Chapter 8Mikhail
8
Mikhail
L ater in the week, I’m back to being just Misha again for a while during a stroll down the bustling street in Brickell with Masha’s leash in one hand and Phoebe by my side. The sun warms my face, a pleasant contrast to the cool breeze off the nearby bay. For a moment, I allow myself to bask in the mundanity of it all. I’m just a man walking his dog with a beautiful woman.
Phoebe’s laughter draws my attention. “Look at that poodle’s haircut,” she says, pointing to a dog across the street. “It’s like a topiary gone wrong.”
I chuckle, but my amusement is short-lived. My trained eye catches a black sedan creeping along behind us, its tinted windows concealing the occupants. It’s been following us for the last two blocks.
“Why don’t we take a different route?” I say casually, guiding Phoebe down a side street. “I know a lovely little park nearby.”
She smiles, oblivious to the danger. “Sounds perfect. Masha could use a good run.”
We turn the corner, and I scan our surroundings, noting potential escape routes and vantage points. The sedan is still behind us, maintaining a discreet distance.
“Tell me about your upcoming cooking class,” I say, keeping my voice light and interested. “What Scottish delicacy are you planning to inflict on your unsuspecting students this time?”
She grins. “Oh, I’ve got something special planned. We’re making Cullen skink.”
“Cullen what?” I ask, genuinely puzzled despite my divided attention.
“Skink,” she repeats, grinning. “It’s a thick soup made with smoked haddock, potatoes, and leeks. It’s absolutely delicious. I’ve mentioned it before, including my?—”
“Plans to deconstruct it,” I finish for her with a nod. “I remember. On the yacht.” I’m only half-listening as I guide us down another side street, but she doesn’t need to know that. The sedan is still there, but I spot a busy intersection up ahead. Perfect. “Sounds interesting,” I say. “Where did you learn to make it?”
As she launches into a story about her grandmother’s recipes, I lead us through the intersection, timing our crossing to put us behind a large delivery truck. When we emerge on the other side, I quickly steer us down a narrow alley.
“Shortcut,” I explain when Phoebe gives me a quizzical look.
We emerge onto another street, and I let out a ragged exhalation of relief. The sedan is nowhere in sight. We’ve lost our tail, for now.
“Will you be at the next class again?” she asks, looking hopeful.
I’m about to respond when I spot a cyclist barreling toward us, head down and pedaling furiously. Without hesitation, I pull Phoebe close, spinning us so my body shields her from the oncoming bike as Masha presses against her thigh.
The cyclist swerves at the last second, missing us by inches. “Sorry,” he calls over his shoulder, not slowing down.
I keep Phoebe pressed against me for a moment longer, my heart thumping erratically from more than just the near-miss. Her body is warm against mine, and her flowery scent fills my nostrils. I want her again already. “Are you okay?” I ask, reluctantly letting her go.
She nods, a bit breathless. “Thanks to you. Those delivery cyclists are menaces sometimes.”
I force a laugh, trying to dispel the tension. “Maybe we should get you a suit of armor for these walks.”
Phoebe giggles, the sound lightening the mood. “Only if it comes in tartan.”
We continue our walk, but I remain alert and constantly scanning for any sign of the black sedan or other potential threats. Vlad and the SUV are surely tailing us discreetly, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s already sent a different SUV to intercept the sedan and find out why they were following us. Allowing myself to relax slightly, I steal glances at Phoebe, amazed by how she can make me feel so normal.
We round another corner, heading back toward the busier streets of Brickell, and I see Vlad in the SUV. I allow myself to relax even more. The immediate danger seems to have passed, but it’s only a temporary reprieve. Sooner or later, I’ll have to deal with whoever was in that sedan.
For now, I push aside those thoughts, focusing instead on Phoebe’s animated description of her upcoming class. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I’m genuinely looking forward to it.
“You know,” I say, interrupting her mid-sentence about the proper way to smoke haddock, “I actually enjoy cooking. It’s not so different from what I do, really.”
Phoebe raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And what exactly do you do, Misha? You’ve always been rather vague about your work.”
I freeze for a moment, realizing my slip. “I just mean...business, you know? It’s all about following a recipe, mixing the right ingredients. Only instead of fish and potatoes, it’s... numbers and strategies.”
She looks at me skeptically but shrugs. “I suppose that makes sense. Though I have to say, I prefer my ingredients to be a bit more hands-on.”
I laugh as her eyes sparkle with amusement, and Masha seems to perk up at the sudden burst of joy. “I never thought I’d’ be debating the merits of smoked haddock versus fresh. You’re turning me into quite the foodie, Phoebe.”
She grins, a light blush coloring her cheeks. “Just wait until you try my Cullen skink. You’ll be singing its praises from the rooftops.”
We continue our stroll down the bustling Brickell sidewalk. The air is thick with the scent of nearby restaurants, a tantalizing mix of garlic, spices, and grilled meats.
“Speaking of food,” she says, her stomach growling audibly, “I’m starving. Any chance we could grab a bite?”
I glance at my watch, considering. I should be getting back to check on the situation with José’s lieutenant due to go down tonight, but the thought of spending more time with Phoebe is too tempting to resist.
“I know just the place,” I say, steering us toward a small outdoor café tucked between two towering office buildings. “They have excellent tapas and a view of the bay, and Masha will be welcomed.”
