Chapter 18Mikhail
18
Mikhail
I step into my penthouse, glad to be home but wishing Phoebe would have agreed to stay on the yacht, where it was safer. The panoramic view of Miami’s skyline stretches before me like a reminder of all I’ve built and all I stand to lose. I loosen my tie, tossing it onto the sleek marble counter while making my way to the bar.
The smooth burn of vodka slides down my throat, a temporary balm for the chaos swirling in my mind. Phoebe’s face flashes before me, filled with hurt and betrayal. I shake my head, trying to focus on the tasks at hand.
My phone buzzes incessantly. I glance at the screen, a string of messages from my captains demanding attention. With a sigh, I settle into my home office, ready to dive into the war that’s threatening everything I’ve worked for.
“Sergei, what’s the situation?” I ask, initiating a secure video call.
Sergei’s weathered face appears on the screen. “Boss, Valdés is pushing hard. We’ve lost two more shipments in the last forty-eight hours.”
I curse under my breath, tightening my fingers around the crystal tumbler. “Casualties?”
“Four of our men. We managed to take out six of theirs, but it’s escalating quickly.”
I nod, already formulating strategies. “Double security on all remaining shipments. I want our best men on this, and, Sergei? Find me everything you can on Valdés’ weak points. Family, finances, or anything we can exploit.”
“Consider it done, Boss.”
The call ends, and I rest back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. The ticking of the antique clock on my desk seems to mock me, marking each second of time slipping away. Time I should be spending with Phoebe, preparing for our child.
A knock at the door interrupts my brooding. “Come in,” I call out.
Nastya enters, her usual stoic expression revealing a trace of concern. “Mikhail, I’ve got an update on Phoebe.”
I sit up straighter, my heart rate quickening. “Is she all right?”
Nastya nods. “She’s safe, but she’s struggling. She’s been asking a lot of questions about you and the bratva .”
I curse softly. “What kind of questions?”
“She wants to know about your past and how you became involved in this life. I think she’s trying to understand.”
Hope flares but is quickly tempered by caution. “And what have you told her?”
“Only what you’ve authorized, but she’s smart. She’s piecing things together on her own.”
I stand, pacing the length of the office. “Keep a close eye on her but give her space. I don’t want her to feel trapped.”
She hesitates before saying, “She misses you, you know. Even if she won’t admit it.”
Her words hit make me smile for just a second. I turn to the window, staring out at the city I’ve fought so hard to control. “Thank you, Nastya. That’ll be all.”
As the door closes behind her, I allow myself a moment of weakness. I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes. “I miss you too, Phoebe,” I whisper to the empty room.
The moment passes, and I straighten up, steeling myself for what’s to come. I have a war to win, an empire to protect, and a woman to win back, and I’ll be damned if I fail at any of it.
I spend the next several hours searching for weak spots in The Corporation and keep coming back to their organization, and the way a leader is chosen—often via challenge settled by a death match.
At dawn, I finally allow myself a break. I stand, stretching muscles stiff from hours of inactivity, and make my way to the kitchen. The coffee machine hums to life as my phone rings, the caller ID displaying an unknown number. Warily, I answer. “Sokolov.”
“Ah, Mikhail,” says a familiar voice. “Did I wake you?”
My jaw clenches. “Valdés. To what do I owe the displeasure?”
He chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves. “Just checking in on an old friend. I heard you’ve been having some...difficulties lately.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I say coolly while mentally questioning the situation. Why is he calling? What’s his angle?
“Of course, of course,” he says smoothly. “I just wanted to offer my assistance. After all, we’re both businessmen. Perhaps we could come to an...arrangement.”
I pause, considering my words carefully. “What kind of arrangement did you have in mind?”
“Oh, nothing too complicated. Just a simple division of territory. You stick to your side of Miami, and I’ll stick to mine. No more bloodshed, and no more lost shipments. What do you say?”
It’s a tempting offer that could potentially end this war before it truly begins, but I know the kind of man he is. There’s always a catch. “And what would you want in return for this...generosity?” I ask with sarcasm.
Valdés laughs again, but this time, there’s an edge to it. “Smart man. I want a thirty percent cut of all your profits for the next year. Consider it a peace offering.”
I scoff, nearly choking on anger. “You must be joking. I’d sooner burn my entire operation to the ground than give you a single cent.”
“Now, now, Mikhail, don’t be hasty. Think of your men, your business...and your pretty little redhead.”
My blood runs cold. “What did you say?”
“Oh, did I strike a nerve?” Valdés’ voice drips with false concern. “I’d hate for anything to happen to her. Women can be so...delicate.”
