Chapter 3 Mikhail
MIKHAIL
Despite the late night of dealing with the bombing at the restaurant, I was up early the next morning for my daughter’s arrival.
Anya would be here any moment, and I wasn’t looking forward to her attitude.
It’d be lousy. She wouldn’t want to be here.
But there was nothing she could do about that.
I was literally her only family left now. Her last resort.
I didn’t have the time or patience to feel upset about that either. I’d learned my worth. If I wasn’t wanted, fuck it. She would be different, though, obligated to be under my care until she was of legal age.
“At least it wasn’t our building,” Andre said as he stood next to me in the foyer. He straightened his cuffs and looked as disinterested in standing around for this as ever. Again, I couldn’t blame him.
“True,” I replied mildly. “But it was still too close for comfort.” The building that had been bombed last night wasn’t an Orlov property, but it was near our turf.
Too near. Thanks to the Giovanni we had captured and questioned, or more so, thanks to his weakness and ability to cry and tell us whatever we wanted when we applied pressure, we had the heads up to make sure none of the planned attacks would impact us or our businesses in the area.
The Popovs had set up the attack on the Giovannis, but somehow, Niko Popov was spinning the narrative to place the blame on us. Roberto Giovanni was just pissed at us and the Popovs and swore retaliation on us both.
It was never-ending. This was the fate I had to look forward to as the boss. It was the fate I had been dealing with since I turned eighteen and my mother, father, and older brother Dmitri were killed.
Hell, it’ll be the fate you’ll have when I’m gone, too.
I let out a heavy sigh, glancing at my son and wondering if that day wouldn’t be here for a long time coming.
Staying healthy and fit was a passion of mine, especially as I entered my fifties just this year, but danger was ever-present, at every corner and behind each shadow.
With Anya coming here, she’d be exposed to it all, too. Just being my daughter and living with me would set her up as a target. It was one of many reasons her coming here would be more of a headache on top of all the other things I worried about.
“There she is,” I commented when the cars pulled into the private drive that would lead to the front of the building.
Owning this entire block was a safety measure.
It was also a godsend when we wanted privacy and some degree of distance.
Andre, Sergei, and Roman all had their own buildings, residing in the penthouse level of each.
I supposed Anya could have a building when she was older, but for now, she’d live in my building under the best security.
“I do have eyes,” Andre replied dryly.
“And I bet you’ve got the same enthusiasm about her being here that she’ll show us.”
He grunted and rolled his eyes like this was a bore. A tiring waste of his time. Perhaps it was. I wasn’t in the mood to force any relationship between them. It would be a fruitless effort. Campaigning to undo all that the Volkovs said about me and my son wasn’t going to happen.
“No.” Andre shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the car pull up closer around the drive. “I have zero enthusiasm and absolutely no interest. I’m only out here to ‘welcome’ her because you asked me to be present.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Likewise, Father,” he quipped drolly. “But I really do hope you won’t be distracting and bothering to make her like you, or us. Or being here at all.”
“I don’t intend to be distracted by anything or anyone.”
Not even that nurse. Or was she a doctor?
I couldn’t tell since I’d rushed to help her in a hurry at the hospital last night.
Maybe Andre was after a valid point with me.
I supposed I could have a bleeding heart, some smidgen of empathy and compassion to give a shit about others who were down.
I seldom let women into my life, but I wasn’t raised to be a brute for the hell of it.
That Giovanni had been inches from kicking that medical professional, and sometimes, bullshit like that was simply uncalled for, no matter the circumstances.
My moral compass was skewed, but I bet my son and nephews sometimes wondered if I could be too… soft.
A softie at heart. And I didn’t often let anyone get close enough to my heart to begin with.
The car stopped and the guard strode toward the back to open the door like Anya was royalty.
In any other fashion, she was. Anya Orlov was a Mafia princess purely because she was my flesh and blood.
Yet, I wasn’t rushing to pamper her or spoil her.
If that was the treatment she was used to back in Moscow, well, she had another thing coming.
As the door opened, I stood straight and watched with a blank face.