As we approach the café, I spot an empty table near the railing overlooking the water. Perfect. I guide Phoebe and Masha toward it, pulling out a chair for her before taking my own seat. Masha lies down at my feet like a perfect lady.
A waiter appears almost instantly, handing us menus and filling our water glasses. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’ll have a glass of the house red,” she says, then looks at me expectantly.
“Make that two,” I add, nodding to the waiter.
He looks down at Masha. “And a bowl of our finest tap water for your other guest, sir?”
I nod, appreciating the extra attention this place always gives Masha. “And she’ll have raw steak for dinner, cut into small pieces. She’s a delicate eater.”
He doesn’t blink. “Of course.”
As he walks away, Phoebe rests her elbows on the table. “Tell me more about this mysterious business of yours. What kind of ‘ingredients’ are you mixing these days?”
I freeze for a moment, caught off-guard by her direct question. I should have known her curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied by my vague explanation earlier.
“Oh, you know,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, “Just the usual corporate ingredients. Mergers and acquisitions… that sort of thing. Nothing as exciting as your culinary adventures, I assure you.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly not entirely convinced. “Mergers and acquisitions, huh? That sounds competitive. No wonder you’re always so tense.”
Before I can respond, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, seeing Sergei’s name on the screen. My heart rate quickens. This must be about the hit on José’s lieutenant.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I say to Phoebe, rising from my seat. “I need to take this. Business call.”
She nods, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. “Of course. I’ll order us some tapas while you’re gone.”
I step away from the table, moving to a quiet corner of the café’s outdoor seating area. “Sergei,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Report.”
“It’s done, boss,” he says, his voice gruff but satisfied. “Clean hit. No witnesses and no traces.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Good. Any retaliation from José’s people?”
“Not yet, but we’re keeping an eye out. He hasn’t even heard about Mendoza’s unfortunate demise yet, and there’s no concrete proof tying it back to us.”
“Excellent work,” I say. “Keep me updated on any developments.”
I end the call and take a moment to compose myself before returning to the table. Phoebe is studying the menu intently.
“Sorry about that,” I say, sliding back into my seat. “Unavoidable business matter.”
She looks up, staring at me for a long second. “Everything okay?”
I force a smile, pushing thoughts of assassinations and rival mafias to the back of my mind. “Of course. Just a small issue with a merger. Nothing to worry about. What delicacies have you chosen for us?”
She launches into a description of the tapas she’s ordered, and her enthusiasm makes my stomach rumble. As she speaks, I relax, the tension from the call with Sergei slowly ebbing away. Masha laying her head on my foot for a hopeful bite of bread also distracts me, and I comply.
The dog’s stainless-steel bowl of water and our wine arrives, and I take a sip, savoring the rich flavor. The waiter begins setting down small plates of food— patatas bravas, gambas al ajillo, pan con tomate , and more. Lastly, he places a larger plate of delicately sliced steak on the patio ground in front of Masha. She waits until he backs away before starting to eat.
“This looks amazing,” I say, genuinely impressed by Phoebe’s selections.
She beams, clearly pleased. “I thought we could use a little variety. Plus, I’ve always wanted to try authentic Spanish tapas.”
We dig in, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. I’m laughing more than I have in years. It’s a strange feeling, this lightness of being, so at odds with my typical responsibilities.
As we’re finishing our meal, Masha, who has been quietly lying at our feet after eating her steak, suddenly perks up, ears twitching. I follow her gaze and spot a familiar face in the crowd of pedestrians passing by the café.
It’s one of José’s men, trying and failing to look inconspicuous as he surveys the area. My muscles tense, ready for action if necessary.
“Misha?” Phoebe’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Are you all right? You look worried.”
I force my attention back to her, plastering on a smile. “I’m fine. Just thought I saw someone I knew, but I was mistaken.”
She nods, but I see the doubt in her expression. “If you say so. Sometimes, I get the feeling there’s a lot you’re not telling me.”
I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine. Her skin is soft and warm. “Phoebe, I...” I pause, searching for the right words. “There are things about my life, my work, that are... complicated. Things that I can’t always share, for your safety as much as mine.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “That sounds ominous. Misha, are you in some kind of trouble?”
I shake my head, hating her wariness. “No, nothing like that. It’s just the nature of high-level business. Corporate espionage, fierce competition, that sort of thing. Nothing for you to worry about.”
She doesn’t look entirely convinced but slowly nods. “Okay, but you know you can trust me, right? If you ever need to talk...”
“I know,” I say, squeezing her hand gently. “I appreciate that more than you know.”
Our moment is interrupted by the waiter returning with the check. I quickly pay, leaving a generous tip, and stand. “Shall we continue our walk?” I ask, extending my hand to help Phoebe up.
She takes it, rising gracefully. “Lead the way, Mr. Mysterious Businessman.”
We leave the café with Masha trotting happily beside us, and I worry our peaceful evening is about to be shattered. José’s man was here for a reason, and I doubt it was just a coincidence.
I guide us toward a more populated area, constantly scanning our surroundings. Phoebe chatters away, oblivious to the potential danger, and I’m torn between the desire to protect her and the need to keep her in the dark about my true identity.
For now, I’ll enjoy this glimpse of what life could be like if I were just Misha, the man Phoebe thinks I am even though it can’t last. Sooner or later, my two worlds will collide, and when they do, I can only hope Phoebe will understand why I’ve kept so many secrets and won’t run from me