Their Replacement Bride Wants Blood

The Volkovs. The most brutal family in Russia. Their Don was holding our arms deal hostage. He wanted the De Luca princess. Isla. My adopted sister. I was their biological daughter. The blood heir they found in the slums twenty years too late. But Isla was the one they actually loved. The news broke. My mother walked into my room for the first time in forever. “Aurora, my best girl. You know how fragile Isla is. If she marries him… that man will break her. He’ll kill her.” My fiancé, Julian Caldwell, heir to the Caldwell family, made me a candlelit dinner. He held me, kissing me softly. “You’re so much stronger than her, Aurora. Please. Do this for her. I’ll give you a private wedding. Just us. Even if I can’t marry you for real, you’ll always be my wife.” Even my father—a man who never smiled at me, the Don of the De Luca family—actually slid a blank check across the desk. “Take her place instead of Isla. Name your price. Anything you want.” They were so sure I’d say yes. Because I’d always been that pathetic girl. Desperate for their approval. Willing to do anything. But not this time. I was done. I looked at the blank check and laughed. “A blank check? Not even close. I want one hundred million dollars. And a blood contract that cuts all ties. Forever.” They had no idea. I wanted more than that. In seven days, I was going to give them a gift. I wanted their lives. Chapter 1 “One hundred million? And a blood contract to disown you?!” My father slammed his cigar into the ashtray. His brow was tight, his eyes full of disappointment and reproach. “Aurora, we dragged you out of the slums! Just because you have my blood doesn't give you the right to ruin this family! We gave you your life back, and now you’re trying to bleed your own parents dry?” he roared. I stared at his self-righteous act. It was laughable. “Bleed you dry?” I smirked, throwing the papers I’d prepared onto his desk. “You have seven days until the Volkov wedding. No bride, and that psycho Don will burn the entire De Luca family to the ground. You can’t bear to see your precious, fragile daughter suffer, right? So what’s the problem? You’re not willing to pay to save her life?” The study went dead silent. My mother stood there, pale-faced. Her voice cracked. “Aurora, you’ve known hardship. You’re stronger than Isla. She has a heart condition. She’ll die in Russia. Please, just help the family…” A muscle in my father’s jaw twitched. He stared at me. Not like his biological daughter. Like a stranger. But he weighed the odds faster than anyone. Seven days. He had no way out. Finally, he grabbed a hunting knife from his desk, sliced his palm without hesitation, and smeared his blood over the signature line. A true Mafia blood oath. My mother followed. The deal was done. I coolly folded the papers. From this moment on, I had nothing to do with these cold-blooded animals. I walked out of the study without a single tear. This was nothing. Compared to the sick joke of my twenty-fifth birthday two weeks ago, this wasn't even funny. That night, right after Julian begged me to take Isla’s place, I was jumped in a dark alley on my way home. Street thugs. Hired by Isla. They beat me to a pulp. I lay in a filthy puddle of blood and mud, the taste of copper in my mouth. Just when I thought they were going to kill me, Julian showed up with his men. I thought he came to save me. But then Isla burst out from behind him, sobbing her eyes out. “Julian, I swear I don’t know them! Aurora hired them herself!” She clung to his arm, tears streaming down her face. An Oscar-worthy performance. “She wanted to play the victim, to frame me! She just doesn’t want to go through with the marriage!” And Julian believed her. Just like that. Not a flicker of doubt. He didn’t even glance at my broken body. His eyes went red. He stormed over, grabbed my collar, and yanked. The pain was searing. “Aurora, if you didn’t want to do it, you could have just said no!” he screamed in my face. “But to stage this? To hurt yourself and blame Isla?! This pathetic act is just stupid!” I tried to speak, but a torrent of blood choked me. I couldn’t make a sound. “For this viciousness, you will pay a price!” He threw me back into the filth like a piece of trash. He turned to his guards and gave the order that became my living hell. “Lock her in a shipping container at the Southside docks! Let her rot in the dark!” He knew. He knew I had crippling claustrophobia. The booming echo of the iron door locking was the sound of absolute