Chapter Ten
Mikhail’s POV
I looked at the stretch of the glittering skyline through the glass. As always, it was a sight to behold. Yet, tonight, my mind wasn't here.
Cortez's voice cut through the haze. "The new route is clear. We move the shipment through Veracruz, then dock in Miami. You'll get your share within 48 hours."
Rami leaned forward, grinning like a snake. "Assuming the police don't get curious again."
My jaw flexed. "They won't." I sat back, with a cigarette between my fingers, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. My tone was calm.
Rami chuckled. "You've got a wife now, Mikhail. Maybe she'll convince you to retire. Grow roses instead of running guns, huh?"
Cortez laughed. "Wives can be distractions, dangerous ones."
My eyes lifted, cold and still. "Mine isn't a distraction."
They stopped laughing. My voice didn't rise, but the warning in it was enough to silence both men. I crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and stood.
"Keep the shipment clean," I said. "No mistakes, no noise."
They nodded as they stood and left the office. The door clicked shut, and silence followed.
I turned toward the window again, and my reflection stared back in a sharp suit. But behind that image, I saw her. The way she'd looked this morning when I left was calm, too calm. The smile she'd given me wasn't love, but it was a riddle.
Then a knock broke the quiet, and Dimitri stepped in. He was clearly nervous.
"Boss," he greeted. "News from the docks. The shipment to Mexico. There was trouble."
My voice dropped. "What kind of trouble?"
"The police. They tried to seize it."
Rage flicked quick and bright, but before it could burst, Dimitri added, "It's been handled. We paid them off, and there was no loss."
I turned and faced him with an unreachable expression. "Who tipped them off?"
"We don't know yet."
"Find out," I instructed. “And when you do, make sure they never talk again."
"Yes, sir."
Dimitri left without another word.
With my office wrapped in silence again, my thoughts became louder in my head.
What does Isabella have up her sleeves?
Her calm and even pleasant attitude was too good to be true; I knew that much. She wasn’t the type to just settle. My mind went to my brothers’ warnings. Of course, they had fair points.
It was beyond frustrating to not know where a hit was coming from.
It shouldn’t be so hard to figure her out, should it?
When I got home that night, the house was quiet. Loosening my tie, I was hit with the soft scent of her perfume, and I knew she was there. She was sitting by the window, with her legs crossed, and she was wrapped in a red silk like temptation itself.
"Long day?" she asked without turning, her tone was calm.
I watched closely. "Where were you today?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I went shopping, and Emilia came with me."
"And before that?"
"I had an exciting breakfast and tea." She tilted her head in mockery. "Why? Are you keeping score? Is that jealousy or paranoia speaking?"
"Both."
She gave a soft laugh, standing up. "I didn't know you were keeping tabs on me, Mikhail."
"I keep tabs on everything."
"Of course, you do." She took a slow step toward me. "That's what makes you dangerous."
"And what makes you dangerous?" I asked.
She smiled. "The fact that you still have to ask."
My jaw tightened. "Don't play with me, Isabella."
"I'm not," she whispered, stopping right in front of me. "You're the one always trying to read me like a file. Maybe, I'm just a woman trying to breathe in your world of rules and shadows."
Her words twisted something inside me, and I wanted to call her bluff. But instead, I brought my hand to her chin. "You think I'll believe that?"
Her lips curved. "You already do."
Before I could speak, she kissed me slowly and deliberately. The kind of kiss that didn't ask for permission. It stole it.
The anger drained out of me, replaced by heat. Her hands slid up my chest, and her breath brushed my jaw.
When she finally pulled away, her voice was soft. "You don't trust anyone, do you, Mikhail?"
"Trust is a weakness," I said, my grip still on her chin.
She gave a slow and wicked smile. "Then maybe I'm your biggest weakness."
I stare at her, with my pulse heavy. "Maybe you are."
Her eyes didn't waver. "Then what happens when your weakness learns how to bite?"
And for a second, everything inside me went still. I didn't know if it was a threat or a promise or maybe both. She turned away, walking toward the stairs, her voice trailing behind her.
"Dinner's waiting. Try not to ruin it with suspicion."
I watched her disappear, and every step she took felt like a question I couldn't answer. She was hiding something, and I could feel it like a shadow in my own chest. But even as the thought burned in my head, another feeling crawled up my spine.
If she ever betrayed me, would I protect her? Even from myself?
**********
The penthouse was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. It was midnight, and everyone was gone except me, and my mind refused to rest. I picked up my phone and dialed. "Yuri."
