Chapter 5 Sleuthing
Sleuthing
Mikko
Mikko’s office overlooked the cityscape opening up before his window, providing the ultimate view of the skyline.
And he loathed it.
Being in that office, his father’s office, was stifling and confining and inescapable.
He had no idea how Alek had done it for so long.
If Mikko could avoid these four walls, he would, but today that proved to be difficult.
The tasks with his name marked beside them piled up, refusing to let him go.
With an internal groan, Mikko wished the windows opened this high up so he could throw himself out.
His office was spacious, situated in the corner of the building which maximized the window space.
The seams between each pane of glass were nearly undetectable.
Whoever had designed it, made sure to erase the line keeping him in and the elements out.
On the surface, it was beautiful, but beneath it all, this place held memories.
Long nights sequestered on the couch while his father took phone call after phone call. Early mornings resulting in red welts on the backs of his hands after Alek had repeatedly smacked them with each task Mikko did wrong…
His eyes slid to the wet bar lining one wall.
A sip of vodka wouldn’t hurt, he thought momentarily before shaking it off.
No, he didn’t drink here. That activity was reserved for his alone time at home.
The expensive drinks and snacks at the bar were for clients.
Everything was always meticulously stocked, his assistant Emma, taking inventory of what was running low and replenishing it promptly.
Glass decanters and tumblers were arranged neatly on a tray, waiting to be touched.
The only time it was ever used was when clients visited him—something he tried to avoid.
He preferred to meet people in more casual settings, or better yet, have Cristiano woo the public.
He was so good at it that it was a crime to not have him do it.
Regardless, Mikko didn’t like the stuffy personas people donned inside this sleek skyscraper.
People put on their best performances here, dresses and suits ironed to perfection, their faces sculpted into flawless masks of coolness.
But Mikko didn’t want to see that.
He wanted to see people’s true side—their vulnerability. That was when he learned the most about them. Alek had taught him that, taught him everything he would need to know to take over one day. And that day had come much sooner than he’d wanted.
With his large, stately desk positioned just right, Mikko was able to have the sightlines he required to work semi-comfortably. He was still stuck in this dreadful building after all; he might as well make the best of it.
His finger traced the edge of stacked papers on his desk, playing with the notion of getting cut.
Teetering on the edge of stinging pain, his mind wandered to Ivan and the state of his henchman’s hands after they doled out their punishments.
Cuts and bruises had marred their skin from the work they’d done.
It was fascinating to Mikko how the body was so resilient, yet so fragile all in the same breath.
And in a sick, twisted turn of events his brain recalled the moments before the basement—before Ivan and his glaring disrespect.
His eyesight blurred, thoughts shifting and settling on the phantom feeling of her fingertips burning a treacherous path along his skin as she traced the ink along his forearm.
Glancing down, his vision returning, Mikko peered at his suit jacket’s sleeve.
Even though he covered the flowers and blackout ink on his arms, a vulnerability in his eyes—a piece of him he rarely shared with others—she’d managed to find and exploit it.
Here he was at work letting her worm her way into his head.
He didn’t even know her name, yet…
Have fun finding a new target.
Those six words had haunted him, tormented him.
She’s an admirer, someone who knows your status, he’d chanted internally, hoping eventually the incessant repeating of the words would make them stick.
It didn’t.
He’d encountered and entertained women who were chasing after his money and status and they’d never acted this way. Something was off, and if he was smart, he’d keep his guard up when it came to her.
But one word erased every second of his hard work.
Mikko. Mikko. Mikko.
He still couldn’t get over how she wielded his name like a weapon, all while previously feigning ignorance.
Oh, she’s wicked, a temptress I should be wary of.
Mikko considered himself…orderly, trying to never let his emotions get the better of him. But that wasn’t out of choice, it was out of necessity. He had a habit of feeling things too viscerally, obsessing over a looming notion leading him to dark places in the past.
There’d been women before this, ones his father had scared off, ones who’d taken advantage of him, or others that had simply thought him too much.
At first it would begin innocently, his mind fixated until sleep began evading him, his emotions unpredictable.
