Chapter 9 Mikhail
MIKHAIL
It shouldn’t have taken a near-death experience to bring Anya out of her room, but that did the trick. Since she was ambushed in the ballroom while she played piano, that night I rushed up to block her and keep her safe, she’d rebelled against me.
Being targeted so directly was the trigger to her lashing out and condemning me for being such a horrible person, a terrible father, to warrant her life being endangered like that.
“Welcome to the real world, Sis,” Andre muttered next to me as Anya shouted and cursed me out—again.
“This isn’t my world,” she spat, glaring at him. Like this, fiery and pissed off, she proved that she was indeed my child. My flesh and blood. Strong, passionate, and unafraid to speak her mind. She was an Orlov, all right.
It just would’ve been nice for her to balance it out, half the time as a pouty, moody, teenage brat who’d give the illusion of peace and calm with her silent treatments as a protest to living here.
Then half the time acting like a bold, courageous, and opinionated young woman who railed against being shot at.
“And I’m not your sister, you criminal jackass.”
I looked up at the ceiling, seeking inspiration for patience.
Mine had run out, but I’d be damned if I didn’t take this “breakthrough” with Anya as a new beginning.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever know how to handle a daughter, a woman in my household.
She’d either be a target or a future pawn in an arranged marriage if I ever had to deal with that prospect.
But I hoped there could be something in the middle, too.
Some common ground where we’d act like family members of some kind.
This has to be better than her sullen and locked in her room.
It has to be.
I can work with her anger.
She was frustrated. Probably scared and determined not to show it.
But I could work with her on this. I could try to show her how to be stronger and more formidable, because Andre was right. This was the real world, our world.
“This will never be my home. And you will never be someone I want near me.” She pointed at me, nearly spitting with rage. Her blonde hair fell out of a ponytail, making her appear more wild and unhinged. “So stop acting like you care, like you give a shit about me and my life!”
“Would you rather me leave you homeless and penniless in Moscow?” I replied calmly.
“Yes!” She fisted her hands and rammed them down so her arms locked rigidly at her sides. “A thousand times yes!”
“Then I suppose you’re both stupid and suicidal on top of being sassy,” Andre quipped, pushing off the wall of the hallway to walk off.
“Andre…” I warned. I wouldn’t ever dictate his actions or words, but I knew from the simple experience of once having a sibling that criticism like that wasn’t going to help here.
“You fucking asshole!” she roared at him as he walked away, not looking back. “Both of you!”
“He’s right,” I told her, getting annoyed now.
“Oh, of course you’d side with him. Of course, you’d agree with him that I’m a stupid girl—”
“It is stupid of you to think you’d fare better without my money or protection,” I cut in sharply.
She clamped her lips shut and glowered at me with fire in her eyes.
“It also would’ve been suicidal if you hadn’t come here to live with us. That attack last week proves that you are targeted.”
“I’m only ‘targeted’ because of you!” She cringed at me, shaking her head. “Because you insist on keeping me like a prisoner. That’s all I am here. So do us both a favor and stop acting like you give a damn and want to check on how I’m doing after nearly dying!”
“And that is where he’s right about your acting like a sassy brat,” I growled.
She was alive because I protected her. If she couldn’t admit that, I wasn’t going to be gracious with her attitude. No one dared to insult me and live to tell that tale.
“I’ll act however I want to,” she argued. “It shouldn’t matter what I do or where I am because it won’t change the fact that you want to keep me stuck here. Because that’s what asshole criminals like you do!”
I swallowed back the angry words I wanted to dole out on her.
They wouldn’t improve her impression of me, and I had to admit that she was right.
I wasn’t too proud to try to deny her claims. She was accurate with that assessment.
I was a criminal in terms of the law and order regime that the rest of society had to follow.
I could be an asshole when my authority was challenged. Like she was trying to do now.
Yet, I couldn’t concede to her. I couldn’t soften up or justify my life to her. Nor could I abandon her now or give up on forming a connection with her since she quit the silent recluse act.
How the fuck am I supposed to do this?
What the hell am I supposed to say?
I never questioned how to be a father to Andre. I got him. He got me. We made sense as a powerful father-and-son duo and nothing was ever confusing like this.
