23. Michael
Michael
I tap the file open with a single swipe, still half on a call with Vito about a supplier trying to push low-grade product in through our liquor network.
Then I see her.
Kate.
And Romanov.
The phone slips from my hand mid-sentence.
She's in my fucking district. My clean, quiet, polished district—alone.
And he’s there. Behind her. Close. Too close.
I watch the footage frame by frame. His approach. Her step back. Her shoulders tighten. Her smile—tight. Defensive.
My blood starts to hum.
He fucking touched her.
My knuckles crack just watching it. Then?—
Her knee rockets up, full-force, right into his crotch.
Romanov folds like wet paper.
And in the background? Brett. Leaning, watching, arms crossed like it’s Tuesday night poker.
That son of a bitch.
I slam my hand on the desk hard enough to rattle the glass decanter of bourbon. Brett’s phone is ringing before he even has time to blink.
“You had eyes on her.”
“She handled it.”
“She shouldn’t have had to.” My voice is low. Controlled. The kind of control that means the next person who crosses me dies with their teeth down their throat.
Brett sighs. “I knew you’d lose it.”
“She’s mine.”
“She knows that. And so does Romanov—now.”
I don’t say anything for a long beat.
Because I’m not just angry.
I’m scared.
He got that close. He touched what’s mine. And if Kate hadn’t reacted the way she did...
I close the feed and press my palms into the edge of the desk.
She’s playing independent, unguarded, like she doesn’t know the rules of the game.
But she’s in it now. With me.
And Romanov?
He just made his last mistake.
“Bring Romanov to the fishhouse,” I growl. “I’ll deal with him myself.”
Brett doesn’t flinch. “Understood.”
“And Kate…” I rub the tension from my temple. “I’ll handle her.”
Before he can respond, her voice cuts in.
“I’m already on the line, Michael.”
Of course she is.
“I took the phone right from Brett’s hand,” she adds, calm, sharp. “Don’t be mad at him.”
I don’t answer. Not yet. Because I’m so fucking keyed up that the weight of her voice in my ear feels like pouring bourbon on a lit match.
“It was only lunch,” she says, firmer now. “Just a salad. Broad daylight. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
My jaw tenses so hard it clicks. “You went alone. No detail. No text. You were exposed in my district and walked straight into a threat.”
She exhales, frustrated. “I wasn’t trying to be reckless. I just—needed normal for a minute.”
“Normal doesn’t exist anymore. Not for you. Not with me.”
There’s silence on the line.
“I didn’t ask for bodyguards or cameras.”
“No, but you did ask for me.” My voice drops, low and lethal. “And this is what comes with me. Security. Surveillance. Protection. You don’t get to cherry-pick what you like, Kate. This is the whole damn package.”
“I never said I did or didn’t want you.”
“But you sure as hell acted like you’re done deciding.”
Another beat of silence.
“I’m not used to this.”
“No one is. But you learn quick—or you drown.”
I glance at the monitor. Romanov’s on his knees now, hands zip-tied behind his back, getting loaded into the black SUV. Brett’s already moving.
I press two fingers to my eyes.
“Where are you going now?”
There’s hesitation.
“Somewhere safe.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Michael—”
“Location. Now.”
“...My office.”
I straighten. “The one you said I couldn’t find?”
She doesn’t speak.
“You’ve got ten minutes before I’m there myself. You want to talk this out? Good. You tell your assistant to bring you a coffee and clear the next hour. I’m coming to you.”
“Michael—”
“Ten minutes, baby.”
And then I hang up.
Because we’re done with games.
She’s going to understand what it means to be mine—completely.