despair. In that black, tight, airless metal box. I clawed at the walls. Every breath was like swallowing razor blades. Just before I blacked out, I remembered my eighteenth birthday. I had just been brought back to the family. I watched, shy and hopeful, as Julian held out his hand to me. I thought he chose me for our arranged marriage because he loved me. What a fucking joke. He always loved Isla. His childhood sweetheart. So what was I? A human shield. A goddamn punching bag to protect his precious Isla. I pushed open my bedroom door, took out my phone, and dialed a number. A deep voice with a thick Russian accent answered. “Miss De Luca. The Don is very interested in your proposal.” “I need two things,” I said, straight to the point. “First, get me the full security footage from the Southside alley two weeks ago. I don’t care how. I want a crystal-clear shot of Isla’s face when she paid the thugs.” “Second, start a rumor. Say the city is about to buy the Southside port for a secret, massive price. I want Julian to sink every liquid dollar the Caldwell family has into grabbing that land. In exchange, in one week, I will arrive with one hundred million in cash, and absolute control of New York’s Southside port. A wedding gift for the Volkov Don.” “A pleasure doing business, future Donna.” He chuckled and hung up. In seven days, I was going to give them a gift. I turned to my dresser. A photo frame. Me and Julian at our engagement. In the picture, his arm is around my waist. He’s smiling like the perfect lover. I picked up the lighter next to it. Click. A blue flame licked the photo paper. Julian’s fake smile twisted, shriveled, and turned to black ash. Watching it burn, I whispered. “This time… ‘til death.” Chapter 2 Five days until I was handed over to the Russians. A storm raged outside. I sat in my dark room, coldly tossing a few old clothes into a suitcase. The door opened without a knock. Isla walked in, wearing a silk nightgown. On her neck, a diamond necklace that seared my eyes. It was the Caldwell family heirloom Julian had promised me for our “secret wedding.” “Packing, sister?” Isla leaned against the doorframe, toying with the diamonds, her eyes mocking me. “I heard you extorted a hundred million from Dad. Impressive. But you have to be alive to spend it. Everyone in the underworld knows that Don is a psycho. You show up with a hundred million in cash? You won’t see the sun for three days. That money will just buy you a tombstone.” I closed my laptop and looked at her. “Get out.” She didn’t move. She stepped closer, her voice a venomous hiss. “Are you still hoping Julian will save you? Let me tell you a secret. The thugs who broke your ribs in the alley? Julian knew I hired them.” My breath caught. Isla giggled. “He didn’t just let it happen. He told me himself. You were too stubborn. A street rat needs to learn her place. Blood means nothing, Aurora. I am the real daughter of this house. You think you can take a hundred million, leave, and come back for revenge one day? Dream on. Julian’s heart is mine. You’re just the human shield he’s using to block a Russian bullet.” I had no hope left, but hearing that level of cold calculation still made my stomach turn. “Get. Out.” I bit down my rage, my eyes locked on hers. A psychotic gleam filled her eyes. As long as I was alive, as long as Julian had that flicker of guilt and possession in his eyes when he looked at me, she would never be at peace. She suddenly ripped the diamond necklace from her neck. The stones scattered on the carpet. Then, she dug her sharp nails into her own forearm, drawing two bloody lines. She stepped back, and threw herself straight down the grand staircase. “Ahh! Sister, please, don’t hit me!” Her shriek tore through the silence of the estate. Less than ten seconds later, my parents—and Julian, who had just arrived—rushed to the staircase like sharks smelling blood. My mother saw Isla bleeding on the steps and cradled her like she was dying. She looked up at me, her eyes red, skinning me alive with her pain. “Aurora! We took you out of the slums, and this is how you repay us?! Isla has a heart condition! You already got your hundred million, why can’t you just leave her alone?! Do you want her dead?!” My father stormed up the steps, his face dark. He didn’t even ask what happened. He just stared at me with pure disappointment. “I thought taking the money meant you’d finally learned your place. You better stay in line before you’re shipped out. If your jealousy messes up this alliance, there