Chapter 8 Mikail
MIKAIL
She shut me out—completely. This is not ignoring or punishing me, but it’s like my no snubbed her life essence. To be the reason butchers me. Her misery caused by me. Once again.
It’s been three hellish days where the moment she would see me, she would turn around, walking away from me. I won’t survive this torment.
I have memorized her routine. She swims, goes for a drive, plays for hours, and then locks herself in her room where she plays some more. I thought I knew what torture was, but her cutting me off fucking kills me. Agonizingly. Slowly.
I swear it’s like my men sense the deadly vibe I emanate because both the organization and the business have gone smoothly—too smoothly for my liking because I need a reason to go off. All I’ve done is fight and work. On repeat. In vain.
I crave her reaction. Something, anything or I will go mad. I rake a hand through my hair, wanting to rip it out. I function on pure agony and lack of sleep.
Tonight, she has a concert, and I watch the live feed of the cameras at the compound on my laptop.
Dressed in a black silk dress reaching her ankles, she wears sandals with spiky golden heels.
Red paints her lips, her black hair straightened to perfection and falling down her back.
She wears her pain like the queen she is.
Lorenzo, the head of security at the compound, opens the door to her Porsche, and she offers him a small smile before she gets behind the wheel, two cars flanking her. My best men trail her because she’s my reason, my purpose—my fucking life.
I had a lot of time to think. Strangely, what heartache achieves—resurrection of the fucking corpse in my chest I thought I buried.
My life flashes before my eyes, stuck on repeat on her eighteenth birthday.
One day, she was a sweet girl, the next, a firecracker of a teenager, and then she became my dream woman. A few years completed the transformation meant to undo me.
I didn’t lie. I wasn’t truthful either.
I wasn’t surprised when she asked me to kiss her. Caught off guard, yes. But surprised? No. Suddenly, she wasn’t untouchable, and it fucked with my head. I convinced myself she’s forbidden being my best friend’s little sister, then I latched onto the age difference.
Imagining what would have happened if I had kissed her is for people who don’t control their lives.
I lost my fucking mind searching for her, losing hours while my father drove her away.
And when he called me, none of those excuses mattered. I would get to her and make her mine.
I always considered her mine—mine to protect, mine to spoil, mine to love.
My initial plan was obliterated when I had to listen to my father recount the story of who was behind my mother and sister’s death. Igor was too far gone, and I made him believe I entertained his revenge plans.
By then, my entire heart belonged to the girl shivering in a corner and crying for me more than for herself, and my complete loyalty belonged to my brother, who would never have done what his father did.
Enzo and I have prided ourselves on being honorable men. Our bond is the only true thing in our lives. Our credo and guideline—not to betray the other.
But I’ve been betraying my brother for the last four years.
I’ve betrayed my heart too.
My world is brutal.
And my love is no different. Our beginning is just an example.
I was terrified that at some point she would see me for the monster I truly am.
I could have the world, yet it would always resemble an empty shell because I could never fill it with her.
Sighing, I stand up, palming the desk to support myself. Exhaustion and neglecting my body weaken me. So be it. I hurt the woman I love. Fuck if I care to take care of myself.
I dimmed the only bright light in my life.
She should hate me. I hate myself enough for the both of us.
Trudging out of the elevator, my men glance at me, the worry clear.
I don’t even have it in me to snap. I lashed out enough in the last days, but not even that brought me the release I desired.
Dropping into the driver’s seat, I turn on the engine. Her music floats around, dragging me into the pits of hell where I boil in endless torment.
Once I park, I take a glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror. Bags under my eyes, heavy with the lack of sleep. My face is devoid of color. I resemble a ghost—a dead man walking. Stubble covers my chin as I haven’t bothered shaving. I look just as I feel—terrible.
Inside the concert hall, I pluck a champagne glass and down it in one go. Needing something harder to survive, knowing her playing will be that much darker—black, pointy claws fisting around my heart and squeezing it to death.
I’ll take it. I’ll take it all from her. In my weakened state, I’d give her fucking anything. She just has to talk to me.
In the corner by the stage, the curtain hides me.
