Chapter 17
DMITRI
I’d already taken a shot of vodka when the ma?tre d’ showed Andrey Mikhailov to my table. I sit, as always, facing the door. I see Natasha slip up to the bar. Whether she’s here for her brother or for me, I do not know.
Andrey sits opposite me, perfectly tailored and impeccably dressed, looking for all the world like a playboy philanthropist waiting for me to make my pitch. He’s always appreciated a dramatic flair.
“So I imagine this is about the offer we made regarding a strategic alliance between our families.” Andrey doesn’t have to use coded language—nearly everyone here is part of the Smirnov Bratva. “I imagine you have a counteroffer after thinking about it for a bit. I’m here to listen.”
A server delivers his drink, something clear and stiff without garnish. He picks it up and settles back in his chair, one leg draped over the other, like a king waiting for a lesser enemy to grace him with goods.
Meanwhile, my knuckles are turning white against the rich mahogany of the table edge I’m gripping. I’m trying to anchor myself so I don’t go after him and wipe that self-satisfied grin off his face.
It doesn’t escape my mind that I could end him right here. All it would take is a leap across the table—so fast Andrey wouldn’t know what was happening—snapping his neck and taking the revenge I’ve wanted all these years.
But I’m in a restaurant full of witnesses, the police and Feds are already on my tail, and it would incite a war with the Mikhailov Bratva.
Despite all of that, I so badly want to snap the fucking bastard’s neck for killing Lauren and our son. That would be it—my life’s work, my revenge finally complete. I could die happy, knowing that Andrey Mikhailov was no longer in the world.
Except Lauren would never have wanted that for me. And I suspect Clara wouldn’t either, as much as I hate to admit that it matters to me. That is the only thing keeping the man sitting across the table from me alive.
“You truly must have lost your mind if you think I would at all entertain your offer.” The words roll off my tongue like ice cracking.
“We are not here to discuss delusional alliances that we both know would be a thinly veiled attempt to take over my bratva. No, Andrey, we’re discussing the license you’ve taken. ”
I watch Andrey closely: every eye movement, every breath, every minute adjustment. This is the real danger of the pakhan of the Mikhailov Bratva—he is a psychological blank canvas, a polished surface that reflects only what he wants the world to see, a mask covering the rest.
To everyone else, he is a playboy with a bright smile and perfectly tousled hair, a successful businessman, the other half of the empire Natasha runs.
But I know that canvas is painted over in blood. I know the evil that runs beneath that tailored Armani suit.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Andrey’s voice is smooth as he plays dumb, his eyebrows knitted slightly in confusion. “License for what, exactly? If this concerns the recent market adjustments that are affecting your—”
“I know about the coffee shop.” I cut him off, my voice dropping, vibrating with anger that I struggle to contain. “I know you went to see Clara Benson. I know you tried to poison her against me—Pavel witnessed the entire thing.”
The mask holds. His eyes—the color of a deep, midwinter day in St. Petersburg—widen slightly in what is meant to be surprise, but I recognize the expression for the rehearsed movement it is.
“Clara Benson?” he repeats, as if struggling to place the name. “Oh, yes. Natasha mentioned something about her. The newest member of your legal team, if I remember correctly. And your girlfriend, if you have your trained watchdog keeping tabs on her. Now, that’s a surprise.”
A smile spreads on his face that is as ghastly as it is vicious, and it takes every ounce of my self-control to stay in my seat.
“I ran into her at a coffee shop on Saturday morning. I was so curious after Natasha’s story that I couldn’t help myself—I found her on the company website, of course, no further digging on my part.
It has been such a long time, and we honestly thought you would never find someone after, well, you know—”
“Keep my wife’s name out of your mouth,” I hiss, my tone deadly.
The spark in Andrey’s eyes tells me he’s enjoying this.
“I wouldn’t dream of speaking her name.” His Cheshire Cat grin causes me to ball my fists in my lap.
