Chapter 3Mikhail
3
Mikhail
I stand at the windows of my penthouse, gazing down at the bustling street below. A flash of auburn hair emerging from the building’s entrance catches my attention. Phoebe. Her vibrant sundress sways as she walks, a cheerful splash of color against the concrete sidewalk. I move closer to the glass, captivated by her easy grace.
It’s not just Phoebe that catches my attention. It’s Masha. My normally reserved, cautious dog bounds alongside her new walker with unbridled enthusiasm. Her tail wags furiously, and she prances with a lightness I’ve rarely seen.
“What’s gotten into you, girl?” I murmur, smiling despite myself.
Phoebe kneels, her face alight with laughter as Masha showers her with affectionate licks. The sight stirs something in me, a warmth I’m unaccustomed to feeling. She’s so good with Masha. Yesterday, she handled her perfectly, and today looks to be the same.
My phone buzzes, dragging my attention away from the scene below. It’s Yuri, my second-in-command. “Yes?” I answer, my voice sharp.
“The shipment from Odessa is delayed,” he says. “Customs is giving us trouble.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustration building. “Handle it. Whatever it takes.”
“Of course, boss.”
I end the call and turn back to the window, but Phoebe and Masha have already disappeared from view. An inexplicable sense of loss washes over me.
Shaking it off, I stride to my home office. Work always grounds me. I immerse myself in spreadsheets and ledgers, the familiar dance of numbers soothing my restless mind. Yet I find my thoughts drifting back to Phoebe’s warm smile and Masha’s uncharacteristic playfulness. I settle back in my chair, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The penthouse feels unusually quiet and empty.
On impulse, I pull up the security feed from the lobby. It takes only a moment to find the footage from earlier. There’s Phoebe departing with Masha. I stare at her longer than I can justify as she plays with Masha. I rewind, watching their interaction again, and again. Each time, I notice something new. The way Phoebe’s hand lingers on Masha’s head, the dimple in her chin when she smiles, and the look of pure devotion my dog gives her within minutes.
She’s really something. And pretty, too. Gorgeous in a way that makes me feel guilty for thinking of her as anything but innocent, but all women have a devil side to them. They like to have fun just as much as men do.
A knock at the door startles me. I quickly close the security feed and say, “Coming.” Phoebe’s smile lingers in my mind in contrast to the grim business awaiting me. With a long exhalation, I stand and straighten my suit jacket. It’s time to focus.
The conference room is already occupied when I enter. Sergei, Yuri, and Vladimir rise to their feet, a sign of respect that never fails to satisfy me. I nod curtly and take my place at the head of the table. “Gentlemen,” I say, my voice low and authoritative. “Report.”
Sergei, my second, speaks first. “The Cubans are getting bolder, boss. They’ve taken over two of our protection rackets in South Beach this week alone.”
I rest my elbows on the polished mahogany. “And how did we let that happen?”
Yuri shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “They’re offering better rates to the businesses. Some of our guys got sloppy and thought they could slack off. The Cubans swooped in.”
I drum my fingers against the table, a steady rhythm that betrays my irritation. “Sloppy is unacceptable. Who was responsible?”
“Gleb and Izmail, holdovers from when Arseny was pakhan of Miami,” says Vladimir, his usually stoic face betraying a hint of disgust. “They’ve been dealt with.”
I nod, satisfied. Weakness can’t be tolerated when our hold on Miami is at stake. It’s the reason I’m here. The bratva was losing its hold in Miami, and the head pakhan from Moscow sent me here from Brighton Beach to address that. Arseny, my predecessor here in Miami, is currently at the bottom of Biscayne Bay with cement shoes from what Sergei has told me. “Good. What’s our next move?”
As Sergei outlines a plan to reclaim our territory, my mind wanders. I see flashes of auburn hair and hear echoes of light laughter. Phoebe. What is it about her that’s gotten under my skin?
“Mikhail?” Yuri’s voice snaps me back to the present. “What do you think?”
I blink, realizing I’ve missed part of the conversation. “Run it by me again,” I say, masking my distraction with a stern glare.
Sergei clears his throat. “We propose a show of force. Hit one of Valdés’ major operations. Send a FAFO message.”