will be no place for you in this family!” Julian ran up the stairs. He looked at me, a flash of guilt in his eyes. But it vanished. He walked right past me and gently swept Isla into his arms. “Aurora,” Julian said, his face a mask of fake agony. “I thought you’d just take the money and go. But look at you, twisted with jealousy. I am so disappointed in you.” Like he was some merciful god, and I was a sinner beyond saving. I leaned against the doorframe. I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. I just slowly raised my hand and wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth with my thumb. Looking at the scattered diamonds, at this pack of hypocrites I called “family” and “love,” I couldn’t stop a low, dark laugh from escaping my lips. Good. That slap finally severed the last thread of hope I ever had for this family. In five days, I will make every single one of you wish you were dead. Chapter 3 To show "good faith" to the Volkovs, my father threw a lavish dinner in the main hall. The long table was piled with caviar and expensive champagne. The air smelled of Cuban cigars and strong vodka. Three Russian men sat at the head of the table. They reeked of blood. They were the Volkov Don’s men, sent to “inspect the goods.” Their eyes were cold, inhuman. They scanned me up and down like I was livestock. I had been branded. Property of the Russian Don. All night, Julian wouldn’t even look at me. He deliberately stood by Isla’s side, the perfect protector, terrified of pissing off the madmen with Glocks tucked in their belts. But later, on my way to the restroom, a hand shot out of the shadows and dragged me into a blind spot. The thick scent of sandalwood and tobacco. Julian pinned me to the wall, his hands gripping my shoulders. “Don’t look at those Russians like that,” he hissed in my ear. His handsome face was twisted with a possessive rage, but his eyes were pure cowardice. “Aurora, seeing them look at you like a toy… it’s tearing me apart. But I can’t protect you out in the open. I have to think of the Caldwell family… But you remember this. Even when you’re in Russia, you are my woman! Tomorrow night, in the glass conservatory on the east lawn, I’ll give you a secret wedding. I will make you mine, completely.” Looking at his pathetic face—too scared to stand up for me but still trying to chain me with cheap promises—made me sick. I kneed him away and coldly wiped my shoulder where he’d touched it. “Julian, save your drama for Isla. You’re disgusting.” I ignored his fury and walked back into the bright hall. And that’s when it happened. In the center of the hall was a massive, two-meter-high champagne tower, flanked by heavy, ornate candelabras. Isla stood there in a white designer gown, holding a glass. The moment she saw me, a vicious glint flashed in her innocent eyes. As I walked past, she let out a soft gasp. She “lost her footing,” her hand grabbing the tablecloth as she fell. The whole thing came down. The towering crystal pyramid and the burning candelabras, crashing right toward me. Street instincts kicked in. I threw myself sideways in a roll. The candelabra grazed my dress, missing my head. But I still went down. Hard. Hundreds of crystal glasses shattered. Shards flew everywhere. My bare palms and knees landed right in the jagged mess. Sharp, searing pain. Blood instantly soaked through, staining the carpet. And Isla? The one who caused it? She had used the tablecloth to soften her fall, landing safely on a clean patch of rug. But she immediately clutched her chest, her face turning white. She gasped for air, faking a heart attack. “ISLA!” Julian roared. He shoved through the crowd and lunged for her, pulling her into his arms. I pushed myself up on a carpet of broken glass, blood dripping from my wrists. Julian saw me. He saw the blood pouring from my hands. But he looked at me, his eyes red, and screamed, “You just got a scratch! Isla has a heart condition! She can’t breathe! Why would you be so stupid as to run into the champagne tower?!” My father was busy apologizing to the Russians, who had their guns half-drawn. My mother was sobbing over Isla. The most powerful people in New York’s underworld, all in a panic over a fake illness. Not a single person looked back at me, bleeding on the floor. A De Luca capo marched over and hissed at me, “Get out of here and get that bandaged! You’re bleeding all over the place, embarrassing the family! What will the Russians think?!” Did it hurt? The glass digging into my knees and palms was