Rage courses through me. “If you so much as look at her, I’ll?—”
“You’ll what?” he interrupts. “Face it, Mikhail. You’re out of your depth. Take the deal or watch everything you love burn.”
The line goes dead, leaving me standing in my kitchen, shaking with fury. I slam my fist into the marble countertop, welcoming the pain that shoots through my hand. I punch the countertop again before breathing deeply, forcing myself to calm down. Valdés is trying to rattle me, to push me into making a mistake. I can’t let him succeed.
I dial Sergei’s number, not caring about the early hour. He answers on the second ring.
“Boss?”
“Sergei, I need you to triple Phoebe’s security detail and get me everything we have on Valdés’ operations. Every safehouse, every front business, and every rat on his payroll. If you’ve already looked somewhere, look again. It’s time we end this.”
“Understood, Boss. What about the peace offer?”
I pause, surprised. “How did you know about that?”
“We intercepted a call between Valdés and one of his lieutenants. He was bragging about how he was going to bring you to heel.”
I smile grimly. “Then he’s in for a rude awakening. Gather the captains. We meet at nightfall.”
Valdés has made his last mistake. By threatening Phoebe, he’s ensured this war will end only one way—with his blood on my hands.
I move to my weapons safe, inputting the code with practiced ease. The door swings open, revealing an arsenal that would make most men tremble. I select a sleek Glock, checking the magazine before tucking it into my shoulder holster.
I prepare for the battle ahead, but my thoughts turn to Phoebe. To our child, growing in her womb. To the future I’m fighting for. That gives me all the motivation I need to end this for good.
The next day, I pace the length of my office, my mind racing with plans and contingencies. The war with Valdés consumes my thoughts, but there’s another battle I’m determined to win—the one for Phoebe’s heart. My phone buzzes with a message from Rodion.
“The renovations are complete.”
It cost a small fortune to make it happen in four days, and to keep the activity discreet so Phoebe didn’t see it on the rare times she ventures from her suite, but it’s come to fruition. I allow myself a small smile. It’s time.
I go to Phoebe’s suite, trying to ignore how nervous I am. Nastya stands guard outside, alert and watchful. “How is she?” I ask.
Her expression softens slightly. “Restless. She’s been pacing like a caged tiger all morning.”
I nod, hardening myself for what’s to come. “I’d like to speak with her.”
Nastya steps aside, and I knock on the door. There’s a pause, then Phoebe’s voice, wary and guarded. “Who is it?”
“It’s Mikhail. May I come in?”
Another pause, longer this time. Finally, she speaks. “Fine.”
I enter the room, immediately drawn to her. She stands by the window, arms crossed, and auburn tresses cascading down her back. Even in her defensive posture, she’s breathtakingly beautiful.
“What do you want?” she asks without turning to face me, her voice cool.
I breathe in deeply to quell the surge of nervous excitement and try to appear poised. “I have something to show you. Will you come with me?”
She turns, eyeing me suspiciously. “Where?”
“It’s a surprise,” I say, offering a small smile. “Please, Phoebe. Give me a chance.”
She hesitates but nods reluctantly. “All right.”
I lead her through the penthouse, my hand hovering near the small of her back but not quite touching. We stop outside a closed door, and I turn to face her. “Before we go in, I want you to know that I hear you. I understand your frustration and anger. This is my attempt to show you I’m committed to your dreams and to our future.”
Confusion flickers across her face. “What are you talking about?”
Instead of answering, I open the door and gesture for her to enter.
She steps inside, and I hear her sharp intake of breath. The room, once a spare bedroom, has been transformed into a state-of-the-art commercial kitchen. Gleaming stainless-steel appliances line the walls, and a massive island dominates the center of the space. Every surface sparkles under the warm lighting.
Phoebe moves through the kitchen, trailing her fingers over the countertops. She opens cabinets and drawers, each one stocked with top-of-the-line cookware and utensils. Her eyes widen as she takes in the pantry, filled with an array of Scottish ingredients—oatmeal, black pudding, smoked haddock, and more.
“Mikhail,” she whispers, turning to face me. “What is all this?”
I step closer, careful not to crowd her. “It’s for you. A place where you can practice your recipes and experiment with new ideas for your future shop. I know how much your Scottish heritage means to you, and I wanted to give you a space where you could explore that passion.”
For a moment, I see a flicker of the old sparkle in her eyes, and the joy that first drew me to her. It’s quickly masked, replaced by a guarded expression.
“This is...” She pauses, searching for words. “It’s incredible, but it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t erase the lies or the danger you’ve put me in.”
