24. Mikhail
Mikhail
My feet spin around, and I loop in another circle.
I can’t stop pacing, the breath trapped in my lungs with nowhere to go.
The walls feel like they’re closing in and my heart won’t stop slamming against my ribs.
Our plan is solid, at least I think it is.
The benzos I took earlier aren’t doing anything.
I thought they’d take the edge off, but I’m still a mess.
“I can’t breathe,” I rasp out, my hand slamming against the wall for support.
Daniil grabs me and shakes me lightly, his hazel eyes locking onto mine. “You can. Just breathe. Go out there, and everything will be fine. You did really well putting this together. I’m proud of you.”
Grunting, I try to convince myself of that and tug at the collar of my shirt. The suit is choking me, the tie wrapped so tight around my throat I can’t get air properly. We had to put some foundation on my neck to cover up my bruises to avoid questions.
I pull at the tie, loosening it just enough to inhale a deep breath. “I need to go out there and talk to everyone. Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m going to find Alexei or Yulian at the bar or something. Everyone avoids them like they’re radioactive.”
I press my lips to his, stealing one more kiss before I have to go out there and perform like a trained dog.
He’s wearing gray jeans with his purple hoodie because formal clothes make him want to crawl out of his skin. I love it. It’s a middle finger to our father and everyone else here who expects us to fall in line.
“See you out there,” he murmurs against my mouth before stepping back.
I watch him disappear through the door first, then force myself to follow.
The music slams into me the second I step out, bass so loud it vibrates through my bones and makes my teeth ache.
The VIP floor is packed with people, a sea of bodies pressed together where the new expansion just opened.
Champagne flows and everyone here is either on Father’s guest list or desperate to be seen.
Downstairs, the bottle service runs nonstop with our most expensive alcohol, and people are crammed shoulder to shoulder at the bar, waving cash to get served.
I can’t believe the event I’ve been planning for months is actually happening and hasn’t imploded yet. I worked on this expansion for over a year, poured everything into it while Father watched and waited for me to fuck it up.
The man guarding the new entrance nods at me as I walk past him, and the ceiling above us in the new section is glass so you can see the night sky, dark and endless, stars barely visible through the city lights.
My father stands in his expensive suit with those tinted glasses he always wears for his migraines.
My mother is next to him in a dark red dress, her black hair braided perfectly down her back, holding a champagne glass.
Her golden family crest ring glints every time she moves, catching the light when she gestures to whoever she’s talking to.
My father’s eyes find mine across the crowd, and he gives me that look. The one that says get over here right now. My feet move before I can think about it, carrying me through the crowd toward him.
“Mikhail, you know the head of the O’Shea family, Tommy.”
I glance over at the man in a dark suit standing next to my father. I don’t personally know him, just know of him. We wash cash for him, and they’ve been loyal to us since we moved to America, our longest-standing alliance.
I extend my hand.
“Mikhail. Good to meet ye,” he says in a thick Irish accent, his grip firm.
I give him a curt nod and pull my hand away.
My father’s eyes narrow slightly behind his tinted glasses.
“Tommy was just telling me about a situation,” my father says, his tone flat. “Someone has been skimming from his docks. Small amounts, but consistent. It’s become a problem.”
It’s us. We’re the ones taking from them, and they have no clue. My father plays everyone like they’re idiots.
Tommy nods, his jaw tight. “Aye. Been going on for months now. Can’t pin down who exactly, but the numbers don’t lie.”
My father turns slightly, his attention still on Tommy but his words aimed at me. “The solution is simple. Audit every man who touches the shipments. Cross-reference their schedules with the missing inventory dates. Isolate the pattern, then eliminate the source.”
“That takes time,” Tommy says. “And if word gets out I’m auditing, they’ll scatter.”
“Then you don’t tell them,” my father replies. “You bring in someone from outside their circle. Someone they don’t know is watching.” He pauses. “Mikhail, how would you handle this?”
I force myself to focus. “Install new surveillance at the docks. Don’t announce it, just do it.
Hidden cameras on the loading zones where the skimming would happen.
Run it for two weeks, and you’ll have faces, timestamps, everything you need.
Then you pull them one by one, make it look random so the others don’t catch on until it’s too late. ”
Tommy’s eyes light up. “That could work. Smart thinking.”
