Chapter 37 Miko
MIKO
The Novikov estate has been scrubbed clean since the explosion.
The floors shine with new polish, the kitchen and hallway cleared of dust and debris, and yet the air still smells of smoke and blood to me.
They gather in the grand ballroom—twelve men seated in a crescent arc of old leather chairs arranged like thrones before the dais.
They’re the Russian patriarchs, the last remnants of the old Bratva world order.
Not one of them is younger than me, but then, that’s been true of every Novikov that has led their families for decades.
Each one of these men has been hardened by war, betrayal, and decades of surviving empire collapses.
Most of them I’ve only heard of in whispers and war stories.
Even Don Augusta knew better than to take them on as a unit. They carry the weight of entire bloodlines in their gazes, and all of them are looking at me now.
I stand tall, my hands clasped behind my back, Anika at my side in a black dress that drapes like smoke off her shoulders.
Her presence lights a fire inside me, lending me confidence that this is the right choice.
We’re in this together.
We are both tired—carrying bruises and scars that don’t show—but we’re here. We are ready.
The door opens slowly, and Svetlana rolls through, her wheelchair pushed by Chastity, who looks as though she’s quaking with fright.
Her knuckles are white as she grips the chair’s handles with unnecessary force, like she’s clinging to it for support so she doesn’t collapse over being in the presence of the hardened criminals in the room.
They’re flanked by two guards who offer Svetlana quiet respect.
Her hair is swept back in a silver bun, her eyes alert and bright.
For all her age, she holds herself like a queen who has seen empires built and broken.
A silence falls as she reaches the center of the room.
Her eyes land on me. Then she nods.
I step forward, my voice steady. “You’ve all come searching for the truth behind the rumors. About the heir Viktor Novikov lost.”
A murmur ripples through the circle of men.
“I am that child,” I say, letting the words hang heavy in the air.
A few brows lift. One patriarch scoffs. Another leans forward, hands clasped. The silence thickens like a test.
Svetlana raises a hand, demanding attention. “He speaks the truth.”
That gets them.
One of the older men, Pakhan Malenkov, leans forward. “You’d stake your name on this, Svetlana?”
“I would stake my blood,” she replies. “I held him in my arms before he could walk. I remember his toothless baby smile. And I remember the last night I saw him, before Don Augusta ripped him from my grandson’s arms. I saw the resemblance the moment he walked back into my life.”
They don’t question her further. Even in her age and frailty, Svetlana commands respect. She’s the last of the old Pakhan wives. A relic—but a holy one.
“Do you have proof?” another asks.
I nod to Anika. She steps forward and sets the document folder on the table, flipping it open to reveal the sealed results of the paternity test.
It took days to confirm the DNA taken from the remains of my father that were still stored in the family mausoleum and compared against mine.
“I had it verified independently. My DNA matches Viktor Novikov’s. Ninety-nine point nine percent.”
The room exhales.
Another patriarch grunts. “Why now? Why come forward after all this time?”
“Because I didn’t know who I was,” I answer honestly. “I was raised by a man who lied to me. Who taught me to hate this name. Who turned me into a weapon. I killed Pyotr because I thought he was the monster. Because I thought he killed the man who raised me brutally and without cause.”
My eyes flick to Anika. She doesn’t flinch.
“But now I see the truth. Pyotr was my brother. And everything that was stolen from this family—our trust, our peace, our honor—I will make it right.” I pause, letting the vow settle.
“You want your heir? I’m standing here. Not as a ghost or a pawn, but as a man who knows what it means to bleed for something.
I’ve lost fathers, brothers, and nearly the woman I love.
But I am here. I won’t let my bloodline rot under the weight of lies any longer. ”
“You’re not the only one who’s lost things,” says one of the men. “We’ve seen our sons gunned down in turf wars. Seen our wives buried because of Pyotr’s madness. You may carry Viktor’s blood, but can you carry what he left behind?”
“I can,” I say. “And I will. Starting now.”
They exchange glances.
“Your first task,” I say, “is not vengeance. It’s not to draw more blood. It’s to show loyalty.”
They quiet again.
“Loyalty to the brothers who sheltered me, who protected this woman when she had nowhere else to run. The Chiaroscuro family was broken by an attack Pyotr orchestrated. They lost everything. I owe them everything. And if you want to prove your loyalty to your heir, you will help them reclaim their throne.”
“An Italian alliance?” one man spits. “When their father’s the one who took you from us?”
“A peace treaty,” I say. “A new era. With a new Don. Russians and Italians have bathed enough streets in blood. I’m not asking you to forget your sons. I’m asking you to make sure their deaths weren’t in vain.”
Slowly, one by one, the men begin to nod. Some reluctantly. Some with silent reverence.
The first to rise is Malenkov. He walks forward and stops before me, then drops to one knee. “I pledge my loyalty, Pakhan.”
The rest follow like a wave. One by one, the Russian patriarchs kneel before me. Twelve men, twelve dynasties, all bowing their heads to a truth long buried.
I inhale deeply. The shift is tectonic. The old war is over. A new dawn has broken.
I reach for Anika’s hand and feel her squeeze mine. Her smile is faint but real.
Her gaze tells me she believes in me.
Even with all the doubts.
Even with all the fear.
The meeting ends in silence, the kind that echoes like thunder.
We walk back to our room with nothing said between us, just the sound of our steps down long stone halls. Guards pass, some offering nods. Others just watch us pass like ghosts.
When we get inside, I shut the door quietly behind us.
Anika steps out of her heels and lets them topple to the floor. She doesn’t speak. She just turns to me. There’s a storm behind her eyes, a love buried under doubts and anxiety. But it’s still there. Still burning. “You did it,” she breathes, relief washing across her delicate features.
“We did it,” I echo as I cross the room to her.
Our mouths crash together, wild and unforgiving. Her fingers claw at my jacket, dragging it over my shoulders and down my arms. As soon as they’re free, I wrap my arms around her like I’m afraid she’ll disappear.
Since I brought her home, I’ve found a new intensity to our intimacy, a desperate kind of need that doesn’t seem to be fading, because Anika has shown me just how precious each moment with her is.
I’ll never know which kiss is going to be our last, and I want to collect as many as I can while her lips are still mine to claim.
“I love you, topolina,” I rasp between kisses.
Anika presses her body to mine, mouth hot against my jaw, my throat, my chest as she returns the sentiment without words.
Every touch between us is fire and redemption, forgiveness and fury all tangled in one.
And shining like a beacon above it all is the tiny little secret she’s carrying inside her.
My cock hardens with the thought of seeing Anika’s belly round and swollen with pregnancy, evidence of our love on full display for everyone to see.
I want to worship her for godlike ability to bring a child into this world.
My child. Our child.
But we have months still to go before she’ll even start showing, and several more before we’ll get to welcome our baby into this world.
And in the meantime, I intend to test the limits of just how much pleasure I can bestow upon her. Scooping her up in my arms, I wrap Anika’s legs around my hips to carry in farther into the apartment.
I lay her back against the bed and take a moment to admire her flushed skin and swollen lips.
My hands hesitate as I touch her, as if she’s too fragile, too precious. It’s a constant battle, to keep my desire for her under rigid control.
But for Anika, I would do anything.
I would endure the worst kind of torture to earn a single one of her smiles.
But she pulls me down on top of her, her voice rough with want. “Don’t hold back,” she pleads, softly nipping the lobe of my ear.
It’s the only signal I need. Anika feels safe with me.
The past dies in the heat of her breath.
The ghosts fall silent when she whispers my name.
And as I bury myself inside her glorious depths, I know that, for this woman, I would burn the whole world down.