“But back to Clara Benson. I enjoyed her. It was purely coincidental, just luck on my part. We spoke briefly, mostly about corporate law. If I mentioned anything about your—” he pauses and holds my gaze, “—professional proclivities, Dmitri, it was only in passing.”
“You really think I believe your bullshit?”
Andrey’s shoulders rise and fall in an easy shrug before he shifts slightly, adopting a posture of condescending concern.
“She’s new to our world, Dmitri. Have you spoken to her about it yet?
I merely offered a word of caution. It’s a harsh environment we run in, my friend.
” He gives me a sideways look, his mouth flattening into a frown.
“Don’t you think she’s too delicate for our world, Dmitri?
Have you thought about that, about what claiming her will do?
I was merely warning her what it means to be with you, suggesting that she look out for herself. ”
His hypocrisy is a blow, like a physical punch in the gut.
His story could almost be believable, warning an innocent woman from “the outside,” yet all the while undermining me.
His arrogance is implausible. Andrey must suspect how much Clara means to me.
He’s watching. Andrey Mikhailov is always watching, waiting, testing, scheming.
I fight the impulse to shatter his perfect composure and his jaw; to grab the heavy silver carafe off the table and see what kind of damage it would do to his skull.
This is the last thing I need right now, the thought flashes through the red haze of my rage.
The bratva council is meeting soon, closer with every tick of my watch, and I need every shred of my energy and focus on securing my power on the council.
I can’t do that while the mole is still out there making trouble for me, quietly ripping apart the wires that hold together my legal, and illegal, operations.
I need to be the calm, cool, detached pakhan I usually am. But tonight, all I see is the image of Andrey, slithering up to Clara, smiling that false smile, and trying to scare her away from me. It ignites something primal within, something I fear I may not be able to contain.
I cannot let this slide. I cannot let Andrey get away with such brazen actions. I cannot let him think he can put Clara in his dangerous sights. I must draw the line here; it’s necessary.
My eyes lock on his, my entire body bristling with tension and power. “You think you’re so clever, mudak. The dutiful, concerned onlooker.”
Andrey shrugs again, the picture of innocence.
“I try to be a man of honor, Dmitri, a contrast to the prevailing culture in our world, unfortunately. You carry so much darkness, brother. The anger from Lauren’s death consumes you.
It makes you reckless. And now you want to drag the innocent Clara into all of this? ”
He said her name. He said both of their names. He’s weaponizing my dead wife, my grief, and my feelings for Clara against me, pretending to offer me counsel.
My jaw clenches, my teeth grinding together so hard, pain lances through my cheek.
“You dare put her name in your mouth? You dare speak about the woman you took from me? I warned you. You dare to talk about darkness when you are the architect of darkness? You are a psychopath in an Italian suit. Everyone else sees your mask, the man who prays in church and donates to charities. But I see the hole where your soul should be. You live for darkness, Mikhailov.”
Andrey’s smile remains on his face, but it has no warmth, no humanity.
Nor do his eyes, which have gone dead and frozen.
“Are we not the same, you and I, Dimochka? Do you not have a dark, gaping hole where your soul should be? Did you not sell it the moment you became part of the vory v zakone? The moment you pulled the trigger and took your first life? You blame me for everything, but the truth is, you killed Lauren the minute you made her part of your world. Her death, your son’s death, was a consequence of your choices and your life.
You know who you are deep inside—a monster, a killer—one who doesn’t deserve happiness. ”
The dining room and everyone around me falls away, replaced by gray and red, by the buzz in my ears that drowns out all sound, all sensation, other than my ragged breathing and pounding heart.
Andrey lets out a heavy sigh. “You were reckless then, too. You always are when you let your emotions govern your power. That’s always been your downfall, hasn’t it, brother?
Didn’t Natasha say your father warned you about letting your emotions win?
He fretted about wishing for another heir because you would bring down his dynasty. ”
My blood is roaring in my ears now, drowning out my internal alarms, drowning out all rationalization.
