Page 2 of Stolen By the Don

I throw her over my shoulder.

“Let me go!” she yells, her fists pounding against my back. “Let me go, you brute!”

Brute?That’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. When her fists do nothing, she sinks her fingers into my shirt, clawing and ripping the fabric to get to my skin. I feel the sting of her nails, but it doesn’t slow me down.

“Let me go, or I swear I’ll be the one to put the bullet between your eyes!” she protests, clawing and wriggling against my hold. I see her hand as it reaches lower, and I slap a hand over her ass as a warning.

“Keep fighting,printsessa, and I’ll give these people something real to gasp about.”

As I near the doors, I hear a click behind me. It’s faint, a lost sound amidst the gasps and murmurs, butI hear it.In a flash, I spin on my heels, my gun going off before the groom can take his shot.

He falls to the ground with a thud, and a loud wail echoes against the walls.

“You killed him!” Isabella screams. “You killed him, you murderer!”

Ignoring her protest, I walk through the doors, leaving the attendants to deal with the dead groom. Isabella is still fighting as I approach the cars parked down the curb. My second-in-command, Sergei, opens the door to a black Mercedes.

“No!” Isabella grabs the edge of the open door, the space where the frame curves inward but hasn’t shut yet, her fingers locking onto it like a lifeline. She pulls forward with all her strength, bracing her feet against the inside edge of the car, trying to launch herself back out.

It’s desperation. Pure and raw—and it kicks at something dangerous inside me. Something that isverytempted to see how much fight she has inside her.

But it’s useless.

I lean down, pry her fingers free one by one despite her kicking legs and venom-laced curses, then slam the door shut with her inside. Her fists bang against the window, her eyes furious behind the glass.

I give Sergei the order. “Take her home. Keep the doors locked. I’ll be right behind you.”

He nods curtly and gets behind the wheel without a word. The car pulls away, and I watch it go before sliding into the passenger seat of the next one.

“Well,” Leo—my best friend who I’ve known all my life—drawls as I close the door. “If you were going for shock value and theatrics, I’d say you achieved just that.”

“Drive,” I mutter, leaning back and closing my eyes. I don’t want to listen to his feedback now, because I know he has reservations.

He shrugs.I feel it.“Sure. I’ll just shut my mouth and act as your designated driver. That’s what you pay me for, right? To be your getaway driver after you shoot a groom dead at the altar.”

My eyes open slowly, and I pin him with a burning glare. He lifts one hand in surrender. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to be sarcastic. I just thought you had a different plan.”

I don’t respond, and he sighs, turns the ignition, and pulls the car away from the cathedral’s curb. I close my eyes again, letting my thoughts settle as he drives.

He’s right, though. I had a different plan.Killing Marco.After learning that the bastard had resurfaced, I had only one goal. To find him and see the fear in his eyes as I watch the life drain from them.

Then he vanished. I had dozens of my men watching his hideouts, and he still managed to vanish.

That’s when the plan changed.

When I heard that Marco Ricci was marrying off his daughter to a bastard son of a powerful bratva pakhan, I knew what I had to do. A life for a life. Since he had betrayed a blood pact, I would take the only thing that mattered to him.

His daughter.

Dark-haired, olive-skinned Isabella Ricci. The image of her standing by the altar, her chin tilted and defiance flashing in her eyes, fills my mind. My lips curl into a smile, and my fingers dance on my thigh.

I’ve heard about her—how she has shadowed her father from a young age, and the influence she has among his Russian and Italian allies. It wouldn’t have mattered what she looks like or what she can do, but knowing whatI knowmakes it more interesting.

“You know you just declared war, right?” Leo comments.

One eye opens. “Let him come. He’ll be walking to his death.” It’s exactly what I want.

Leo glances at me, sees my unbothered expression, and shakes his head. “I’m not talking about that. You killed a Glazastov. His father will come for you. With the entire Glazastov brotherhood behind him. They never really liked you anyway.”

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