♞Chapter twenty one♞
Mikhail
The dress? It’s perfect. I knew it the second I bought it for her.
Black satin, thigh-high slit, thin little straps barely clinging to anything.
It's elegant but lethal. Her in a nutshell. I left it on her bed this morning, no note. A silent dare. If she doesn’t wear it, I’ll show up anyway.
I’ll drag her out myself, kicking and screaming if I have to.
I’m rolling my cuffs up now, glaring at my own reflection. My suit’s dark, crisp, same color as the ink that’s crawled halfway up my arm. I look...fine. Put together. But the knot in my gut says otherwise.
One knock.
The door creaks open.
And there she is.
Jesus Christ.
That fucking dress on her, it’s not fair. It hugs every inch like it was custom-made for her body alone. Her chin’s up too, daring me to react, daring me to fall apart.
“Don’t get too excited,” she says, deadpan. “I’m only coming because I was bored.”
Right. Bored. I take a breath. Keep the volcano in check. Meanwhile, she’s bored, and I’m five seconds away from kissing her feet. “Lie all you want,” I murmur, “but you’re still wearing my dress.”
Her lips twitch with something close to fury. Or restraint. Could be either. She snatches her purse and slams the door behind her. “Are we going,” she mutters, brushing past me, “or are you just gonna keep standing there like some obsessed freak?”
I let out a laugh, hand sliding to the small of her back. She doesn’t shove me off . Small win.
***
I guide her through the restaurant's entrance, my hand staying firm on her waist so that every motherfucker in this room knows that she’s mine.
She stiffens when she spots Roman standing at the head of a private table in the back, nursing a glass of whiskey, his jacket draped over the back of his chair.
“Relax, sweetheart,” I murmur. “He’s already tried to recruit you once. This is... a better setting.”
She lets out the softest huff.
I pull out her chair, and to my absolute fucking delight, she gives me a glare that could kill before sitting down. All it does is make my cock twitch. Unhinged Lola is my favorite version of Lola.
“You’re braver than I thought,” Roman tells her, setting his drink down.
Lola quirks a brow. “For what?”
“Walking into a room full of men like us and acting like you belong.”
She shrugs. “Maybe I do.”
Roman studies her like a puzzle he hasn’t yet figured out. “We'll see.”
She’s nonchalant, uncaring whether he thinks she belongs or not. I can tell Roman likes that.
He smirks. “You’d do well in the family.”
“I think I’d rather chew glass.”
He chuckles. “Smart girl.”
Lola rolls her eyes, and I swear to God, I could fucking devour her right here.
“She’s going to break you.” Roman tells me.
She tilts her head at me. “Am I?”
I lean in, voice low enough for only her to hear. “You already have.”
She rolls her eyes at me. The waiter approaches, and my eyes rake over him. Ever since I saw that damn drawing, the one she left behind, I’ve been watching. Hunting. My gaze roams over every man I see, searching for the one she sketched.
Maybe it’s him. Maybe fate handed me a gift tonight, placing him right in front of me so I can teach him exactly what it means to intrigue my woman. The waiter stops at the table, pen poised over his notepad.
Lola orders something light. I order steak, bloody. Roman orders whatever the fuck he orders. I barely register it. My eyes are locked on the waiter’s face, scouring every angle, looking for something familiar, something telling.
But there’s nothing.
Not him.
The waiter scribbles something, then moves along, and I force my hands to unclench from the edge of the table.
“So,” Roman muses, far too casual. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous,” Lola murmurs, tipping her glass to her lips.
“You’re an amazing artist.”
“You’ve mentioned.”
His fingers tap against the rim of his glass. “It’s a waste.”
“Excuse me?” Lola mutters.
“Your skill,” he clarifies. “Your mind. You could recreate things. Things people would pay a fortune for. Things that would change the—”
“No.” I spit.” This is a dinner, not a fucking recruitment meeting.”
“I’m just saying—”
“No. She’s not interested.”
Lola says nothing, but she’s shifting in her seat, clearly uncomfortable.
“He doesn’t know, does he?” Roman muses.
I don’t like the way her breath catches, or the way she pales.
“How you lived in the darkness long before he came into your life,” Roman continues.
Lola flusters. That’s fucking enough. “It’s either you quiet down,” I say, voice low, dark, warning, “or we leave.”
“Fine,” he shrugs, appeasing me. “We’ll talk about something else.”
I reach under the table, letting my fingers graze over hers, grounding her. She flinches but doesn’t pull away. Roman struck a nerve. I don’t know what it is. But I will.
The waiter sets down our plates. We start eating in silence, the clinking of cutlery filling the space between us.
For a moment, things feel normal. I shatter the illusion.
“You remember that day?” I try to remember the speech I spent the whole day memorizing.
“That day,” I murmur, “when you overheard me on the phone?”
“I was talking with him.” I jerk my chin toward Roman. “I told him things,” I continue. “Things that weren’t true. Things that made you believe you were nothing more than convenience to me. I owe it to you to clear up those lies. Right to the person I said them to.”
Roman raises a brow, clearly enjoying this far too much.
I ignore him. My eyes are locked on Lola.
“You’re everything to me. I apologize for making you think otherwise.
You were never some convenient fucking arrangement.
You were never just an easy fit for my life.
You are—” I shake my head. “You are the only thing I want.”
Roman snorts. “Jesus Christ.”
My pride hurts, but this is what she needs to rebuild hers.
“Your work is exceptional,” I tell her. “You are exceptional. And I—I was a coward. I fucked up because I was scared.” I grit my teeth.
“Scared that being with me, being associated with me, would put you in danger. That my world, my name, the Bratva… that it would take you from me. But make no fucking mistake. Anyone who so much as looks at you wrong will be dismantled. Piece by fucking piece. I can’t let you go.
I pulled you into this world because I’m selfish.
Because I don’t give a fuck about morality or redemption or what’s right.
I only give a fuck about you. You want to be free of me?
” I smile, sharp and humorless. “Too fucking bad.”
Silence.
The restaurant hums on, oblivious.
Roman sighs, rubbing his temple. “If I ever get this caught up over a woman, shoot me in the head.”
Lola’s eyes are calculating, searching.
Then—
“Still not forgiven.”
Roman barks out a laugh. “Oh, you are so fucked, brother.”