First, one leg swung out, then the other.
Showing a graceful nimbleness, Anya turned and exited the back seat until she stood tall and proud, pointed chin tipped up.
Blue eyes, so cold and serious. Long, golden-blonde hair swept back over her shoulders.
In a simple dress and plain heels, nothing over-the-top or too stylish, she looked… almost normal.
Like a teenager who never had to worry about money might.
Elite. Poised. Well-dressed and not slouching.
Then she glanced at me. And damn, what an icy glare that was.
“Anya,” I greeted simply with a single dip of my chin as an acknowledgment. “Welcome to New York.”
She slitted her eyes more and began to take measured steps up to us at the front door.
With every placement of her heels, a sharp clack snapped on the stone risers.
She didn’t run. She didn’t amble. This was a steady march forward, like she wasn’t an estranged daughter coming here to live with her only surviving parent but like she was a warrior squaring up to go to war.
I prided myself on instilling a solid sense of confidence in Andre. But watching my daughter as we saw each other for the first time, I wondered if they were just born with it. If they were simply wired to be this confident and appear so powerful because they were my children.
Fuck, that’s so weird to say.
Children.
Not just him.
It’d always been Andre I looked forward to raising. Anya had been so distant.
As she strode up the steps, not letting her chilly glare fade for a second, she looked just like I’d imagined her. Sure, I had pictures of her over the years. I knew what features defined her as my daughter. But it was this bratty attitude, this coldness and instant hatred and loathing.
Just like I fucking expected.
She stopped in front of me and Andre. Sparing him an icy glance, she didn’t lower her chin once. Defiant without a break. I could admire that tenacity—but right now, it was a bother I didn’t have time for.
“This is your brother, Andre,” I introduced.
She arched one brow.
I see how it is.
Going to try the silent treatment?
Go ahead.
Suit yourself.
In fact, she was only making my life easier, choosing this sullen muteness as a way to protest being forced here.
Hey, you don’t want to be here and I would rather have you gone again. Make it easier for us. Hate me and stay out of my way.
I shrugged, rocking back on my heels once. “Martin.” I didn’t break eye contact with this bratty daughter of mine, looking at me like I was the devil. Summoning the butler, who often served as my personal assistant, I let out a long breath. “Show her to her room.”
“That’s it?” Anya snapped haughtily. “I’m a prisoner here?”
Andre huffed and shook his head slowly. “Keep acting like a spoiled brat and you—”
I held my hand up, the only gesture necessary to silence him. After I shot him a look to shut up, he grimaced and looked to the side.
“Martin will see to it that you have whatever you need.”
“What I need is to be as far away from you as fucking possible, you criminal asshole,” Anya spat.
“Don’t entertain yourself with the delusion that I’ll have time for your attitude.” Turning quickly, I nodded at Martin, who was already there and ready to do as I instructed.
That was enough for an introduction and welcome. If I went another sixteen years before I had to face her again, I was sure it would be mutually fine between both of us.
Andre fell into step with me, shaking his head as we went in the direction of my office. “That went well.”
“That is over,” I said. “Now…”
“On to business.”
I nodded. “On to business.”
Hours later, after I ate in my office much later than dinner would’ve been served, I was mildly curious whether Anya had gone down to eat or if she was holing herself in her room.
I’d ask Martin tomorrow. He would handle her in my stead.
Any one employed here would do my bidding and supervise my recalcitrant daughter.
They would because I expected loyalty in the organization. Just like they all looked up to me as their leader and boss to provide for them, ensure our wealth and power, and keep them all safe.
That was why, when I stood in my room late that night, admiring the nightscape of the city that never slept, I wasn’t alarmed when I spotted men sneaking through the property and trespassing.
Masked and armed, two men crossed over the roof of the building adjacent to mine.
It was used more for storage and offices than residences, but it looked like someone had decided to use it as a bridge to reach me.
Or Anya.
Staying in the shadows and spying on the men creeping toward the end of the building where her suite was, I texted for Sergei to come up and help me handle this.
