Chapter 12
Mikhail
Ishouldn’t have grabbed her from the edge of that cliff.
Should’ve let her learn the hard way what happens when you stop paying attention to the world around you.
But my hand was already on her waist before the wind pushed her closer to the drop.
That’s the first thing she’s taken from me: control, even if only for a second.
I told myself it wouldn’t happen again, but here we fucking are, forty thousand feet in the air, about to land in Alemont City, and the fact that my friends had the privilege of seeing her naked legs makes me want to skin them alive.
It shouldn’t bother me—very few things tick me off these days—but it fucking did, and I’m growing impatient to lock this woman in my house where no one else can see her.
On the couch behind me on the jet, Cecilia has fallen asleep, curled up under my suit jacket. I’m surprised she kept it on this entire time, given her obvious resentment, but she’s about to land in the state of New York. In October. A far cry from the warm temperatures she’s used to.
“So what now?” Rodion asks from the seat in front of mine, sipping whiskey. “Wolfgang loses his shit tonight when he sees you, and then what?” He traces a pattern in the condensation of his glass, the same careful focus he gives his targets when he carves out their eyes.
Rodion is a Chesnokov—a crime family who helped build the bones of my father’s Bratva. I’ve known him for over twenty years, and he has yet to piss me off enough to want him dead.
“My brother might lose his shit, but only because I’ve blindsided him,” I say. “He’s too smart not to see the peace treaty with the Ferraras for what it is.”
“Why’d you do it, then? Blindside him. And more importantly, why the fuck did you not at least tell either of us about your plans? We could’ve been flying out your corpse now.”
I lean back in my chair, sneaking a quick glance at Cecilia. “Had my reasons.”
He quirks a brow, and it doesn’t surprise me.
He and Niko are the only two people I’d trust with the full extent of my plans.
We’re usually in each other’s orbit, cleaning each other’s messes.
Our loyalty is practical, and I’ve walked through the fire more than once for them, as did they.
This time, however, I went at it all on my own.
The stupid fucking guilt that gnaws at me every day demanded it.
It wasn’t enough to give up my father’s throne after I took it from Wolfgang. It wasn’t enough to help him sort out his shit with his wife, Victoria. I needed to feel like I’m done owing him, to breathe without the past choking me.
“Fine, don’t tell me,” Rodion says. “But the next time you disappear, make sure your brother doesn’t go ballistic on us again.”
Just then, Niko comes out from behind a curtain. Quiet and reserved, like always, he plops down on a chair with his laptop, barely bothering to acknowledge us.
“Still tracking her?” I ask, knowing he’s got his hands full with this woman he likes to keep tabs on. She’s a mystery to all of us—we don’t even know her name. All we know is she’s been on his mind way too fucking much lately.
He ignores my question. “I’ll need one of you to come with me to The Hive next week.”
As expected, Rodion goes still, the only sign that he’s listening. A special someone working there as a honeypot keeps spitting in his face every time she sees him.
Pussy-whipped, both of them. How fucking annoying.
Niko, however, only goes to The Hive on business. His father—Oleg Ivanov—is an avtoritet in our Bratva, a rank that comes with certain expectations for the rest of their family. And Niko delivers. Even Rodion and I stopped trying to keep up.
“Do I even want to know why you’re going?” Rodion asks, leaning back in his chair.
Niko types something on his laptop, the glare of the screen reflecting off his sleep-deprived eyes. “I’ll tell you when you grow some balls and admit the only reason you want to come is to see your spy.”
I roll my eyes at their exchange. They’re setting themselves up for disaster by thinking of any woman like that. What can they offer them that won’t end in disaster? They’re too removed from normal life to think of things like love.
Love doesn’t protect anyone. It paints a target on their backs.
The plane vibrates as it flies through a patch of dark clouds.
I close my eyes for a second, tuning out the surrounding conversation.
There’s still so much shit I have to deal with tonight.
Only one thing perks up my curiosity, and it has everything to do with the little devil sleeping peacefully behind me.
I do wonder when she’ll snap, how long it will take her before her killer instincts kick in and the two of us can have some real fun.
A few minutes later, when we land, Rodion and Niko exit the plane first. I get up to bring Cecilia, only to realize she’s been awake for a while, leaning against the window and staring out at the clouds.
After a full day of travel and intense stress, her wavy brown hair is a little disheveled, eyes hooded with the spell of sleep, lips too plump for me to be staring at.
She’s fucking gorgeous, and she just sits there like she has no idea.
When she looks up at me, something jolts through my skin all the way down to my cock.
Fuck’s sake. Maybe I should go with Niko to The Hive, take the edge off one of the Matron’s girls.
“Time to go,” I tell her, jerking my head toward the door.
Without a single word, she gets up, making her way around me in a little act of defiance. Our bodies brush, and that jolt comes back stronger, zipping through my ribcage as if I was infected with lightning when we passed through the clouds.
I crack my neck muscles and turn, stalking after her, but by the time the wind hits my face, she’s already stopped, head lowered, arms crossed. She steps back into my chest, the harsh temperature lapping at her naked legs, the skirt of her dress flapping behind her.
Of course she’s freezing. What a nuisance.
I hate that my body moves to fix it before my mind catches up.
I take the jacket from her shoulders and wrap it around her legs.
Then, I move one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her.
My liver sends a sharp pain through my abdomen, and any other wounds I thought were gone resurface.
Good. I’d rather go through blinding fucking pain than acknowledge the hard-on currently growing in my slacks.
I don’t look down, but I can feel her eyes watching me before she nestles into my chest. Small. Defeated. Craving my warmth. Her delicate hair hits my face, and with it comes the familiar scent of orange blossoms and musk enters my lungs. It hits harder than cocaine, and I can’t have that.
Fucking stop thinking about her.