I frown. What the hell is a fay-fo? My English is nearly native-level fluent, but that’s one I’ve never heard. “A what?”
Yuri laughs. “He’s trying out my generation’s slang, boss. FAFO means fuck around and find out.”
I nod and consider this, weighing the risks and benefits. It’s a bold move that could easily escalate the situation, but perhaps that’s exactly what we need. “Yes, let’s go with this FAFO response.” I wait for their chorus of agreement. “Which operation?”
“Their nightclub, ‘Havana Nights,’” says Yuri, pulling up a map on the large screen behind him. “It’s a major money-laundering front for them. Taking it out would hurt their bottom line and their ego.”
“People would be shocked to learn how many of their night spots and restaurants are fronts for money-laundering,” says Vlad softly, clearly in philosophical mode. “That’s why it remains a standard play. Retaliate by hitting their joints.”
I nod slowly, a plan forming in my mind. “Yes, but we’re not just going to hit it. We’re going to take it.”
The room falls silent as my lieutenants exchange glances. It’s Vladimir who speaks up. “Take it? As in...”
“As in, it becomes ours,” I say, a cold smile spreading across my face. “We’ll hit it hard, fast, and without warning. By the time Valdés realizes what’s happening, we’ll have control of his books, his contacts, and everything.”
Sergei grins with approval. “It’s risky, but the payoff could be huge. When do we move?”
“Two nights from now,” I say decisively. “Yuri, I want you to handle the tech side. Get into their systems and be ready to lock them out. Sergei, you’ll lead the strike team. Vladimir, you’re on perimeter security, and I’ll let you pick your team. I don’t want any surprises.”
They nod, already beginning to discuss the details among themselves. I stand, signaling the end of the meeting. “Get it done, gentlemen. I want a full briefing tomorrow morning.”
As they file out, I remain at the table, lost in thought. The thrill of the impending operation courses through me, but it’s tinged with something else. Phoebe’s face flashes in my mind, eyes wide with shock if she knew who I really was. I shake my head, banishing the thought. There’s no room for softness or distraction in this world.
And yet, making my way back to my office, I can’t resist checking my watch. It’s almost time for Phoebe to return with Masha.
I pause at my desk, torn between the stack of reports demanding my attention and the desire to catch another glimpse of the woman who’s inexplicably caught my interest. With a frustrated growl, I force myself to sit down and focus on the papers before me.
Even as I immerse myself in the cold, hard numbers of our operations, a part of my mind remains fixed on the warm smile and gentle hands that seem to have worked their way past my carefully constructed defenses.
I glance at my watch, noting I’ve somehow worked for fifteen minutes without thinking of her, but Phoebe should be returning with Masha any moment. Instead of greeting her myself, I decide to observe from afar. I retreat to my private office, where multiple screens display feeds from the building’s security cameras.
I call up and watch the lobby feed, catching my breath when I find her on the screen. Masha trots beside her, tail wagging with enthusiasm I’ve rarely seen from my usually reserved dog.
Rodion approaches them, his normally stern expression softening as he greets Phoebe. I lean closer to the screen, straining to hear their conversation through the tinny speakers. A little thing like it being illegal to record audio isn’t going to keep me from knowing everything that happens inside my building.
“How was she today?” asks Rodion, reaching down to scratch Masha’s ears. Masha accepts it stoically, but she doesn’t light up at the interaction despite having known him for two years now. He’s never hurt her and never would, but she’s a hard dog to get to know, except with Phoebe and me.
Phoebe’s smile is radiant. “An absolute dream. We had a lovely walk in the park. She even made friends with a golden retriever.”
I raise an eyebrow at this. Masha, making friends? That’s certainly new.
“Mr. Sokolov will be pleased to hear that,” he says, taking Masha’s leash.
“Oh, is he not available?” Phoebe glances around, a flicker of something—disappointment?—crossing her face. It makes my chest tighten.
“He’s in meetings all afternoon, I’m afraid,” he lies smoothly. “I’ll be sure to pass along your report.”
She nods, her smile dimming slightly. “Of course. I should be going. Same time tomorrow?”
“We’ll see you then,” he says.
I watch Phoebe leave, her colorful dress swishing around her legs. Even after she’s gone, I stare at the empty lobby, lost in thought. What is it about this woman that’s gotten under my skin? She’s just Masha’s dog walker, nothing more, and yet...