My father’s jaw tightens, just barely visible.
“Acceptable. Though it would be more efficient to simply replace the entire dock crew with vetted men. Eliminate the problem entirely rather than chase symptoms.” He takes a slow sip of his drink.
“But I suppose your approach has merit. For someone with limited experience in these matters.”
The words land like a slap disguised as approval. Tommy doesn’t seem to notice, but I feel it. He’s ripping into me for problems he’s causing them, for enjoyment.
“Of course, Father,” I say, keeping my voice even.
Movement catches my eye. It’s Daniil walking past, his purple hoodie standing out in a sea of suits. He glances at me, just for a second, and something passes between us before he keeps walking toward the bar where Yulian sits nursing a drink.
My stomach twists watching him go. I want to follow him, want to be anywhere but here having this conversation.
“Mikhail,” my father says, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “Are you paying attention? This is important.”
I snap my focus back. “Da, Papa.”
“Good. Because what I’m about to propose requires your full attention.” He turns to Tommy with a slight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Tommy and I have been discussing ways to strengthen our alliance. Something more permanent than business arrangements.”
Tommy grins. “A family tie. Makes everything cleaner.”
My father continues. “A marriage between families creates loyalty that contracts cannot. It ensures commitment on both sides. Wouldn’t you agree, Mikhail?”
The question feels like a trap. “I suppose that depends on the arrangement.”
“My daughter Siobhan just turned eighteen,” Tommy says. “Smart girl, knows the business. Beautiful too. Would be a perfect match for a young man like yourself.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut and my brain stutters, trying to catch up.
“A marriage,” my father says, his eyes fixed on me. “Between you and Siobhan. It solidifies our partnership and ensures loyalty on both sides. A mutually beneficial arrangement.” He pauses, taking another slow sip. “We should finalize it next week.”
Everything goes cold.
Sweat breaks out across my back, and the panic hits fast. That crushing weight in my chest that says I’m about to spiral.
Air won’t go into my lungs properly, coming in short and tight.
My mouth tingles, that weird numb sensation spreading across my tongue and sliding down the back of my throat.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to breathe.
A marriage.
I can’t do this. Can’t deal with any of it. It’s too much after everything that happened, after he almost killed me in that cage, after what went down when I came home. I was just starting to feel okay, finally getting my head straight because we had a plan. This destroys all of it.
Opening my eyes, I stare at them.
“You’re serious,” I manage to say.
“Completely,” my father replies. “Unless you have some objection I should know about. After all, you’ve had plenty of time to find someone suitable on your own. Since you haven’t, I’m handling it for you.”
“I didn’t realize I was supposed to be looking,” I say carefully.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t think ahead. You react. You make decisions based on impulse rather than strategy.” He gestures vaguely with his glass. “This is me thinking ahead for you. Correcting that tendency before it becomes a larger issue.”
Tommy laughs, oblivious to the tension. “Siobhan’s a good girl. You’ll like her.”
“I’m sure,” I say, my voice flat.
My father’s eyes narrow slightly. “You’ll meet her here tonight, then properly tomorrow. Dinner at our estate. Be presentable.”
This fucking bastard.
My mother opens her mouth, looking at me, but my father’s hand clamps down on her wrist, and she closes her mouth. She shoots me a look with her blue eyes.
I’m about to pass out. My feet almost give in beneath me, and I walk off without saying anything, my mouth tingling with numbness the whole way.
People move out of my path as I push through the crowd, their faces blurring together. The music pounds in my skull and the lights are too bright, everything too loud and too close.
Yulian smirks up at me when I reach the bar, then his brows pull together when he sees the state of me. “What happened?”
Daniil turns around to look at me, and I take his glass, downing the alcohol in one go even though I know the benzos and alcohol don’t mix well. The burn does nothing to settle the panic crawling up my throat. “I need to talk to you. Now.”
He nods, already sliding off the barstool.
I pull him by the wrist, weaving through the crowd toward the back where fewer people are gathered. The sweat is soaking through my suit, my shirt sticking to my back. Someone tries to stop me to talk, and I keep walking, dragging Daniil past them.
“Mik, slow down.”
I can’t. If I slow down, I’ll collapse right here.