I am so used to her keeping to herself, I almost stumble over my feet when I see that fucker, Tristan Kinkaid. He saw Dahlia play once and basically forced this renowned agent to listen to her, and the rest is history.
But what makes my eye twitch and my hands curl into fists at my sides is him standing next to her. I loathe that pompous ass.
Whatever he says, she smiles at him. I hate that they have known each other since childhood and are close.
That’s the last thing he’ll tell her if he doesn’t put some distance between them.
“I’m looking forward to hearing you play.” I hear him say, complimenting her hard work and talent.
“Could we grab drinks later?” she asks him.
I am about to lose my shit. Reaching them, I split them apart by shoving my body between them.
Dahlia rolls her eyes at me, and the asshole doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk.
“What are you doing here?” I grit out.
Tristan arches a brow, a cold arrogance sliding over his face. “I don’t need an invitation, Mikail.” Giving me one more intense glare, he kisses her cheek and goes to the balcony upstairs.
I grind my teeth hard enough that they might crack.
She whips her head to me, and those green-blue eyes find mine. The vivid color paled, the bright light dimmed—appearing lifeless that I want to slice my chest open, bleed out for her.
Her agent appears with a preppy guy holding on to a violin as if it’s his treasure.
Dahlia turns to him, giving me her back. “Can’t wait to play with you.”
What the fuck? She can’t wait. Who is this fucker?
He smiles as if he hit the damn jackpot and he can finally taste the luxury he always dreamed about.
“Who the fuck is he?” I ask the first staff member I see, not caring that I don’t appear civilized anymore.
“Thomas Folly. He’s a world-renowned violinist.”
And now I have a name to put on my shit list. Once you’re there, you’re not getting off it alive.
“And what does he do here?”
Except for wanting to charm my woman. But fuck, she isn’t my woman. Haven’t I insisted I want someone normal for her, someone who is not in our lifestyle? I was under the influence of ignorance. Sure as fuck seeing it play before my eyes doesn’t sound as good or workable anymore.
As they keep talking, her agent walks over to me, looking smug.
“It’s going to be a magical night. These two together on a stage. Such a shame it’s on this scale, but I have hope they will perform together in New York at the Met or Lincoln Center.”
This is news to me, so I stare at Dahlia disappearing behind the curtain to get ready for her big entry. She deserves this. To play on the biggest stages, to be adored by millions. I’ve wanted that for her, but once she’s gone, she will never return. Her infatuation will disappear.
The tip of Ramona’s nose crinkles. “I hope you won’t interfere.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches. “Watch your fucking tone.”
Am I rude? Sure. But she has always pissed me off with her condescending attitude, watching me as if my presence offends her.
She clutches her silk blouse, mumbling something under her breath. “I don’t get what she sees in you.”
I get in her face. “And let’s get one thing clear. I want only the fucking best for her.”
Incapable of holding my gaze for long, her face drops. “Then let her go.”
“I’m not keeping her here.”
She was always destined to leave me.
Dahlia doesn’t just play the piano, she creates heavenly music that takes you on a journey as if your soul leaves your body. Accompanied by that guy who is not as talented as her, but they complement each other well, I realize that’s her place—on stage with someone like him.
I need to get out of here before I ruin any chance of her escaping me. But this is my punishment, watching and imagining someone else giving her the life I can’t, even if I wanted to.
When the concert ends, I expect her to search for me like she always does, but this time she seeks Tristan out. Jealousy ravages me—a dragon spitting balls of fire and setting my insides ablaze. Between two green monsters, they box me in, obliterating my control.
Nostrils flaring, I try and fail to gather my composure.
Tonight of all nights, she decided to stay longer, basking in the attention. Everyone stops to congratulate her, and I follow behind until she heads to the bar, drinking wine with the violinist. By the time I reach her, my patience evaporates in wisps of smoke just like my rationality.
I know she feels me behind her. It’s in the goose bumps peppering her nape. The half talented asshole peers at me, furrowing his brows.
I can hear her sigh before she turns to me, narrowing her eyes into two cutting slits.
I offer her my most charming smile.
She rolls her eyes, loving to provoke me.
I crack my neck, reaching my breaking point.