Chapter 26 Mikhail
MIKHAIL
The surgical room lights burn my eyes as I pace outside the reinforced steel door.
Blood—Tony’s blood—stains my shirt, my hands, everything.
I can still feel the weight of his body as I carried him from the street, Sophia’s screams echoing in my ears.
My personal surgeon emerges through the door, his surgical gown splattered with crimson. “I was able to remove the bullet and repair the damage to his lung, but the next forty-eight hours are critical, and he’s lost a significant amount of blood.”
“Will he survive?”
“I can’t make any promises. The bullet missed his heart by millimeters. If it had hit even slightly differently…” He trails off, but I understand. Tony should be dead, so he could push Sophia out of the way.
I sink against the wall, the weight of what this is doing to Sophia dragging me underwater.
This is my fault.
All of it.
If I hadn’t kidnapped Sophia, if I hadn’t dragged her into my world of violence and blood, her brother would be safe.
Her father would be alive.
She would still be that innocent college student worried about psychology papers instead of whether her family would survive the night.
Sophia appears from down the hall, carrying two cups of coffee she probably won’t drink.
Her blue eyes are red-rimmed from crying, her face pale. When she sees me, something in her expression makes my chest tighten.
“He’s alive,” I tell her. “In critical condition, but alive.”
She sets down the coffee and moves to me, her arms wrapping around my neck.
I pull her against me, burying my face in her hair, breathing in her scent.
She’s the only thing keeping me from completely losing myself to the rage building in my chest.
By morning, Tony’s condition has stabilized slightly. Still critical, but holding on. The doctor says if he makes it through the next twenty-four hours, his chances improve significantly.
“I need to go out for a while,” I tell Sophia as dawn breaks through the windows. “Handle some business.”
Her eyes sharpen with understanding. “Mikhail, no. Not like this. Not when you’re—”
“I’ll be back soon.” I kiss her forehead.
Marco waits for me in the garage, his expression grim. “I’ve got three of Lorenzo’s men in the basement. Grabbed them from one of his safe houses.”
“Good.” The word comes out cold, empty. I feel nothing except the need to make someone pay. “Let’s go.”
Lorenzo’s men are bound to chairs in the center of the space, hoods over their heads. When I rip the first one off, I see a young guy, maybe twenty-five, his eyes wide with terror.
“Where is he?” I ask, my voice deadly calm.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I drive my fist into his face, feeling his nose break under my knuckles. Blood sprays across my shirt, mixing with Tony’s. “Wrong answer.”
I move to the second man, older, with a scar across his cheek. “You. Where’s Lorenzo?”
“Fuck you, Artyomov.”
The rage explodes. I grab him by the throat, squeezing until his face turns purple.
Marco steps forward, concerned, but I wave him off.
I need this.
Need to feel something other than guilt and helplessness.
“Mikhail.” Sophia’s voice cuts through the red haze. I spin around to find her standing in the doorway, her face pale with shock.
“What are you doing here?” I release the man, who gasps for air. “I told you to stay with Tony.”
“Melinda’s with him.” She moves closer, and I see her taking in the scene—the bound men, the blood, the violence barely contained.
“This isn’t something you should see.” I turn back to the men. “Last chance. Where is Lorenzo hiding?”
Scarface spits blood at my feet. “You’re going to kill us anyway. Why should we tell you anything?”
He’s right, of course.
But I need them to understand what happens to people who serve Lorenzo.
What happens to anyone who threatens my family.
I pull out my knife, the blade catching the dim warehouse light. “Because I can make it quick. Or I can make it last for days.”
Over the next hour, I extract everything they know. Safe houses, supply routes, meeting locations.
Most of it is useless. Lorenzo is too smart to keep using the same places.
But there’s one detail that catches my attention.
“He mentioned a warehouse near the docks,” the young one gasps between sobs. “Said something about going back to where it all started.”
The same place where Adrian ambushed me.
Where this whole nightmare escalated.
“Marco, take some men and check it out.” I wipe my blade clean on Scarface’s shirt. “If Lorenzo’s there, I want him alive.”
“What about these three?” Marco gestures to the prisoners.
I look at them.
They’re just soldiers following orders.
But they chose to follow Lorenzo’s orders.
