19. CHAPTER 19
CILLIAN
Six weeks. Three days. Nine hours. My thumbnail had carved grooves into the chair arm, matching the ones Moon left under my skin. Misha noticed on day forty-five.
“That makes you look unstable,” he said around a mouthful of toast.
“You stole my phone.”
“Lesha stole your phone.”
“You fucking helped.”
Misha rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and smiled the kind of smile that made people nervous. “For the record, that makes you legally responsible for whatever happens next.”
Across the table, Aleksei turned a page. “Still no.”
My thumb dug deeper. “Can I have my phone back now?”
“Nyet.”
“It’s been over six weeks.”
“I’m aware.”
“Aleksei.”
His eyes stayed on the page.
“Give me my phone.”
His newspaper hit the table. He stood slowly and came around until his chest nearly touched mine. “No.”
“You can't keep it forever.”
“Hell I can. And I will.”
Misha shoved between us, palm flat on my chest. “Can we not do murder before coffee? Bloodshed after breakfast, yeah?”
“Move,” Aleksei said.
“No. You’re both too close.” Misha looked at me, suddenly serious. “Cil. You’re on Moon detox.”
“There’s no coming off Moon. Not ever.”
Misha’s fingers tightened in my shirt. “You said that too fast.”
“My grandfather called again.” Aleksei shoved at his brother’s shoulder. “After your little stunt, every faction in Thorn is questioning why I still shield Moon Hyun-seo. I had nearly scrubbed our name clean. Then you looked at Carrick like he put his hands on what’s yours.”
My teeth clicked shut so hard pain flared through my jaw.
Aleksei heard it. “Exactly. You brought Aster’s prince into Thorn with a Blood Writ still on his head. Showed your hand in front of every faction. I had to rip him out of Carrick’s grip before that Irish bastard dragged him somewhere private.”
“Don’t.”
“No. Hear it.” Aleksei’s voice dropped. “He wasn’t taking Moon somewhere quiet to talk politics. Carrick would’ve had him on his knees in the nearest stairwell, breaking that pretty Aster control until he screamed for you to come save him.”
Moon’s name jammed in my throat. Misha’s palm pressed harder into my chest. I didn’t push it off.
“So stop pretending this is romance.” Aleksei’s eyes stayed flat. “Your obsession is inconvenient, visible, and about to cost us everything. Fix it. Or I will.”
“I’m not—”
“If I hear one more word about Moon Hyun-seo, Aster, or your dick, Ashbourne won’t have a mafia heir left to protect.”
Misha froze.
Aleksei’s mouth curved. “You’re not going anywhere near the Winter Ball tomorrow.”
I laughed once.
“Try stopping me.”
“I have been. For six weeks.” His eyes stayed flat. “If Moon Hyun-seo walks into that ballroom, you stop being a person. You become pure reaction. And I’m tired of cleaning up your fucking reactions.”
My mouth went dry.
Misha exhaled. “For the record, I hate that I agree with him.”
I said nothing. There was nothing left that wouldn’t prove them right.
What the Lovchys wanted, I obeyed.
Technically.
I didn’t go near Aster. Didn’t text him. Didn’t break into his room in the middle of the night, throw him over my shoulder, and take him somewhere no one would ever find him. Every day without him felt like withdrawal.
Breakfast ended. I rolled the bike past the Thorn gate by hand, engine off. The second the front wheel cleared the stone arch, I swung my leg over and reached for the key.
Footsteps crashed behind me.
“Cillian!”
Misha grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked hard enough to nearly pull me off the bike. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
I shrugged him off. “Ride.”
“Bullshit.” Misha stepped in front of the bike, breathing hard, hands spread. Idiot thought he could stop me. “You’re going to Aster. You’re going to him.”
My hands flexed on the grips. “Let go.”
“No.” His chest heaved. “You can’t. Not right now.”
Misha wasn’t smiling.
My heartbeat lurched. Aleksei’s warning from weeks ago slammed back in.
The stand snapped down. I steadied the bike. I wasn’t fucking going anywhere with that look on his face. I narrowed my eyes. “What the fuck happened with your grandfather, Misha?”
Misha’s face shut down too fast. “What?”
I stepped closer, crowding him. “You’ve been off for weeks. I don’t like it. So fucking tell me.”
He laughed, but it came out forced. “Shit… I need to be more careful. Can’t afford to get dragged into your mess right now.” He cut himself off, breathing hard. “Grandfather’s been watching me like a fucking hawk. One more misstep and…” He stopped.
Misha exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… be careful with Moon, yeah? The shit you two are doing isn’t flying under the radar anymore. People are noticing.”
I looked past him toward the old oak by the cloister.
“Come on,” I said.
Misha’s mouth twitched. “Where?”
“Over there.”
I walked to the oak and dropped down against the trunk before I let myself look at Aster again. Rough bark. Cold damp ground. One look and I’d be back on that bike.
Misha dropped down across from me. His fingers went straight for a flower in the grass and started tearing it apart petal by petal.
