suitcases, and a black trash bag overflowing with hanged garments. My housekeeper opens the door, and Saxon tries to hand her the clothes. I snarl over the intercom in the condo. “Take the stuff to the second bedroom. Don’t pawn it off to Mrs. Belova. She’s my fucking maid, not yours.”

The woman shuffles down the hall and opens the door to Isabella’s new bedroom.

I have cameras and audio for every common area in my condo and my building. I’ve set up my study to have everything I need to do my business. A large desk with a bank of monitors and a state-of-the-art computer network. The gym is located just steps away from my desk, and I can stare out at the best view of the city as I work out. Through the windows of the penthouse, you get a three-hundred-and-sixty view of the city.

I run the legit side of the Bratva and whatever else my father chooses to give me. Since my accident, I’ve found I want more security where I live, and I rarely choose to leave. I seem to only go out to execute our enemies. Papa is right. I have been absent. I shouldn’t care about the scars on my face and neck. No one would dare say anything, but I’m vain enough to hate the stares, and the more time I spend alone, the more comfortable I am away from people.

“Cynric?” My stupid brother yells from the hallway. He can’t enter. There are two locked steel doors between us, but he’s pushed the talk button on the speaker system. My penthouse is a fortress.

I press the button on my end. “What?”

“Izzy should be here any minute. What did she do to piss off Papa?”

“You’re such a woman with gossip. Fucking grow up.”

He flips me the bird, and I laugh. He’s nine years younger than me and a full-grown man-child. The elevator door slides open, and the most beautiful woman steps into my foyer. I can’t help but speak out loud. “Fuck me. She’s all grown up.” Perfectly chiseled bone structure reminds me of a supermodel. Her long, rich, auburn hair cascades down her back as her sharp gray eyes scan the foyer. She slides her backpack off her arm as Mrs. Belova meets her with a handshake. Isabella’s beautiful eyes smile at the older housekeeper. Her twinkling eyes remind me of her mother’s before life stole her future. “Isabella’s too innocent for her own good.” I growl as I will my cock to stand down. I want to see that waterfall of hair across my pillow. Shit. I can’t have her. She’s too young and way too inexperienced for me. Not to mention, Papa wants to give her to someone else. Her eyes dart to the back of the condo, and I can imagine my housekeeper is warning her off finding me. Saxon steps into the foyer, and Isabella flinches as he gets close to her. Mrs. Belova notices Isabella’s reaction and swoops her toward the kitchen. I flick the speaker. “Come here, Saxon.”

Why would Isabella be afraid of my little brother? I hit the button to open the two doors leading to my sanctuary and meet my brother at my door. I bark as he walks in and he startles. “Why does Papa’s ward fear you?”

His head flicks back and forth from me to the hallway. I step to him. I outweigh him by fifty pounds of solid muscle. My self-imposed exile has given me the opportunity to work out multiple times per day. I growl. “Why is she afraid?”

He stumbles on his words, which tells me he’s hiding something. He ducks his head. “I threatened her.”

A freight train pummels through my head as I search for a reason not to grab him and slam him into the wall. Clenching my fists, I demand. “Explain.”

He looks up, steeling his look. “There was an incident between her and Anton. I told her not to tell our father.”

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