3. Mikhail
MIKHAIL
Alina’s a pretty young thing, and it makes me angrier than it should because pretty doesn’t belong in my driveway with her hands raw and her eyes sharp.
It’s a shame her stubbornness got Sergei killed, and it’s a bigger shame that I can’t decide whether I hate her more for it or for the way my body reacts.
Sergei’s death puts a mark on the Morin family, and Vienna notices marks like it notices money.
The Morins have been in this city long enough that people forget we ever arrived, but we did, and we didn’t come politely.
My grandfather ran guns and protection when the borders shifted and the police were hungry, and my father turned that into contracts, shipping, and a banking web that keeps men quiet because men like profit more than they like truth.
We don’t scream to be feared. We don’t need to.
We move money and we move men, and if someone wants a deal that can’t go on paper, they come to us and they pay in ways they don’t brag about later.
Sergei didn’t have my patience, and he didn’t have my discipline, but he still wore our name.
Now he’s dead on a café floor, and the city will decide what that means unless I decide first.
I stand at the top of the steps while Enzo keeps a grip on Alina’s elbow, and she stands there with her chin lifted like she’s daring me to speak with her.
I like that, I think to myself dryly. And that ass…
those breasts… the full lips… I’d have a massive hard-on for her if she weren’t responsible for my little brother’s death.
“Orders, Boss?” asks Enzo, pressing his lips into a thin line after he finishes the question. He doesn’t approve, and as my oldest soldier, he has his rights. Whether I agree or not is a whole other matter. For now, Alina interests me.
I let my eyes stay on her as I answer him. “Take her to the east wing and keep two men on the hall.”
Alina’s gaze snaps to him, then back to me. “I’m not sleeping next to strangers.”
“You’re sleeping in my house,” I say, and I keep my tone flat because it stops her from thinking she can push emotion into me. “You don’t get to demand comfort.”
Her lips part, then she closes them and breathes through her nose. She can hold herself together, and she can do it fast.
“Am I locked in?” she asks.
“Try the door,” I say.
Enzo shifts his grip, and Alina shrugs him off, then she marches toward the front doors as if she’s going to test me in front of everyone. She gets three steps before Enzo moves again and blocks her without touching her.
“Move,” she says.
Enzo doesn’t move, and he doesn’t speak, either.
I don’t raise my voice. “Alina.”
She stops, then she turns back, and she faces me with that same calm that makes men misjudge her. It’s not calm, it’s control, and control is always a choice.
“Yes?” she says.
“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.” My lips curl upward, and hers tremble slightly. I could ruin that mouth, I think as my cock twitches in my trousers.
Enzo gestures toward the hall again, and she walks, and she doesn’t look back. I follow at a distance because my men need to see me present, and because she’s already in my head and I don’t like it.
The east corridor smells clean because my house staff are good at their jobs, and I pay for that kind of competence. Alina’s boots click on the marble, and she looks at every camera dome and every corner like she’s learning the house in one pass.
Good. Let her learn it. It won’t save her, but it will tell me what kind of trouble she is.
She stops at the door to the suite when Enzo opens it. She doesn’t step inside right away. She scans the room, then she looks at the balcony doors, then she looks at the bathroom entrance, then she looks at the connecting door that leads deeper into the wing.
“You want me here,” she says, and it’s accusation dressed as fact.
“I want you contained,” I reply.
She steps inside, and she turns once slowly, then she looks back at me. “You’re acting like I planned your brother’s death.”
“I’m acting like you’re tied to it,” I correct.
Her jaw tightens. “I didn’t ask Sergei to show up at my mother’s door.”
“No,” I say. “Your father did.”
Her eyes flash, and she forces it down. “So, that’s it. I pay for my father.”
“You’re paying already,” I answer, and I keep my voice even. “I’m deciding how.”
Her shoulders lift on a breath, then drop. She walks to the door, and she puts her hand on the knob, then she turns her head and looks at me again.
“Do I get a lock?” she asks, and she says it like she’s daring me to make a joke.
“You get one,” I say and then smile a little. “But you won’t need it. If I wanted you, no lock would keep me out.”
Her lips part again, and her eyes do something small that irritates me, because her body registers the same thing mine does, and I can see it before she masks it.
She recovers fast. “Then you won’t mind installing one.”
“I won’t,” I say.
Enzo waits by the door, and I glance at him. “Food in an hour. Water now. Two men outside the room, and no one goes in unless I say.”
Enzo nods.
