Chapter 7Mikhail
7
Mikhail
I sit at the head of the long, polished table in the secure room of my Miami Beach hotel. The tension in the air is heavy at the meeting with my top bratva captains. We’ve just received word that The Corporation, under José Valdés’ leadership, has hijacked one of our drug shipments. The news hangs in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.
“Gentlemen,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence. “We have a situation.”
Sergei, my second, asks, “How much did we lose?”
“Ten million in product,” I say, my jaw clenching. “And two of our men.”
A collective murmur ripples through the room. I scan their faces, noting the anger and concern.
Rodion slams his fist on the table. “We can’t let this stand. We need to hit back hard.”
I raise a hand, silencing him. “We will retaliate, but we must be smart about this. The last thing we need is a full-scale war with the Cubans.”
“What do you propose?” asks Zakhar, his weathered face creased with worry.
I ease back in my chair, considering our options. “We need to send a message,” I say slowly, “But it must be done quietly. We can’t afford to attract law enforcement attention.”
Sergei nods in agreement. “What about their shipments? We could hit one of theirs to even the score.”
“Too obvious. Valdés would expect that.”
My bodyguard, Vlad, who is naturally included in these meetings, says, “What if we go after another one of their legitimate front businesses? The nightclub on Ocean Drive, perhaps?”
I consider this for a moment, then shake my head. “We already took their ‘Havana Nights’ club. I want a different tactic to dissuade José. Even if he doesn’t know it came from us, I’ll consider it good if it distracts him or disrupts his business for a while.”
The room falls silent as my captains mull over the possibilities, each one trying to come up with the perfect plan of revenge.
Finally, Sergei says, “What about Valdés’ right-hand man, Carlos Mendoza? He’s been seen frequenting a certain establishment outside of town. We could arrange for an unfortunate accident.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “That’s an idea with potential. Sergei, I want you to handle this personally. Make it look like a mugging gone wrong. No connections to us.”
He nods, a predatory grin on his face. “Consider it done, boss.”
“The rest of you,” I say, addressing the room, “I want our security tightened. Double the guards on our remaining shipments and start looking for any weak links in our organization. Valdés may have had inside information.”
The captains nod in agreement, but they seem as skeptical about a mole as I do. My people are loyal.
A chorus of “Yes, boss” echoes around the table.
“Good. Get to work. I want updates every hour.”
The captains file out of the room, their hushed conversations fading as they disperse to carry out their tasks. I remain seated, staring out at the Miami skyline. The city sparkles like a jewel, oblivious to the undercurrents of violence and power struggles that shape its destiny.
My thoughts drift to Phoebe, the unexpected brightness in my life. She’s so far removed from this world of darkness and retribution. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine a different life, one where I could simply be Misha, the man who enjoys her company and her cooking classes.
But reality crashes back in like a tidal wave. I’m Mikhail Sokolov, leader of the Russian bratva in Miami, and right now, I have a war to prevent and a message to send. I stand, straightening my suit jacket. My responsibilities feel especially weighty today. Leaving the room, my phone buzzes with a message from Sergei.
“Preparations underway. Will update in one hour.”
I nod to myself, slipping the phone back into my pocket. Sergei is always one to act methodically, so it could be a few days before the plan bears fruit.
Stepping out of the secure room, Vlad is waiting for me. His imposing figure is a constant presence necessitated by the dangers of the world I inhabit. “Everything okay, boss?” he asks, scanning the hallway for potential threats.
“For now,” I say, already thinking of contingency plans. “Stay alert. Things might get... interesting in the coming days.”
Vlad nods, falling into step beside me while we make our way to the elevator. The hotel, which is a front business for us, and where we conduct business in one of the top-floor conference rooms, is lavish but its opulent decor feels almost garish now, like a thin veneer of respectability covering the gritty reality of my life.
I just want to be back in the penthouse with Masha…and Phoebe. I think longingly of the way she looks at me like I’m just a man, not a feared mafia boss. It’s intoxicating and dangerous because it risks making me forget who and what I am.
The elevator doors open, and I step out into the bustling lobby. Tourists and businesspeople mill about, blissfully unaware of the criminal underworld that operates right under their noses.
“Sir,” says Vlad, interrupting my thoughts. “Your car is ready.”
I nod, following him out to the waiting black SUV. Sliding into the back seat, I decide I need to see Phoebe and remind myself of the simple joys in life before I dive back into the murky waters of retaliation and power plays. “Take me to Cafecito Dreams,” I say to Vlad, who is also my driver.
As the car pulls away from the curb, I allow myself a small smile. Perhaps a cup of coffee and a glimpse of Phoebe’s warm smile will help clear my head. After all, even a mafia boss needs a moment of peace now and then.
The drive to Cafecito Dreams is mercifully short with the Miami traffic cooperating for once. When Vlad pulls up to the curb, I spot Phoebe through the café’s large front window. She’s laughing with a customer, her face lit up with genuine joy. The sight of her eases some of the tension in my shoulders.
“Wait here,” I say to Vlad as I exit the car. He frowns in protest but doesn’t argue.
The bell above the door chimes when I enter, and Phoebe looks up. Her smile broadens when she sees me, and for a second, I forget about hijacked shipments and impending violence.
“Misha,” she calls out, using the nickname she’s grown fond of. “I didn’t expect to see you today except when I pick up Masha for her walkies.”
I approach the counter, drinking in the sight of her. “Business brought me to your neighborhood,” I lie smoothly. “Thought I’d stop by for a cup of your excellent coffee.”
She beams at the compliment, already reaching for a cup. “The usual ‘Thunderbolt?’”
I nod, watching as she prepares my drink with practiced ease. Her movements are graceful, almost like a dance. It’s a far cry from the brutal efficiency of my world.
“Here you go,” she says, sliding the cup across the counter. Our fingers brush when I take it, and I savor the brief contact.
“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip. The rich, bold flavor floods my mouth, grounding me in the present moment. “How has your day been?”
She launches into a story about a difficult customer and a mix-up with the day’s pastry delivery. I listen, letting her animated chatter wash over me. It’s a welcome distraction from the weighty decisions waiting for me.
I finish my coffee, and while I’m setting down the empty cup, my phone buzzes in my pocket with a message from Sergei. “Target acquired. Formulating plan.”
Reality crashes back down on me. I need to get back to the business at hand, but part of me wants to stay here, in this bubble of normality with Phoebe. “I have to go,” I say reluctantly. “Thank you for the coffee, and the company.”
Her smile is tinged with disappointment. “Any time, Misha. You know where to find me.”
Turning to leave, I pause. Against my better judgment, I look back at her. “Phoebe?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful walking home tonight. The streets can be dangerous after dark.”
She looks at me quizzically but nods. “I always am but thank you for your concern.”
I exit the café, the cheerful chime of the bell a jarring contrast to the grim business waiting for me. I slide back into the SUV, and Vlad gives me a questioning look.
“Back to the hotel,” I say, my voice hard.
While we pull away from the curb, I allow myself one last glance at Cafecito Dreams. Phoebe is still visible through the window, her smile bright as she serves another customer. Briefly, I let myself imagine a different life, one where I could be the man she thinks I am, but that life isn’t mine. I have a war to prevent and an empire to protect. With a deep breath, I push aside thoughts of Phoebe and focus on the task at hand. The time for coffee and dreams is over. Now, it’s time for action.