I shake my head, trying to clear it. This is ridiculous. I have an empire to run and enemies to outmaneuver. I can’t afford distractions.
Turning back to my desk, piled high with reports and contracts, my mind wanders. Before I can stop myself, I’ve made a decision. Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay a visit to Cafecito Dreams.
The next day, I stand outside the small coffee shop, hesitating. This is foolish. I should turn around and go back to the office in my penthouse. There’s work to be done.
Instead, I push open the door. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee envelops me. Behind the counter, Phoebe looks up, smiling in recognition. “Mr. Sokolov, what a surprise.”
I approach the counter, suddenly feeling out of place in my tailored suit. “Good morning, Miss MacKenzie. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d try the coffee Masha’s always raving about.”
Phoebe laughs. “Masha’s been spreading the word, has she? We can’t disappoint our canine clientele. What can I get for you?”
I glance at the menu board, overwhelmed by the options. “I’m afraid I’m not very well-versed in coffee. What would you recommend?”
“Hmm.” Phoebe taps her chin thoughtfully. “Are you a bold flavors kind of guy, or do you prefer something smoother?”
“Bold,” I say without hesitation.
She grins. “I thought so. How about our ‘Thunderbolt Espresso?’ It’s a dark roast with notes of chocolate and a hint of cherry. Guaranteed to wake you up and keep you going all day.”
“Sounds perfect.” I’m oddly pleased by her assessment of me.
As she prepares my drink, she chatters away, explaining the different roasts and brewing methods. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I’m genuinely interested.
“Here you go,” she says, sliding a steaming cup across the counter. “One ‘Thunderbolt Espresso.’ Fair warning, it packs quite a punch.”
I take a sip, and the rich flavor explodes on my tongue. “It’s excellent,” I say, surprised by how much I enjoy it.
Phoebe beams. “I’m so glad you like it. You know, we have a loyalty program if you’re interested. Buy ten coffees and get one free.”
For a moment, I’m tempted to tell her I could buy the entire shop if I wanted, but looking at her earnest expression, I realize I don’t want to be Mikhail Sokolov, feared leader of the Russian bratva . Here, in this cozy coffee shop, I can just be Misha, a man enjoying a good cup of coffee.
“That sounds great,” I say, pulling out my wallet. “Sign me up.”
As Phoebe fills out a loyalty card for me, I’m surprised by how normal this feels. How nice it is to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around territory disputes or profit margins. I haven’t gotten my own coffee in years, and I certainly haven’t chatted up a pretty barista in… forever?
“There you go,” she says, handing me the card with a flourish. “One stamp down, nine to go.”
“Thank you, Miss MacKenzie,” I say, tucking the card into my wallet.
“I thought we agreed on Phoebe. Anyone who Masha likes is a friend in my book.”
I smile, surprising myself. “All right, Phoebe, and you can call me Misha.”
“Misha,” she repeats, testing the name. “I like it. It suits you better than Mr. Sokolov, somehow.”
If she only knew how true that once was. How much I sometimes yearn for the simplicity of being just Misha, especially in moments like this. “I should be going,” I say reluctantly, glancing at my watch. “Thank you for the coffee, and for taking such good care of Masha.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she says warmly. “She’s a special dog. You’re lucky to have her.”
I nod, thinking of how Masha came into my life. The dog fighting ring I’d shut down, and the way she’d cowered in the corner, scarred and terrified. She didn’t have the temperament to fight, so they’d used her as a bait dog. Thinking of what humans did to her, I’m still amazed at how she’d slowly learned to trust me. “I am. More than you know.” My mouth stretches into a feral grin that makes Phoebe frown as I briefly recall the pleasure of forcing the two “men” running the operation to fight to the death, then killing the one who’d survived.
Upon leaving the coffee shop, I’m already planning my next visit despite the danger. The more time I spend around Phoebe, the greater the risk of her discovering who I really am and what I really do, but sipping my Thunderbolt Espresso, savoring the rich flavor and the memory of Phoebe’s smile, I can’t bring myself to care. For a few minutes each day, I can be just Misha with Phoebe, and that’s worth any risk.