I leaned back against the trunk. “Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Misha.”
He kept tearing the flower apart.
“You never tell me shit,” I said. “You joke, you let Aleksei take all the heat, and then he hits me with ‘Misha’s in trouble with Pakhan Lovchy’ like I’m supposed to just know what the fuck that means.”
His fingers stopped. “Aleksei told you?”
“So?” I asked. “What the fuck is going on?”
He stared at the ruined flower in his hand, petals stuck to his fingers. “This summer I…”
His throat moved. I sat up straighter.
“I got taken.”
“What?”
“Not like—I mean, yeah, like that, but—”
“Misha.”
“I’d like it noted I was taken under protest,” he said.
“Who?”
The smile died. He looked away.
“Misha.”
His fingers crushed the flower stem.
“Adrian Mirovsky.”
I moved before thought caught up. Grabbed his wrist and forced him to look at me.
“Mirovsky?”
Misha didn’t pull away.
“The fucking Mirovsky?”
He nodded once. My grip tightened. I scanned his face, his throat, his hands. He kept one wrist turned in, hiding it by habit.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.” He tried to pull his arm back.
“No, Cil.”
Bullshit. His face said otherwise.
“You said he took you. Where?”
I tightened my grip.
“The Belaya Noch.”
“Then don’t tell me he didn’t hurt you.”
“It’s not that simple.”
I exhaled through my nose. “He’s thirty-six. Already Pakhan. Rival faction. Had you on the Belaya Noch all summer and you’re telling me it’s not simple?”
Misha flinched.
Ice slid through my chest. “Jesus Christ.” My hand loosened, then tightened again. “You were on the Belaya Noch.”
His eyes stayed on the grass. “For the summer.”
“For the summer?”
His mouth twisted. That dead little smile came back. “You were in Saint Lucia. Busy fucking Moon or whatever.”
That hit right under the ribs. My fingers let go of his wrist. Misha rubbed the spot like I’d bruised him. Maybe I had.
Fuck.
“He thought I knew things,” Misha said.
My shoulders locked. “Did you?”
“No.” He shrugged, small.
“That was the problem.”
I had no fucking answer. Adrian Mirovsky had expected Aleksei. He got Misha instead.
“What problem?” I asked.
Misha’s thumb dragged over his sleeve cuff. “He saw things he wasn’t supposed to see.”
“What things?”
He shut down. Face blank. Eyes gone.
I watched his sleeve. The way he kept one wrist angled away.
“Misha.”
“I wasn’t doing great this summer.”
The words came out flat. Then he tried to smile, anyway. “Zero stars. Would not recommend.”
I moved before he finished, just enough that my shadow fell over him.
“Misha.”
He looked away.
“You tried it again?”
He didn’t answer. The silence was enough. I grabbed him, hauling him hard against my chest.
“Cil—”
“Fuck, no.” My voice cracked like a fucking idiot. “Don’t you dare. We’ve been over this before. You promised me, Misha.”
He stopped. My hand fisted in the back of his jacket so hard the fabric creaked.
“Don’t you ever make that choice alone again. You call me. You wake me. You drag me into the dark with you if you have to. But you don’t leave me standing here without you.”
His breath hitched against my shoulder. “You’re crushing me.”
“Good.”
“Cillian—”
“Why the fuck didn’t I know?” My voice came out rough against his hair. “Why are you always pretending shit’s fine? I thought we were doing better than this.”
His hands pressed against my chest like he might shove me off. He didn’t.
“I didn’t want to be a fucking burden.”
I pulled back enough to look at him. His eyes were wet. He looked pissed as hell about it.
“You’d never be a burden to me, Mikhail Lovchy. You’re my best fucking friend.”
His face cracked a little. He looked away and scrubbed his cheek hard.
“Adrian knows.”
My stomach turned.
“Knows what?”
Misha’s mouth opened. Closed. His fingers tugged at his sleeve again.
“Misha.”
“That I’m gay.”
I laughed once, disbelieving, and it died fast.
Misha’s face shut down completely.
“No.” I caught his shoulder before he could pull away. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t give me that fucking face. Not with me.”
His jaw clenched.
“I’ve spent months telling you I want to crawl inside Moon Hyun-seo’s ribcage and fucking live there. Why the fuck would I care if you’re gay?”
“Because the mafia cares,” Misha said. “Grandfather cares. The Lovchy care. The men who get to decide if Aleksei becomes Pakhan care. They know I was with Adrian all summer. They just don’t know why.”
I didn’t move.
“Pakhan Lovchy knows about Adrian. He doesn’t know the rest.”
“Aleksei does not know either.”
“Only Adrian.”
My hands curled into fists.
Misha saw my face and sighed. “I know how it sounds. He took me. He’s older. He’s Mirovsky. I know.”
“Good,” I said. “Saves me saying it.”
His glare dropped. That was worse.
“But he helped me.”
“How?”
Misha looked up at me. He looked younger in the light. I fucking hated it.
“By noticing.”
I had no answer for that. Because Adrian Mirovsky had noticed. I hadn’t.