His voice came through, low and tired. "Boss?"
"I want eyes on Isabella."
There was a pause. "You mean surveillance ?"
"I mean everywhere," I said. "Every step she takes, every person she talks to, and every car that passes her."
There was silence again, then slowly, "You think she's betraying you?"
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the glass ceiling above. "No," I said quietly. "I think she's too calm for someone living with a devil."
Yuri didn't argue. "Understood, boss," he said before hanging up.
I sat there for a while, fingers drumming on the table. My chest felt tight, and it wasn't just suspicion but something worse, like fear. The fear of losing control, of losing her.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Every sound in the house felt louder than usual. The faint hum of the security system, even Isabella's soft breathing beside me. She slept like peace itself, and that, somehow, scared me more than anything.
I stared at the ceiling until dawn crept through the curtains. Her arm moved in her sleep, falling gently across my chest. I didn't move, I didn't even breathe.
When her eyes opened, she smiled softly. "You didn't sleep again," she whispered.
I kissed her forehead, pretending to be calm. "Too much work."
She hummed, unconvinced, and got out of bed. The scent of her perfume lingered, that same scent that followed me all morning, like a ghost that wouldn't let go.
**********
Roman simply walked straight to the bar and poured himself a whiskey, sitting down like he owned the place. Like he didn’t just call me for access to come up.
"You're losing control," he said.
I looked up from my glass. "Good evening to you, too."
He leaned back with his sharp eyes. "Don't act like you don't know what I mean. She's her father's daughter, Mikhail. She plays the game better than you think."
I laughed dryly. "She's my wife."
Roman took a slow sip, unfazed. "Exactly. That's what makes it dangerous."
My jaw tightened. "You think I won’t be able to handle her?"
"I think you already can't."
I slammed my glass on the table, liquid spilling over my fingers. "Watch your mouth."
Roman flinched. "You're obsessed. You're blinded, and she knows it. You think she doesn't see how far you'll go to keep her?"
I turned away, pacing toward the window. The city lights flickered beneath us like dying stars.
"Whatever she's planning," I said, "I'll still win."
Roman chuckled under his breath. "That's your problem. You think this is a war. She might see it as something easier than war."
He stood up, finished his drink, and set the glass down with a soft clink. "You can't cage something that was born to be free, Mikhail."
When Isabella emerged, her eyes moved to the half-empty bottle on the counter.
"You've been drinking," she said softly.
I didn't answer. I just walked up to her, pulled her close, and kissed her. The kiss wasn't gentle; it was sharp, demanding, and desperate.
She didn't resist, and her hands slid up to my neck; her breath was against my lips. "What's wrong with you?" she whispered.
"Submit to me," I said again in her mouth.
She smiled faintly, with her eyes glinting like she knew what I meant. "Then, take me."
I was consumed by her. She was becoming my addiction, my fucking undoing. That night, as the city lights pierced the penthouse curtains, I dragged her to the bed with a feral growl, my hands clawing her hips, demanding.
Her dark eyes blazed with defiance as she sank down, slow and taunting, onto the silk sheets. I tore her clothes off, gripping her breasts and twisting her nipples until she gasped, her body arching into me.
She never begged, but instead, she seized my cock, stroking hard, and igniting a wildfire in my veins.
"You're mine," I declared, slamming into her soaking pussy, craving her total surrender.
But she flipped it, her legs locking around me, her nails raking my back as her cunt dripped, eyes burned into mine as I pounded her, her tits bouncing widely. Flipping her onto her stomach, I gripped her ass, driving deeper, my thumb grinding her clit until she shrieked.
Her orgasm hit like a storm, pussy clenching, pulling me into a brutal release. Collapsing, tangled, and dripping, I held her tight as we fell asleep.
The sound of a gunshot permeated the midnight silence, and I was wide awake immediately. The glass wall behind us exploded.
"Down!" I grabbed her before she could breathe, pulling her against me as shards of glass rained over the bed. She gasped, her body stiff beneath mine, but she didn't scream.
More shots followed, and bullets ripped through the curtains, tearing into the walls. My men shouted from outside the room. I rolled off the bed, dragging her with me to the floor. My gun already in my hand. "Stay down!"
Her voice was low and steady. "Who are they?"
"I don't know," I said, firing back through the shattered glass.
And in that moment, I realized it.
My first thought wasn’t of the attacker doing something against the Bratva; it was of them hurting Isabella.
She was taking over my mind.