But I had to try. I had to give it my best effort to convince Anya that I would continue to keep her safe. That she would be welcome here, somehow, despite that massive chip on her shoulder.
The men who attacked that night hadn’t given me any clues behind the incident. The men who’d come into the building were all killed. One escaped, and men were searching for a trace of him. Another had been captured and chose to kill himself instead of being questioned.
I still didn’t know if it was Niko Popov who’d ordered that ambush or Roberto Giovanni. Or another enemy. All of my rivals and adversaries were getting too bold and rash in targeting and sabotaging my businesses and trying to weaken my empire.
Regardless, one fact remained crystal clear.
War was coming.
It was always lurking, a big, bald threat of reality close to the surface of any given moment.
Going into a bigger battle wouldn’t be easy with the distraction of my scared, angry daughter in the background.
“Anya, I understand you are frustrated, but I would like to ask that you give me a chance.” I measured my words carefully and delivered them coolly. I wouldn’t beg. I wouldn’t demand.
“Submit to being here and following the rules of my home,” I added, “and you will see that you are wanted here and that within reason, you do not have to be a prisoner.”
“Fuck you!” she shouted.
Turning on her heel, she stormed off to her room and then slammed the door shut.
I stood there and groaned, letting my head drop back. “For fuck’s sake.”
Instead of going after her and trying to get her to calm down some more, or to suggest she come downstairs more often and acclimate to this life, I stayed put and tried to swallow down my anger.
That little fucking brat.
I knew the Volkovs had poisoned her to hate me, but didn’t saving her life mean anything?
Shaking my head, I sighed and gave in to the awareness that someone was watching me.
I pivoted, seeking out the newcomer downstairs.
There at the foyer, standing alone with her hands clasped together at the straps of a tote bag she carried, was the woman I had yet to erase from my memories.
“Dr. Donovon.”
I said it as a greeting and as a confirmation to myself.
Blinking again, I tested whether I was imagining her standing there. In my home. Peering up at me on this open hallway of the second floor in the aftermath of a shouting match with Anya.
Her eyes were opened wide, surprise evident with that expression.
Those plump pink lips remained parted in shock as she stared up at me.
Fuck.
She had to have heard it all.
Although I only experienced several minutes in her company, it was plenty to give me the hint that she was sheltered. Prim and proper. Too good to ever belong in my gritty, dark world of power and violence. Too sweet and na?ve to disregard the heated words she’d overheard.
Setting my hands on the railing to the hallway, I locked my gaze on her and wondered why she’d shown up now. Or at all. When I walked out of the hospital, I figured that’d be the last I’d see of this gorgeous creature, so tall and slender but curvy in just the right places.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, relishing the fresh curiosity about her that took over the irritation over my daughter.
She flinched, as if she were snapped out of staring. “Oh. I–I’ll go. I’m not… Sorry. There’s no need to interrupt you and…”
Before she could settle on trying to finish one sentence, she spun to flee.
“No,” I said, striding down the hallway and then the grand curling staircase to chase after her. The guards wouldn’t let her leave now. Not without my permission. “Wait.”
She shook her head, stopping mid-step at my command.
“Wait, Claire.”
Frowning, she slowly faced me. “Dr. Donovon,” she corrected.
“Why the formality now?” I teased, reaching the foyer and approaching her as she stood there like a deer caught in headlights, freaked out and eager to sprint to safety. “You’re a guest in my home. No formality is required here.”
“I’m not a guest.” She furrowed her brow. “A butler, Marcus?”
“Martin,” I corrected with a nod.
“He answered the number you gave me.”
I crossed my arms, or tried to until the twinge of pain at my shoulder reminded me that I shouldn’t. “Aw. You missed me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I called to schedule a follow-up for your injuries. He told me to come now.” Under my stare, she looked away and let a little of that sheepishness sneak into her eyes. “But I don’t need to stay. It’s not my intention to interfere with…”
I raised my brows, amused. “With what?” Lifting my hand, I gestured at the empty foyer, the quiet floor. “I’m not busy.”
“It sounded like you were a moment ago.”
Yeah, she heard it all.
“And I really don’t want to interfere with anything between you and your… lover.” She frowned again, almost wincing as she looked everywhere but at me.