excruciating. But in that pain, my mind was clearer than ever. I clenched my jaw. I didn’t make a sound. I used my bleeding hands to push myself up from the floor, to stand on my own two feet. My back was ramrod straight. I watched Julian carry Isla toward the medical wing. I looked at this rotten, broken family. The last spark of human warmth in my eyes went out. So this was their love. Fine. Then they can take their love and burn in hell with it. Chapter 4 Ten hours until I was officially handed over to the Volkovs. I sat in my dark room, biting down on a towel, using tweezers to pull shards of glass from my palms and knees. No anesthetic. No doctor. The entire De Luca medical team was busy fussing over Isla’s fake heart attack. When I poured alcohol over the wounds, my whole body seized in pain. Cold sweat drenched my back. The wounds were getting infected. A fever was setting in. At 8 p.m., a soft knock on the door. A maid entered, trembling, holding a huge designer box. She untied the ribbon. Inside lay a stunning wedding dress, covered in diamonds. “Miss…” The maid kept her head down, too scared to look at me. Her voice shook. “Mr. Julian said… ten o’clock tonight. In the glass conservatory. The priest is already waiting. He promised you a secret wedding, and he will keep his word. He said… he was just worried about Miss Isla yesterday. He said his heart was breaking for you… Please, wear this dress and go to him…” I stared at the dress, glittering with fake promises in the dim light. It was the sickest joke I’d ever heard. He left me bleeding on a floor of broken glass. Didn’t even give me a second look. And now he thought a secret wedding could buy off his guilt? He wanted Isla’s weakness to feed his hero complex. And he wanted to brand me as his before shipping me off to a monster. Disgusting. I ripped the IV from the back of my hand, grabbed the dress box, and my small suitcase with its few old clothes, and walked out. At the top of the grand staircase, I ran right into Isla, fresh from her “near-death” act, sipping a cup of herbal tea. She saw the dress box. Jealousy poured out of her eyes. She blocked my way, a smirk on her face. “Going to marry Julian in the conservatory? Don’t get too excited, Aurora. He just feels sorry for you. It’s charity. A final kindness for a dying dog.” “Is that so?” I stopped. I looked at her greedy, spiteful face. The next second, I threw the priceless wedding dress, box and all, right at her head. “Ah!” she screamed as the box hit her. The dress tumbled out onto the floor. “You want it so bad? It’s yours.” I looked at her, feeling nothing. “You can have him, too. The coward. And this whole rotten family. Take it all. Just looking at it makes me feel dirty.” Isla’s mouth opened, but for once, she had nothing to say. I didn’t waste another glance on her. I walked down the stairs, suitcase in hand, and straight out the main doors. I wasn't spending another minute in this hell. I called for a black armored car to take me to the private airport. I’d wait for the Russians there. But as I opened the car door, Isla came running out in her slippers. She pushed past the guards and forced her way into the car with me. Her eyes were wide with a vicious, manic energy. “Stop acting so high and mighty! I’m going to watch you get on that plane myself. I’m going to make sure you’re gone for good!” I closed my eyes and leaned back, treating her like thin air. She was a dead woman walking anyway. The car pulled out of the estate and onto a dark, deserted coastal highway. Suddenly, two heavy, blacked-out SUVs with no plates tore out of a side road, ramming us from the front and back. The impact sent our car spinning on the wet asphalt. Isla let out a blood-curdling scream as her head slammed against the window. A street war. Men in black ski masks, holding rifles, jumped out of the SUVs. The Irish. The De Luca family’s old enemies. Professional killers. BANG! BANG! Two shots. Our driver and guard were dead. “AHH! Help me! Julian, save me!” Isla lost control of her bladder, shrinking into a sobbing ball in her seat. I looked at the black barrels of the guns outside my window. I didn’t scream. I didn’t fight. The window shattered. A rough, calloused hand reached in, grabbed a fistful of Isla’s hair, and dragged her out. Then, the barrel of another gun was pressed against my temple. “Well, look at our luck. Both of the De Luca princesses,” the lead Irishman sneered, yanking me violently from the car. I didn’t resist. I let them pull a black hood over my head. The