“I know the real Andrey,” I growl. “The man who can look another man in the eye while he slits his throat, then go home and fuck a woman. The man who can watch a pregnant woman die just to clear a path and get what he wants. You think you are untouchable because you leave no fingerprints or trail. But I know who you are, Andrey, what you are. It’s my success, everything I’ve built, my happiness, that you covet, because, no matter what you do, you will never be me. ”
Finally, the mask slips, and if I were anyone else, I’d be terrified of the inhuman thing that lurks underneath. “You have a very dangerous imagination, Dimochka. You might want to get your paranoia under control.”
“Listen closely.” I lean forward over the table, planting my hands as though ready to spring at him at any moment.
“Clara Benson works for my company. She is under my protection, the protection of the Smirnov Bratva. If I so much as find you standing on the same side of the street as Clara again, if I hear you’ve even spoken her name, if I suspect you are watching her—”
My voice drops to a near-whisper, lethal and absolute, “—I will personally see that you lose everything you have, piece by piece. You will be erased from every contract, every ledger, every bank roll, every memory, until the only thing left of you is a bloody smudge on the pavement. You want me to be the vicious one? The unhinged one? I will give you vicious and unhinged. Stay the fuck away from Clara.”
The air between us vibrates with dangerous promise. For a split second, the mask slips again, something only I would notice, someone who has studied my enemy for years. The gray eyes go cold and flat again, full of shadow and fog, utterly devoid of human emotion.
A muscle in his jaw twitches.
Then, he smiles, the psychopath who orders murder and destruction as easily as ordering dinner.
It’s not a full smile, it is more an expression of satisfaction, a precise, controlled smirk.
Andrey knows he’s pushed me to the edge, proven his point, and made it clear just how Clara fits into my life.
“Is that all, Dmitri?” he asks, throwing back the last of his drink.
My muscles bunch, gathering to launch at the monster sitting across from me, to strike the killing blow, to protect Clara and gain revenge for Lauren and our son in one moment.
“Whatever the fuck is going on between you two, quit it—now. Or someone is going to call the cops.” Natasha is suddenly there. I never saw her move from the bar, too far gone inside my rage.
Fuck.
“And no one here needs that, especially you two.”
She stands at the side of the table, hands on her hips, eyes glaring at both of us in turn. She senses imminent carnage in the air, notices the rage on my face. She might be the head of a legitimate business now, but she’s still a Mikhailov, well aware of what happens in our world.
“You’re right, Tasha.” Andrey pushes back his chair and rises slowly, returning to the act of being a concerned friend. “Dmitri is still experiencing a great deal of stress and grief. It seems to have affected his mind.”
When he flashes that grin again, I’m on my feet in an instant. “You motherfucker!”
Natasha steps between us as the restaurant falls silent, every eye glued to our table.
It’s a dangerous place to be, and she knows it.
She places a hand on my chest, a touch that used to mean something, but is now just a painful reminder of my past recklessness.
“Enough! Where the fuck is Pavel? You know very well what he’s trying to do, and you’re playing right into his trap. ”
We remain frozen like that for a heartbeat before I take a deep, shuddering breath and pull back, forcing my hands to unclench. The tension starts to drain away, leaving me cold and empty.
“This isn’t over.” I look at Andrey first, then Natasha, making sure the threat echoes in her ears, too. “The clock is running out for you. I’ll make sure of it. And you will stay away from Clara, or so help me God, I will tear you apart with my own hands.”
I turn on my heel and walk out, leaving the two siblings and the silent restaurant behind.
I don’t look back, but I can still feel the weight of Andrey’s satisfaction, a cold scrawl under my skin that tells me I have won nothing today, except a confirmation of my worst fears.
The mole, the council, and now Clara—all of it is tied together by the psychopath I just failed to extinguish.
Andrey’s words ring in my head, strong and clear: Didn’t Natasha say your father warned you about letting your emotions win? He fretted about wishing for another heir because you would bring down his dynasty with those reckless emotions of yours.
It’s the truth, and I can’t deny it.
Clara Benson is going to be the death of me and the Smirnov Bratva.
If I’m not the death of her first.