Asking Andre to provide security for his sister seemed like a touchy thought.
Sergei wasn’t as vested in any familial drama.
Between my nephews, Sergei was my tougher one, the killer, the soldier and leader who wouldn’t ever flinch or hesitate to assist me.
He arrived quickly, watching out the windows as I did.
“They’re trying to rappel to her windows?” he guessed, already brought up to speed about where Anya was residing.
I nodded. “Looks like spies might have followed her here from Moscow.”
He shrugged, checking his gun. “Or maybe her arrival here has piqued the interest of the enemies.”
“What, you think Niko Popov gives a shit about her being here?” I glanced at him in the darkness.
“I doubt Roberto Giovanni would care,” he replied.
I sighed, annoyed that I’d have to worry about past enemies and current ones.
And that they could very well be the same.
Anya, by herself, wouldn’t be of value. When she was older, I could arrange her marriage, but I doubted I’d do that.
She didn’t represent power in the Orlov organization.
She had no shares or wealth, only what I set aside at her birth.
Marrying her off wouldn’t give me any advantage over anyone else because I was already at the top.
Besides, I was a living example of how arranged marriages could fucking suck.
Olga and I were forced to marry and it turned out to be a waste.
Rubbing my jaw, I considered my nephew’s remark. “Niko Popov could very well be clinging to the past.”
Sergei nodded. “He might.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he is interested in Anya’s arrival.
Because of how he wanted to be in my position.
” Back when my father decreed on his deathbed that I would honor a betrothal agreement with the Volkovs, set up by my grandfather, Niko was pissed to miss out on an easy connection with Russia through Olga.
“Which wouldn’t have happened anyway. He wouldn’t have gotten anything from the Volkovs because they pissed away all their money over the years.”
I tipped my head to the side to indicate we should go and get a couple of guards to assist with stopping these two trespassers and see why they were interested in Anya.
The obvious was clear enough. Any family member of mine would be a target, leverage to reach me.
Any woman I would ever take would be a target as well, and it was the biggest reason I only slept around without any strings attached, to ensure no one woman would deem herself as mine.
After my late wife’s dismissal and avoidance of me, I wasn’t in any rush to ever be in a committed relationship with a woman again. Period.
“Besides,” I reminded my nephew, “Olga was already arranged to marry me.” With her instant loathing and lack of interest in being present as my wife, I had quickly dismissed any plans to further my business in Russia.
I never needed to, diversifying my wealth here in the States and overseas.
Olga’s coldness made my decision to cut off the Volkovs that much easier.
I wasn’t going to try for an advantage when they preferred the Popovs over me.
We left my room, and I let Sergei handle calling for a pair of guards to assist us on this slight mission. Even though I was curious about who’d be trespassing on my property and having their sights set on my daughter, I was peeved to dredge up the past.
The drama of Olga and the Volkovs wanting to be aligned with the Popovs instead of me was old news. Annoying, dated news that I couldn’t give a damn about now.
Yet, Niko was still my rival.
And I was still as closed off to ever having a woman matter in my life again.
Heading out to keep Anya safe, though, I knew I was a hypocrite in that regard. I did care about her for the fact that she was my child, someone with Orlov blood.
But that was it.
I wasn’t going to rush to start a relationship with her. I wasn’t bent out of shape and hurt that she wasn’t interested in having me as a father.
No women.
I had to adjust that perspective where she was concerned, but in every other way, I wouldn’t be opening up to let any other woman matter for a long term in my life again.
Once was enough.
It was frustrating, though, that someone seemed reluctant to let go of the past now. That someone would target my other connection to Olga and tried to trespass in my home.
“Ready?” Sergei asked at the door that would lead to the roof-top access so we could ambush those two men.
I was ready to focus on business. Not my daughter. Not any woman.
Flicking my hand forward in a gesture to proceed, even though Sergei had been checking with the guards, not me, I let out a deep breath and moved forward.
Let’s see what this bullshit is all about.
Anya wasn’t earning love from me with her attitude.
Still, I’d be damned if someone tried to take her or hurt her on my watch.