last thing I heard before the world went dark was Isla’s desperate, piercing cry. Chapter 5 The smell of old motor oil and thick blood woke me up. The hood was ripped from my head. I squinted against the harsh light. An abandoned auto shop. Damp, moldy walls on all sides. The air was so cold it seeped into my bones. Isla and I were tied back-to-back to two iron chairs welded to the floor. My jacket was torn. The half-healed cuts on my knees and palms had ripped open again. Warm blood dripped from my fingertips onto the oily concrete. The fever was burning me up. But my mind was like ice. Frighteningly clear. Behind me, Isla’s muffled, broken sobs. “Shut up, bitch! One more sound and I’ll blow your head off!” An Irishman with a scar across his face slammed his gun against a metal barrel. It had been forty minutes since we were taken. Just then, the screech of tires outside. The rusty roll-up door groaned open. Two figures, soaked from the rain, strode in. Julian and my father. They dropped four heavy canvas duffel bags onto the concrete. The moment she saw them, Isla shrieked. “Dad! Julian! Save me! I don’t want to die! Please, get me out of here!” I said nothing. I didn’t move. I just watched the two men at the door. “I brought the money.” My father's face, usually so arrogant, was tight and strained. “Let my daughters go. You Irish just want a toll. You don’t need an all-out war with the De Luca family.” The scarred man laughed, kicked open a bag, and pried it open with his gun barrel. It was full of old bills, but it wasn't nearly enough. His eyes went cold. He kicked the bag over, scattering the cash. “Are you playing me, De Luca? The king of the New York underworld, controller of three major ports, and you can’t even scrape together twenty million in cash? What is this? You trying to buy off a beggar?!” I looked at the money on the floor. A faint, mocking smile touched my lips. My plan was working. All of the family’s liquid assets, plus the Caldwell reserves, were completely tied up in that doomed port project. They were empty shells. Drained dry. “We’ve had some… cash flow problems,” my father ground out, trying to hang on to his authority. “Take this as a deposit. Let them go. I’ll have the rest in your offshore account by tomorrow.” “Bullshit!” The man raised his rifle, the barrel moving between my head and Isla’s. “On the street, you pay to play. You only brought enough for one. So you only get to buy one life.” The air in the garage froze. “Choose,” the man grinned, a cruel arc. “Are you taking home your precious, pampered princess? Or the unlucky bitch who’s about to go warm a Russian’s bed?” “No! Dad! Julian! Save me!” Isla’s screams were hysterical, snot and tears smearing her face. “I have a heart condition, I’ll die here! Sister is tough, she can handle it! Please, choose me!” I still didn’t say a word. The burn on my shoulder and the sting in my hands were the only things keeping me anchored. My father’s eyes darted between me and Isla. He didn’t even need three seconds to decide. “Let Isla go,” he said, his eyes red, already making his excuses. “Aurora... I'm sorry. You grew up on the streets, you know how to survive. Isla is delicate. She's my daughter. In every way that counts. You just wait here. I swear I’ll get the money and come back for you tomorrow.” I stared at him. I was his flesh and blood. But he chose the fake princess. I turned my gaze to Julian. The man who, just hours ago, wanted to give me a secret wedding and love me forever. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked at my pale face, at the blood dripping from my fingers. He swallowed hard. He was shaking, like he was being torn in two. But finally, he spoke. “Aurora… forgive me.” Julian’s fists were clenched so tight his nails drew blood. “I know it’s not fair, but you’re smart, you can survive this… Wait for me. I swear I will come back for you!” Such hypocrites. I was strong. So I got abandoned. She was weak. So she got saved. They knew exactly what it meant to leave me with these animals, but they could still lie to themselves so easily. “Enough talk,” the scarred man sneered. He pulled out a knife and cut Isla’s ropes. Isla scrambled free and threw herself into Julian’s arms. He crushed her against him. He didn’t dare look at me again. He held her and rushed out of the garage, right behind my father. The Irish killers slammed the roll-up door shut. The last sliver of light vanished. Chapter 6 The only things left in the air were the sickening smell of blood and the heavy