Then self-loathing, doubt, and isolation crept in, eager to sink their nasty claws into him.
It always ended with Cristiano calling or finding him like this, then dragging him up out of bed, tossing him in the shower, and nursing him back to health.
He couldn’t have this again—couldn’t be consumed so fully with something, someone, such as this. A woman he hardly knew.
Yet, here he was, spiraling.
And to make matters worse, the note he’d found on his motorcycle after the events at Bubblegum felt like an omen. Or a secret message she’d left for him.
After reemerging from the depths of the club, Cristiano not far behind, Mikko had been surprised to find a fluttering receipt tacked to his bike’s windshield.
“Did you get a ticket?” Cristiano had asked, a smirk evident in his tone. Amber lights flashed as he unlocked his Mercedes. “Looks like they missed me.” His friend’s windshield was devoid of paper.
Walking closer, Mikko noted it wasn’t a parking ticket at all, but instead a note. Loopy scrawl, not yet legible from this distance, mocked him.
“Well, what’s the damage?” his friend asked from afar, one leg already inside his car.
“Why do you care? You gonna pay it for me?” Mikko’s voice was teasing despite his eyes scanning over the piece of paper warily.
The words he read made his heart stutter.
I’ve waited a long time to devour you.
That was it. No signature, no indication as to who could’ve left it, but Mikko’s brain was already picturing whiskey eyes and dark lips and tequila.
“I would…but that doesn’t really make sense now does it, boss,” Cristiano’s voice cut through the whirring in his head. “Last I checked, you’re the one who writes my paychecks. So, you’d just be giving it back to yourself.”
“Maybe I should take it out of your paycheck all together,” Mikko mused instead. He desperately tried to keep his emotions locked away. The note felt both like a threat, but also intimate. He would never hear the end of it from Cristiano if he found out. He was sure of it.
“What’d they even get ya for? If it’s sad enough, who knows, maybe I’ll be nice and let you take a chunk of my salary to make yourself feel better.”
“How sweet of you.”
Plopping down into the driver’s seat of his Mercedes, Cristiano shrugged as if his act of kindness was the nicest thing he’d done in a while.
Maybe after the night they’d had, it was.
While they might’ve cleaned up in the club’s bathroom and changed clothes, the scent of copper still clung to their skin.
Intuition clenched in his gut, a soft voice murmuring in the back of his mind to do more research on this mystery woman as soon as he could. If she’d left this note, he had plenty of questions to ask her.
And maybe I want to see her again too.
“It was probably one of Ivan’s men trying to get back at you,” Cristiano said, rolling his window down so he could still chat with Mikko with his car door closed.
Thunder rumbled nearby, small droplets of rain falling from the clouds forming up above.
Shit, he’d have to hightail it back to his penthouse to avoid getting completely soaked.
“Probably…” was all Mikko could say. Ripping the note free, he realized it was tacked to his motorcycle with gum. That piece of evidence made him certain it was—
A soft knock drew him from his reverie, the surroundings of his dismal high end office coming back into focus around him.
There, framed within the spotless glass of his office door, was Emma.
Waving her in, Mikko leaned back in his office chair, trying to portray his usual cold exterior even though heat was rushing through his veins at the thought of her leaving a note and chewing gum on his bike. He was both offended and intrigued.
Mostly the latter since he’d saved the piece of gum.
For evidence, his mind reasoned.
Emma stepped through the doorway, her navy pantsuit crisp.
Most would find her attractive, but Mikko merely found her mundane.
It was how he saw most work-related items. She was someone his father would’ve tried to set him up with years ago.
She was a woman who came from money and matched his professional physical appearance with one of her own.
“Mr. Romanov,” Emma said, greeting him with a stiff nod.
She advanced farther into his office as the door closed behind her, her heels muffled on the carpet.
Mikko dipped his chin back in response, content to do as little talking as possible.
“The funds you’ve requested from Ivan have been wired over to us this morning. ”
A cold smile slipped over Mikko’s face.
I wonder what he had to do to pull that off. Out loud he said, “This is great news. Let’s hope he stays on track from now on.”