Chapter 21 Malec
Malec
“Fedor has a daughter?” I scoff in disbelief from the back seat of Uncle Pedro’s car. “Wasn’t Dimitry his only child?”
“Roran Morozova.” Pedro doesn’t even glance back. “We had eyes on her before—she runs their main strip club—but no one thought she was his blood. Until now.”
He doesn’t sound the least bit surprised. Like this is just another piece on the board shifting into place.
“The second Fedor announced her marriage to Ivan Petrov, we knew. Blood always comes first in their deals. He wouldn’t hand her over unless she was his daughter.”
Of course. Petrov.
“They’re joining forces with the Russians in Miami?” I ask, eyes flicking to the back windshield. My father’s men are tailing us in a sleek line of black cars. All of them locked and loaded. Ready to crash the party.
“Straight to the bottom line, huh? Just like your father,” he smirks in the rearview mirror, his golden gem eyes locking with mine, shimmering with clear satisfaction.
“We’re going to stop this marriage from happening,” he adds, tone laced with a quiet threat.
If they join forces with the Miami family, they’ll become more of a problem than ever—bolder, better funded, and cocky enough to mess with our territory again. They’ve done it before. Every time they gain men and ground, they try to test us.
They’re going to be a serious pain in the ass.
“So you plan on killing everyone and heading to dinner after?” I ask flatly, keeping my poker face locked on his reflection.
“That wouldn’t be the worst plan,” Bay says, twisting around in the front seat. “The three of us wouldn’t mind a good feed.” She points at me, then at her chest.
Pedro chuckles, the lines by his eyes and across his forehead deepening. We Black Blooded apparently stop aging once we hit our prime—mid-twenties, give or take. Bay still looks like she’s barely past thirty. But him? He looks older. Worn. Human, almost.
I don’t laugh at her jab.
This isn’t just a party crash. We’re risking a war with the Russians in both Miami and New York if this goes sideways.
And with everything unraveling in the ocean—and the princess that is probably somewhere on land—I don’t know if I can protect all of them at all times.
“Stop worrying so much,” Myko growls in my head, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “They’ve been doing this mafia human thing longer than you’ve been alive. I hate saying it—but trust your father’s plan. You know he doesn’t get played.”
He’s right. But it’s still messy. Ruining a wedding, likely with all their bosses in attendance?
“What’s the plan?” I ask, jaw clenched. “Stop dancing around it.”
“The quick answer?” Pedro says. “Taking out Ivan.”
I choke out a gasp, eyes bulging.
“Mariano and Dad aren’t like us! If they screw this up, the Miami family will come for them specifically. And let’s not forget the Russians here. Are you all insane? I can’t protect them twenty-four seven!”
Bay turns again, this time her smile softer. “You’ve carried too much for too long, Malec. You’ve forgotten you don’t need to handle all their human mess, too.”
She’s echoing Myko now. I inhale deeply.
“And why do you think we’re coming with them?” Pedro adds, calm as ever. Not a single damn in sight.
“I feel sorry for Alessio. Having to deal with you two as a duo every day must be hell,” I mutter, exhaling hard. “Taking out Ivan really ends the deal?”
“No wedding, no alliance. So yes.” Pedro’s grin widens, not even bothering to get back at me for the Alessio comment. “Even better—we make it look like Fedor’s side turned on him. Pin it on them, clean and easy.”
I blink. “Now that... is something I can get behind.”
And for the first time today, I mirror his grin.
We’re driving into one of those New York streets they never put on the map—historic mansions with silent guards and blood money tucked behind every iron gate.
I don’t need to ask to know it’s probably part of the Morozov’s territory—bought out few mansions, thinking they’re too good for the sewers they crawled out of. Classic.
Pedro pulls into a spot along the curb, breaking off from the convoy following Dad’s car up the street.
“Your mom’s putting all the guests into a nice... nap before they enter,” Pedro says. “Mariano and Matteo are scrubbing the CCTVs. Once that’s done, we make the big entrance.” He glances back at me. “You’ll get your meal, don’t worry.”
He’s way too pleased with this plan.
But damn it—it’s a good one. If we pull it off clean.
A ping sounds from Pedro’s phone, and the atmosphere in the car instantly tightens.
That fast?
“Malec, you and Bay go on foot from here. I’ll park closer and go in with your dad, just in case they need to fry someone—or something.” He cuts his eyes toward Bay. “They ran into a minor issue.”
Her brows furrow.
“I’ll be fine,” he reassures her. “Just being cautious. Apparently, Fedor locked up his daughter because she tried to escape, so they added extra guards.”