breathing of the Irish killers. “Spit.” The scarred man spat a bloody glob onto the floor and walked over to me. He pulled a pistol from his belt and pressed it to my forehead. “Bad luck, Miss De Luca,” he said, his rough thumb on the trigger. His voice was mocking. “Just before your pretty boy Julian ran out of here, that little two-faced bitch gave me a signal. An encrypted text. Promised me an extra five million from the Caldwell family if I put a bullet in you right here. Make sure you never leave this garage.” So that was it. Isla didn’t just want to use me to escape. She wanted to make sure I had no escape at all. “Next life, choose your family better. Don’t be a stepping stone for a pack of wolves that eat their own,” the man said, delivering my death sentence. The cold metal of the gun pressed into my skin. After ten seconds of dead silence, a low laugh escaped my lips. The man’s finger paused on the trigger. “What are you laughing at? You crazy?” he grunted. “I’m laughing at you. You’re being played for a fool.” I slowly lifted my head. “That five million she promised you? She couldn’t give you five hundred dollars right now. Because as of a few minutes ago, every single offshore account and liquid asset of the De Luca and Caldwell families has been frozen.” His eyes went sharp. “What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about the fact that they’re broke. She played you,” I said, leaning back against the greasy chair. “But I have one hundred million dollars in cash. Money you could never earn in a hundred lifetimes. Now. Lower your gun. Get the burner phone from my jacket pocket. And cut me loose.” I looked straight into his murderous eyes and made my offer. “I’ll give you twenty million. To buy my own life.” He stared at me for a full thirty seconds. He found the phone in my torn jacket and used his knife to slice the ropes binding my hands. My hands trembled uncontrollably from the lack of circulation. The reopened wounds on my palms smeared the screen with blood. But in thirty seconds, I completed the transfer from my Swiss account right in front of him. Ping. The scarred man’s phone chimed. He looked at the twenty million dollars that had just landed in his account. The way he looked at me changed completely. He holstered his gun, gave me a respectful nod, and tossed me a set of keys. "There's a stolen Chevy out back. Pleasure doing business, Donna." I caught the keys. I used the iron chair to pull myself to my feet. I tore off my ruined jacket, leaving me in a thin black top. I walked out of the auto shop. The midnight wind cut like a knife, blowing away the scent of blood. I drove the stolen Chevy two blocks to a gas station, washed the blood from my face, and headed straight to New York’s private airfield. 2 a.m. A private tarmac at JFK. In the pouring rain, a massive black jet bearing the Volkov double-headed eagle crest sat on the runway like a dormant beast. At the bottom of the stairs stood two rows of armed Russian bodyguards in black trench coats. Every one of them was Bratva elite. The kind who crawl out of graves in Siberia. When the lead Russian captain saw me—hair a mess, palms and knees bleeding, but my back straight as a rod—he showed no contempt. The strong only respect those who have clawed their way out of hell. With a single, sharp click, the guards lowered their weapons and bowed their heads to me. “Welcome, Donna.” “The Don is waiting for you in Moscow, ma’am,” the captain said, respectfully holding out a black umbrella. “He was very pleased with the port authority contract you sent.” I didn't speak. I took the umbrella, and in my mud-stained heels, dragging my feverish body, I walked up the stairs without looking back. Just as I was about to step into the cabin, the communicator in my hidden pocket vibrated. A final message from my dark-web hacker on Wall Street. “Funds extracted. Port project has imploded. When the market opens at 9 a.m., De Luca and Caldwell will be officially bankrupt. The Feds and the IRS will be plastering seals all over their estates.” I stood at the door of the plane and turned, looking back at the glittering, hypocritical, rotten skyline of New York City. Julian, my darling fiancé. My loving, devoted parents. Did you think you could throw me to the wolves and sleep soundly? No. I’m going to hell to become its queen. I dropped the phone into a puddle on the tarmac and stepped into the massive jet. Tomorrow morning, the sun will rise. And every single one of you will be on your knees. Begging for death.