Chapter 35
Mikhail
My cards slide across the table just as I toss back the rest of my drink.
“All in,” I say against the lip of the glass, smirking at the men seated around my dining room table. My words inspire a collection of curses, my inner circle groaning as they reposition their cards in their clenched hands.
I haven’t hosted one of our weekly poker games in several months, thanks to all of the issues we’ve been having with the missing shipments, and I think we’re all grateful for the small semblance of normalcy.
“Damn, Mikhail. I hope you’re not trying to hustle us in your own house. Might come across as a bit selfish,” Andrei says with a laugh from the end of the table, slicing his cards one by one into different arrangements in his palm.
I missed this, spending time with my chosen family in situations that don’t require weapons or stain removal. I think the break is valuable for morale. It helps to center us. Remind us what we’re fighting for.
I’m just refilling my glass when my phone rings, a call from my personal security team coming through. The sound visibly sends every member of the room on edge, reaching for their weapons. The air tenses with thick anticipation.
“What?” I answer, cutting to the point.
“Sorry to bother you, sir. We have a Ms. Donahue downstairs asking to see you. She refuses to leave the premises—”
“Send her up immediately. Provide her security on the ascent.” I interrupt the call instantly, thrill and worry hitting me in the same slap. Cassandra’s here? Is something wrong?
“Ivan,” I shout, summoning him over at a jog. “Why didn’t whoever’s on watch inform you that Cassandra left her house?”
“Shit,” he says, digging his phone out of his pocket and flicking off the silencer switch. “Sorry, Boss. She left about forty minutes ago in her car. It says that she’s—”
The elevator doors slide open, revealing my girl standing amidst nearly the entirety of my downstairs security team.
“Here,” Ivan finishes, trailing off as he and the rest of my men gaze toward the beautiful brunette stepping into the room.
“Menace, what’s wrong?” I rush over to her.
“Nothing. Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d have company.” She quickly does a survey of all the highly tattooed, heavily armed Bratva men lining my living room. “Can I talk to you privately?” she says, gazing up at me with a look of fierce determination.
“Of course. Let’s speak in my office,” I say, leading her down the adjacent hallway. Wisely, everyone pretends to go back to their poker game, averting their curious gazes.
When we reach the room, I click the door shut for privacy and settle back against it, taking a moment to appreciate the view.
Her dark curls curve around her pale face, perfectly offsetting those grey-blue eyes.
She’s wearing leggings that hug the curve of her ass, and her hip pops to the side in a stance of such conviction you’d think she was going into battle.
What I would give to run my fingers through her hair again.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your party.”
“Cass, you are always welcome. Hell, I would’ve driven to you if you had texted me.”
Her cheeks heat with the prettiest blush. I hope she does it again.
“I’ve come…shit, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she trails off, her arms curling around herself in discomfort.
I hate to see her fight dissipate so quickly.
“Sweetheart, I’d give you anything you asked for. Please tell me what you need so I can help,” I ask, stepping closer.
She seems to steel herself before looking back up at me, and when she does, that fierce resolve is right back in her gaze.
“I want you to teach me to shoot,” she rushes out.
My eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. “Are you in trouble? What’s going on?”
“No, I’m not, I just—yes or no, Mikhail?”
“Yes,” I answer, nodding my head. “Of course. I told you I’d give you anything.
” My brows remain pinched as I examine the little enigma before me.
I’ve never known a safe, happy person to ask for a gun.
There’s definitely something more going on here, and while I’ll happily embrace any reason to be closer to her, a piece of me twinges with curiosity at the request.
I reach into the back of my harness and set my handgun on the table.
Not even thirty minutes later, I’m leaning back against the desk, an expression of pride settled on my face as I watch my girl lock the slide back of my handgun like a pro.
When the click resounds through the space, her gaze peers up at me for approval.
Those blue-grey eyes nearly bring me to my knees.
“You’re a natural, Menace,” I murmur, enjoying her preening expression at the words. “Check the chamber.”
Her finger slides into the narrow slot where the magazine would sit, before pinching her eyebrows together. “Empty.”
I nod, sliding the magazine across the table. When she assembles it without the slightest hint of apprehension, I can’t help the smile that lifts my lips. It’s my first in weeks.
“Like I said. A natural.”
I watch her carefully lift the weapon, inspecting her work.
“Perhaps you could fill me in on where this sudden interest came from?” I probe, hoping to glean a bit more information than the limited explanation she provided when she first walked in.
She sighs, emptying the magazine once more before setting the weapon down on the table. The action makes my heart flutter.
“I was thinking about that talk we had.”
“Oh?”
“I guess I’m jealous of the control you have. After everything that happened to you, to your family, everyone would’ve expected you to become a victim of circumstance.”
Tilting my head, I consider her words.
“And instead, you took in all of that shit and just became stronger. I mean, look at you—no one would dare victimize you. You took control.” Her gaze wanders back to the gun. “I want that.”
An odd burst of emotion swirls in my gut. In my line of work, it’s always been take control or lose your life. I’ve shocked plenty of people by living through those events, but no one has ever told me they admired how I’d managed it, or who I’ve become.
“Menace,” I rasp out, voice thick with meaning. “You already have so much more control than you think. You’re so fucking brave.”
I brush my hand against hers, a testing touch. She doesn’t pull away.
“Remember the night we met? Anyone else would’ve run far away, but you? You came closer. You took complete control and saved my sorry life without even knowing me.”
I lean down, trailing my fingers up her arm and across the curve of her neck, brushing back a rogue curl from her forehead. Those beautiful eyes flutter up to me, and she leans her head into my touch. The action does something to my stomach.
Moving slowly to allow her plenty of time to pull away, I tug her closer to me until I can feel the soft pattern of her breath across my cheeks. When she closes her eyes, I press my lips to hers, reveling in the soft touch of her mouth. God, I’ve missed this.
My hand cups her cheek, thumb brushing against her temple as I slip my tongue between her lips.
It brushes against hers, at first with timid movements, but growing in tenacity when she deepens the kiss, opening up for me.
The prettiest moan falls from her throat, and the sound goes straight to my cock, immediately hardening for her.
She rises against me, and I slide a leg between her thighs, giving her something to grind against. When her searching fingers grip my hair, pulling me even closer, I release a low groan, trailing kisses across the corner of her lips and down her throat.
My hands are just beginning their exploration underneath the hem of her sweatshirt when a knock sounds at the door.
“Fuck off,” I growl, brushing reassuring circles on the back of Cass’s neck. She pants against my neck, catching her breath.
“Pakhan, there’s been an explosion at Empire. Seems like a homemade IED.”
Fuck.
How could Empire be targeted? Our security and operations teams are top tier, and the doors probably haven’t even opened yet for tonight. This has Cassio written all over it—additional pressure to release our power.
“Go, Mikhail,” Cassandra whispers into my ear before straightening up and brushing a hand down her disheveled top. Her lips are swollen from all the kisses, the sweetest color of pink.
“Will you call me later?” I ask, pressing one last peck to those lips.
“I will. Be safe.”
The words cocoon around my body like a shimmering web, bringing so much warmth and heat to my chest. Fuck. When’s the last time someone told me to be safe? The small expression makes me feel invincible, like I’m a child once more flying by on a bike under open blue skies and hot summer days.
I slide the handgun and magazine toward her once more.
“You’ve proven you can assemble and dismantle. It’s yours, baby.”
“You haven’t even taught me to shoot yet—”
“We’ll work on it,” I say, brushing her cheek and steeling myself to let her walk away again. Each time sucks worse than the last.