They chose to be part of the organization that shot my wife’s brother.
“Kill them.” The words come out flat, emotionless.
“Mikhail, wait.” Sophia’s hand on my arm stops me. “They gave you information, do they have to—?”
“Yes.” I turn to Marco. “Do it.”
The first gunshot makes Sophia flinch.
The second makes her turn away.
By the third, she’s moved to the far side of the basement, her arms wrapped around herself.
“Burn the bodies,” I tell Marco. “Make sure there’s no evidence.”
“Already on it, boss.”
I move to Sophia, but she steps back when I reach for her. I look down at my hands, at the crimson staining my skin.
“They were soldiers,” I say. “They knew the risks.”
“They were people.” Her voice breaks. “And you just…you didn’t even hesitate.”
“This is who I am, Sophia. This is what I’ve always been.”
“No.” She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “The man I fell for was trying to be better. Trying to break the cycle of violence. But you…” She gestures to the bodies being dragged away. “You’re becoming exactly what Lorenzo always said you were.”
The accusation stings because part of me knows she’s right. Since Tony got shot, I’ve felt myself sliding back into old patterns. The cold calculation. The willingness to inflict pain without remorse. The need to make everyone suffer the way I’m suffering.
“I’m doing this to protect you,” I tell her. “To protect what’s left of your family.”
“By destroying yourself?” She moves closer, fear blazing in her eyes. Not fear of me hurting her, but fear of losing me to the darkness. “Tony is fighting for his life right now. He needs you to be the man who saved him, not the monster who murders prisoners.”
“Those men—”
“Were already beaten. Already broken. You killed them because you wanted to, not because you had to.” She reaches up to touch my face, her hand trembling. “I know you’re hurting. I know you blame yourself for what happened to Tony. But this isn’t the answer.”
“Then what is?” The question comes out as a roar. “Tell me, Sophia. What do I do? Lorenzo is still out there. He’s still trying to destroy us. And I’m supposed to just wait around until he takes another shot? Until he succeeds in killing someone I care about?”
“Go back inside,” I tell her, turning away. “I have work to do.”
“Mikhail—”
“Go.” The word comes out harsher than I intend, and she flinches. “Please. Just go.”
She leaves without another word, and I’m alone with Marco and the bodies and the blood.
Exactly where I belong.
Over the next three days, I hunt Lorenzo’s organization with methodical brutality.
He’s not where we began, so I check everything.
Every safe house, every front business, every known associate.
I leave a trail of destruction in my wake, burning everything connected to him.
My men follow my orders without question, but I see the concern in their eyes. They recognize what’s happening to me.
I’m becoming the monster Lorenzo always claimed I was.
Sophia tries to reach me.
She calls, she texts.
But I can’t face her, can’t look at her and see the disappointment in her eyes. She deserves better than what I’m becoming.
Tony’s condition improves slightly.
He’s out of critical danger but still weak, still fighting.
Sophia sends me updates, probably hoping they’ll bring me back. But each message just reminds me of how close I came to losing her, how she nearly lost her big brother.
On the fourth day, I finally get a solid lead on Lorenzo’s location.
A shipping container yard on the outskirts of the city, owned by a shell corporation that traces back to him.
Marco and I stake it out, watching as men move in and out. Lorenzo has to be there.
I move before Marco can argue, slipping through the shadows toward the nearest container.
The men guarding the perimeter are sloppy, overconfident.
They don’t see me coming until it’s too late.
The first goes down with a knife to the kidney. The second with a broken neck. I’m moving on instinct now.
There’s no thought, no hesitation.
Just brutal efficiency.
Inside the main container, I find five more men playing cards.
They reach for their weapons, but I’m faster.
The confined space works to my advantage.
One by one, they fall until I’m standing alone among the bodies, breathing hard, covered in blood that isn’t mine.
But Lorenzo isn’t here.
Just more soldiers.
More bodies to add to the count.
I’m searching the container for any clue to his real location when I hear footsteps behind me.
I spin, weapon raised, and find Sophia standing in the doorway.
She takes in the carnage and her hand flies to her mouth.
“I followed you,” she whispers. “You weren’t responding to my calls or texts. I was worried you’d do something stupid.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t recognize you anymore.” Her expression is pure disgust.