I nod, accepting her words. “I know. I don’t expect it to, but I hope it shows you I’m serious about supporting your dreams and building a future with you—if you’ll have me.”
Phoebe turns away, running her hand along the edge of the island. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I say. “Just...use it. Create. Let this be a safe space for you, away from all the chaos.”
She’s silent for a long moment, and I hold my breath, waiting. Finally, she speaks. “Thank you, Mikhail. It’s thoughtful.”
I allow myself a small smile. It’s not yet forgiveness, but it’s a start. “Would you like me to leave you to explore?”
Phoebe nods, still not looking fully at me. “Yes, please. I... I need some time to process this.”
I move toward the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. “Phoebe?”
She looks up.
“I love you,” I say simply. “Whatever happens, whatever you decide, that won’t change.”
Before she can respond, I slip out of the room, closing the door softly behind me. My heart aches with the need to hold her, to make everything right, but I have to give her space to come to terms with everything in her own time.
I make my way back to my office, already shifting gears to the other pressing matters at hand. I pull out my encrypted laptop, bringing up the dossiers we’ve compiled on Valdés and his operation. Every weakness and every potential pressure point is laid out before me. As I study the information, a plan begins to form.
A knock at the door interrupts my concentration. “Come in,” I call out.
Nastya enters, her expression serious. “Mikhail, Phoebe’s asking for you.”
I stand immediately, my heart rate quickening. “Is everything all right?”
Nastya nods. “She seems calmer. She’s in the kitchen.”
I thank Nastya and make my way back to the newly renovated space, trying not to run in my urgency to be with her again. What does Phoebe want? Has the kitchen softened her stance, or is she preparing to deliver a final blow to our relationship?
I pause outside the door, taking a deep breath to center myself. Then I knock softly. “Phoebe? It’s Mikhail. May I come in?”
“Yes,” comes her reply, muffled through the door.
I enter, and the sight before me stops me in my tracks. Phoebe stands at the island, flour dusting her cheeks and hair. The kitchen is alive with the scent of baking. She looks up when I enter, and I’m struck by how at home she looks in this space.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she says, gesturing to the mess around her. “I needed to think, and this is how I think best.”
I shake my head, a small smile on my lips. “Of course, I don’t mind. That’s why I had this built for you.”
She nods, dropping her gaze to the dough she’s kneading. “I’ve been thinking. About us, about everything that’s happened.”
I step closer, my mouth dry. “And?”
She looks up. “I’m still angry. I’m still scared, but...I’m willing to try to understand your world. To see if we can make this work.”
Relief washes over me, so intense it’s almost dizzying. “Phoebe, I?—”
She holds up a hand, stopping me. “I have conditions. No more lies. No more half-truths. I want to know everything, even the ugly parts, and I want to be involved in decisions that affect my life. Can you agree to that?”
I nod without hesitation. “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”
She visibly relaxes. “Okay. Maybe you could start by telling me about your plan to deal with Valdés. The real plan, not the sanitized version.”
I blink, surprised by her directness, but I see the determination in her eyes. I pull up a stool, settling across the island from her. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the cool marble. “We’re going to hit Valdés where it hurts most—his pride and his wallet. There’s a shipment coming in soon, filled with high-value goods he’s been waiting on for months to distribute to certain powerful people he wishes to impress—other cartel members, politicians, and some influencers in our kind of circles. We’re going to intercept it.”
I pause, studying Phoebe’s reaction. Her brows are slightly gathered in concentration. There’s no revulsion or recoil at the implicit violence in my words. Instead, I see a sharpness there.
“And by ‘intercept, you mean steal it?”
I nod. “Exactly. It’s a bold move, but it sends a clear message. It will humiliate him and reduce his influence with others. If The Corporation loses face, they’ll have a serious internal issue to address and might need to elect a new leader.” I draw my finger across my throat dramatically. “Their elections get brutal.”
Phoebe grimaces but doesn’t comment on that. “What about retaliation? Won’t this put us at risk?”
“It will, but we’ll be ready. I’ve got Sergei working on fortifying our key locations. Anastasia will be increasing your security detail.”
I watch her process this information, searching for any sign of fear or doubt, but Phoebe’s gaze remains steady. “Okay,” she says, nodding slowly. “What else?”
Her willingness to engage, to understand the intricacies of my world, both surprises and impresses me. I continue outlining our plans, each detail met with thoughtful questions and insightful observations. For the first time in the week since she found out what I really do, I have a glimmer of hope that maybe she can accept everything about me, good and bad.