Alina’s eyes narrow. “You’re not worried I’ll attack your guards?”
“I’m worried you’ll run,” I answer.
“I can’t,” she snaps, then she catches herself and her voice drops. “You’ve got my mother.”
I hold her gaze. “Then act like you understand your situation.”
Her chin lifts again. “I do.”
I turn away before I do something stupid, and I walk back down the hall with the anger still hot in my chest.
I don’t go to her again that night, and I don’t go because I’m not gentle when I’m angry, and I’m angry enough to break things that shouldn’t be broken.
I also don’t go because the sight of her in my house makes my body respond, and I refuse to let her become a weakness in the same week my enemies are listening for one.
Vienna doesn’t forgive a stumble.
By morning, I’ve got Sergei’s accounts stacked on my desk, and I’ve got three men standing by to answer questions I don’t want to hear.
Enzo comes in first because he’s always first, and he’s always steady. “The men are talking,” he says.
“They can talk,” I reply.
“They’re asking why you didn’t make an example last night,” he says, and his eyes stay on my face.
I flip a page. “Because I don’t do theater for my own people.”
“They’re asking why you’re marrying her,” Enzo adds.
I stop turning pages, then I look up. “Are you asking me too?”
Enzo holds my gaze for a beat, then he shakes his head once. “No.”
“Good,” I say, and I go back to the papers. “Then let them talk until they get tired.”
The accounts are ugly. Sergei paid men he shouldn’t have paid, and he ran favors without my approval, and he left debts in places that will become knives if I don’t handle them quickly.
I track the payments, I flag the names, and I send instructions out in short bursts.
Close this. Freeze that. Bring him in. Watch him.
By midday, I’ve got a list of Sergei’s mistakes, and I’ve got a short list of who benefits from his death. It isn’t complete, and it doesn’t satisfy me.
Alina’s name stays in my head anyway, and it annoys me because I’m working and she’s upstairs behind a locked door she thinks matters.
I tell myself I’m checking security routes when I walk the east wing, and I know it’s a lie because I head straight for her door.
The new lock is installed, and it’s solid, and I could break it in seconds if I wanted to. I knock once because I’m not an animal.
“Come in,” she says.
I open the door, and she’s standing by the dresser with a glass of water in her hand. She’s washed her face, and she’s changed into one of the outfits my staff brought up, and it should make her look softer. It makes her look like she belongs, and that makes me angrier.
“Happy?” I ask, nodding at the lock.
She lifts the glass slightly. “You kept your word.”
“I keep my word,” I say.
Her eyes move over me, and she doesn’t try to hide it, and I don’t like that, either.
“You’re still not letting me call my mother,” she says.
“You saw her,” I reply. “She’s safe.”
“For now,” Alina says, and she sets the glass down. “That’s how you like it. For now.”
I step inside and close the door behind me, and the click of it feels too final in a room this quiet. I keep my distance because I’m not here for what I want. I’m here for what I need.
“You agreed to marry me,” I say.
“I did,” she answers, and she doesn’t look away. “I’m not doing it because I want you.”
“I’m not doing it because I want you, either,” I tell her, and the truth tastes sharp because my body doesn’t agree.
Her brows lift. “Then why do you look at me like that?”
I let out a short breath, and I don’t give her the satisfaction of denying it. “Because you’re standing in my house after my brother died, and you’re not afraid enough.”
Her mouth tightens. “I’m afraid.”
“No,” I say, and my voice drops without my trying. “You’re careful. You’re angry. You’re planning. Fear isn’t driving you.”
Her throat moves as she swallows, and her gaze dips for a fraction of a second, then returns to mine.
“You’re watching me,” she says.
“I watch everything,” I reply.
“That’s not an answer,” she says, then she steps closer, and my body responds immediately and brutally. She stops when she’s still out of reach, and she holds my gaze like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Do you hate me?”
I should say yes. It would be simple.
“I hate what you represent,” I say instead, and it’s the closest thing to honesty I’m willing to give her.
Her lips part again, and she looks like she wants to push further, but she chooses control again.
“When is the wedding?” she asks.
“A week,” I tell her. “It has to look deliberate.”
“It’s not,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
She nods once, and she turns slightly as if she’s dismissing me, then she looks back. “Am I allowed outside before then?”
“You can walk the garden,” I say. “With guards.”
She gives a short laugh. “So no.”
“It’s yes,” I correct. “You just don’t like the terms.”
Her eyes sharpen. “If I run, you’ll hurt my mother.”