“Need a hand?” Rodion asks, throwing me a knowing look as he opens the car door for us.
Ignoring him, I get in with Cecilia, ducking my head, then pull the door closed before more wind can get inside.
They can take the other car. I didn’t even ask them to come to San Maleno for me—all I needed was someone to pick us up at the viewpoint so I didn’t have to ride in Antonio’s car. They could’ve just sent a driver.
“Crank up the heat,” I tell Ilia, my brother’s personal driver. I know he sent him just to make sure I was coming home tonight. I’m surprised Wolfgang hasn’t come here himself with a goddamn leash to wrap around my neck.
I still haven’t placed Cecilia on an empty seat, and her fists haven’t let go of my shirt either. Obviously, she’s simply clinging to my warmth, not to me. Her skin is cold, her trembling growing stronger.
I curse under my breath, rubbing my hand down her smooth legs beneath my jacket to enhance blood flow. Big fucking mistake. Just when I thought my erection couldn’t get any bigger, it now pushes against my slacks painfully.
If she notices it, she doesn’t let it show. I don’t even know if she understands what it means. The details of her sheltered life aren’t fully clear.
As the feel of her skin plagues my thoughts, her breathing eventually slows, and her tight grip on my shirt relaxes. Ilia drives us through the winding roads of Alemont City, grim and dreary, on the verge of nightfall.
When he was Pakhan, my father built our home here, close enough to New York that we could go about our business but secluded enough to be safe in an emergency.
It’s a small town surrounded by mountains, forests, and nature galore. If my heart hadn’t been pulled out of my chest when I was a kid, I would’ve thought the place beautiful. Now, I walk through the world hollow.
The people responsible—my parents—are currently in Moscow. They should stay there. I keep telling myself that, one day, if I get my mother alone in a room again, I’ll kill her.
A few minutes later, the big metal gates open automatically, and the mansion I grew up in stares back at me through the window—tall, dark, and isolated on this lot with no neighbors, exactly as it was designed.
I peer down at the small woman in my arms, noticing the way her eyes shift across the building with both dread and curiosity.
“Stop by the other entrance. I need to get her to her room first,” I tell Ilia.
As if on cue, Cecilia tenses in my lap, and before I know it, she leaves it in exchange for the empty heated seat to my left, wrapping the jacket around her back.
The loss of her warm body against mine makes me realize how cold it actually is.
I, myself, am only wearing a flimsy linen something Antonio gave me before we left.
“Pakhan said to leave you in front of his office,” Ilia says. “I don’t think you understand how pissed off he—”
“Yada, yada, yada.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve fucking had it with Wolf’s mood swings. Stop by the other entrance—my wife is fucking cold.”
A grimace from Ilia is the only response I get before he rounds up the driveway and stops in front of the other wing.
“Hop on. Last stop,” I tell Cecilia, patting my leg.
“I’m not your dog. And I don’t need to be carried.” She opens the door next to her and slips outside.
I follow her, eyeing her trembling legs. “Not my dog. More like a baby deer trying not to die on the lawn. Suit yourself.”
When I enter the house, there’s no wave of heat hitting me.
We like to keep it somewhat cool, even indoors.
Father used to take me and Wolf out to Siberia when we were kids to get used to the temperatures.
Cecilia, on the other hand, grew up under the sun.
This place must be hell on Earth to her, and she’d be right.
The clacking of heels on the wood floors grows louder as Corinne, the head housekeeper, greets us in the foyer. A frown feathers her wrinkled face as she takes in my rough exterior. Her eyes shift to Cecilia, then back to me.
“Right,” I say in place of greeting. “We’re going to need a spare bedroom that’s warm. Take her there and set her up by the fireplace.”
“I was told you’d be coming home with your wife. I only warmed up your bedroom.”
“Of course you did.” I give her a tight smile, grab Cecilia’s wrist, and lead us past the housekeeper. The old hag and I like each other about as much as anyone likes stale beer.
Another sharp pain assaults my body as I trudge to the big staircase, but I push through it. I told Antonio the wedding is next week, which means Cecilia can’t get sick until then. I need the goddamn fireplace.
“Oh my God,” a voice I recognize cuts through the haze from somewhere behind us. “What are you doing? Why is this girl barely wearing any clothes?”
“I don’t know, found her at the beach, and she followed me home,” I mutter.
Victoria, my brother’s wife, throws me a murderous look as she rushes in from the living room with a blanket in her arms. They got married last spring, and when she first came into this house, she detested it too. At least Cecilia will have someone to relate to instead of getting in my way.
“You look…” Victoria says, watching me. “Never mind. At least you’re alive.”
“How thoughtful.” I grin.
“Wolf wants to see you. Go—I’ll take care of her.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“This is serious, Mikhail. You forced his hand, and you know it. Don’t go in there pretending this is all okay.”
My jaw flexes under an exasperated breath before I peer down at Cecilia. She looks so out of place in her sunny dress and the suit jacket that’s too big for her. Cute. For a murderer—I should remember that.
The sight of her with those big, scowling eyes looking up to me for answers bangs against that hollow place in my chest, cementing my new reality. I put this whole thing in motion, and now, I’m stuck with the consequences. What the hell do I know about taking care of someone?
“This is Victoria. She’ll take you to your new room,” I say. Before I let her go, I take out the spare phone in my pocket and hand it to her, just to avoid her whining about it later. Our hacker gutted the OS, so nothing on this thing broadcasts location .“Off you go.”
She blinks—confused, or shocked, or maybe both. “Oh, so now you’re leaving me alone? What the hell am I supposed to do here?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Just…” I look at her again and come face to face with her beauty, knowing how much of a nuisance this is going to be if I’m not careful. “Do us both a favor and keep that bedroom door locked tonight.”