Bay sucks in a breath. “Poor thing. I know what it’s like to be born to shitty parents.”
“We won’t hurt her. Promise.” He leans forward, kissing her with a lingering press.
I groan and step out of the car.
“And to think you have to be inside her when they do that... I don’t envy you,” I mutter to Myko, fighting that disturbing image out of my mind.
“Tell me about it,” he grumbles.
I avoid him as I scan the street. Everything seems quiet and peaceful, but I know better than that.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, tuning in to the nearby human souls. Preparing for any scenario. I hear hums, faint ones, further down the road… but then something closer cuts through. A rhythm—offbeat. Something’s wrong with this one.
I take a few steps down the sidewalk toward the sound. Eyes still closed, focusing on the unique melody of that voice. It’s soft, almost sweet, but breaks with a strange disturbance every few seconds. I’ve never heard a human soul whisper like this. Another wave of whispers brushes against me.
I think—
“Malec.”
Bay’s voice pulls me back. My eyes snap open as I turn to find her standing right behind me.
“Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just wander off here. If one of their men recognizes you, the plan turns into a war zone.”
I sigh, choosing not to fight this one. She’s not wrong.
“There aren’t any humans close by,” I tell her, hoping to ease the tension in her shoulders. She’s wound so tight—I don’t know if it’s because she’s worried about me like always, or if something Pedro said is still bothering her. “But I do hear one soul that’s close—”
I don’t finish the sentence before the disturbed hum echoes again.
I press my hand gently over Bay’s mouth before she can say anything. I glance around, scanning. That soul is getting close. Very close. I think it’s running.
I grab Bay’s arm and shove us behind one of the tall, bushy hedges—shaped like some weird bird, only God knows why—but it’s big enough to hide us. So I can’t really complain.
Pedro must’ve driven off while I was too caught up focusing on the souls.
I don’t know these people’s faces like my father or uncles do. I can’t make a rushed move and blow up Dad’s plan too early.
Bay’s glaring at me like a beast ready to pounce the second I release her.
“Myko, tell Bay someone’s closing in. This soul’s… different. We need to be ready—I don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
Myko growls low in agreement but doesn’t add a snarky comment this time.
Bay’s body relaxes against mine as she nods. Only then do I let go of her arm. She crouches behind my back to peek out from beneath the hedge, our heads popping up like a pair of peeping toms.
“You really aren’t scared of anything, huh?” I huff. I should’ve known.
“Shut up.” She shoots me a glare before scanning the street again, waiting for something—anything—that’ll prove me right.
Footsteps. Just one set. Are those… heels?
“Woman?” I murmur.
Bay kicks the back of my calf. “Shhh!” she hisses.
I roll my eyes—but the second I look back at the empty street, I see it.
A ridiculously puffy white dress enters my line of sight. A wedding gown.
A woman’s running frantically toward the white gates of the mansion across from us. The gate’s locked up tight with thick chains, but she doesn’t even hesitate. She’s running from something.
Her soul is trembling. She’s terrified.
She glances back the second she reaches the gate, then starts climbing like she’s in some undercover mission. She moves like a little monkey—those awkward steps fighting against her heels.
When she reaches the top, she pauses, looking between her feet and the ground. Probably realizes she’ll break her legs if she jumps wearing it.
“Malec… I think that’s Ivan’s bride,” Bay whispers. For a moment, I forgot she was even here.
“Ivan’s bride?” I echo quietly, more to myself.
My mind races. A runaway bride… the idea forms fast.
“Tell the others to stop everything,” I snap. “Now.”
Bay’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t question me. She nods quickly and types out the message.
“Pedro asks what’s wrong,” she says, glancing up as if she’s the one wondering, not my uncle.
“Oh,” she murmurs a beat later. “That’s actually… not such a bad idea.” A cunning smile spreads across her lips.
I snort. Myko must’ve updated her before I could.
“You really leave no room for surprises, huh?” I jab.
“You know Bay is me. And me is—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” I sigh.
Instead of faking a murder scene between families—why not let them do it for real?
No bride, no wedding.
Good luck explaining that to the Petrovs, Fedor.
And your daughter?
I hope she doesn’t cry too hard when you’re gone.
A loud thud hits the sidewalk, snapping Bay’s attention from her phone. We both turn to look at the glamorous bride.
She dropped her heels before she jumped—landed barefoot on the other side… right on her ass.
Good at climbing. The landing part? Needs improvement.
I chuckle, realizing that ridiculous dress might’ve actually cushioned her fall.
“Let’s go.” I grin. “We’ve got a bride to save.”