Chapter Fourteen
Mikhail’s POV
Rain fell hard that night, soaking through the cracks of the dockyard like it wanted to wash the sins away.
It was close to midnight, and the city slept, but not us.
My men waited in silence, and their faces hid under hoods, and their guns tucked beneath their coats.
The smell of oil, rust, and the river mixed with fear.
I could hear the engine before I saw the car. Headlights cut through the mist, slicing the dark in two. Yuri nodded. "That's him, boss."
I stepped out of the shadows, and the rain hit my coat, cold and sharp. The black Mercedes rolled closer, slowing when they saw the men blocking the road.
"Move!" the driver yelled, but his voice cracked.
Yuri smirked. "You're in the wrong neighborhood, man."
Before the man could reach for his gun, I smashed my elbow through the side window. Glass shattered like ice, and my hand shot in, grabbed him by the throat, and dragged him out through the door. He hit the ground hard, coughing and gasping for air.
Another man jumped from the backseat, aiming a pistol. He didn't even get the chance to pull the trigger. One of my men, Kirill, slammed the butt of his rifle into the side of his head, and he dropped instantly.
The first man, the lieutenant, spat blood, trying to crawl away. "You don't know what you're doing," he choked out. "My boss–"
"Your boss sent you to die," I cut him off. My boot pressed against his chest. "And you came running like a loyal dog."
He glared at me, defiant even with a split lip. "The Italians will-"
I leaned down, gripping his collar tight enough to choke him again. "The Italians will what? Hide you? You think they'll care about a dead errand boy?"
He wildly and desperately swung at me with a knife. I caught his wrist midair, twisted it, and felt the bone snap. His scream echoed through the empty dock.
He groaned, trying to grab his gun with the other hand, but I kicked it away and slammed him against the car door. "Where were you headed?" I asked.
He spat again. "You're too late. The deal's done."
I tilted my head, and my eyes narrowed. "Then why are you still breathing?"
His silence was enough, and I punched him once, hard enough to drop him. He hit the wet ground, half-conscious, and mumbling Marco's name like it would save him.
Yuri walked up beside me. "You want him alive, boss?”
"For now." I pulled my gloves tighter, and blood mixed with rain. "Bring him to the warehouse. I want him to talk before sunrise."
Yuri whistled for the others, and two men lifted the body, dragging him to the van waiting by the fence.
I stayed behind for a moment, staring at the puddle of blood mixing with rainwater and spreading like dark ink.
The night felt too quiet, like the world had gone back to pretending nothing happened.
I lit a cigarette, and the flame trembled against the wind. The first drag burned hot in my throat, steadying my racing pulse.
I looked down at the broken man slumped in the mud; his face was barely recognizable now. "You picked the wrong side," I muttered.
The rain swallowed the words as I turned away, and smoke trailed behind me like a ghost. The night wasn't over. This was just the beginning.
The warehouse smelled of metal and dust, the kind of place where secrets were born and buried. A single light swung from the ceiling, throwing long shadows across the concrete floor. The lieutenant sat tied to a chair and soaked in blood and rain. His head hung low, breathing shallow.
Yuri stood behind him, his arms crossed, waiting for a signal. I walked in slowly, my steps echoing. The man's eyes fluttered open, and fear crawled in the dark between us.
"Wake up," I said quietly, tapping his cheek. "We're not done."
He groaned, spitting blood. "You think this scares me?"
I smiled coldly. "No, but the silence will."
I pulled up a chair and sat across from him, my piercing gaze on him. The air was heavy with the hum of the old bulb above us. "Tell me about the Italians," I said.
He blinked, confusion cutting through his pain. "What–what do you want from me?"
"The truth," I said. "Marco sent you to deliver something. What was it?"
He hesitated, and I nodded to Yuri, who stepped forward to hit him once, clean across his face. The sound was sharp and loud.
The man's head snapped to the side, and a tooth hit the floor. He coughed, and blood spilled from his mouth.
"I don't know–"
Yuri hit him again.
"Try harder," I murmured.
He shook, and sweat dripped from his temple. "It wasn't about weapons," he said finally, in a cracked voice. "It was about debt."
I leaned closer. "Debt?"
He nodded and trembled. "Marco... he made a deal with the Italians after the last shipment went wrong. He promised them a name in return for their silence."
My voice dropped lower. "Whose name?"
The man's eyes darted to the floor. "Giovanni."
The sound of that name hit like a bullet, and the air froze. I didn't move, and I didn't speak. Just watched him shake under the weight of what he'd said.
"Marco promised Giovanni as payment," he continued, and his words spilled now like a confession he couldn't stop. "Said the Italians would back off if they got him."
For a long moment, I said nothing. The bulb above buzzed louder, and I could hear the wind outside, whistling through the cracks of the door.
He did it for money," the man whispered. "For peace with the Italians."
I stood up slowly, and the chair scraped the floor. "There's no peace bought with blood."
The man started to beg. "Please, I told you everything–"
But I wasn't listening. My chest felt tight, and anger sat heavy in my veins. I turned to Yuri. "Finish it."
Yuri nodded once, and I walked out before the sound came. I didn't need to hear it. Outside, the night was quiet again. I lit a cigarette, and the smoke curled up into the cold air. The rain had stopped, but the storm inside me hadn't.
"Marco. The bastard," I whispered, exhaling smoke through clenched teeth.
**********
I walked in slowly. Isabella was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her robe wrapped tight as she stared toward the window. When she looked up, I saw the worry in her eyes.
"You're late," she said. The words were small and too calm.
My hands were still damp with blood. I didn't answer. I dropped the folders on the table. Rain had mixed with mud, and the scratches showed on my sleeves.
"Tell me," she said, standing. "What happened?"
I waited until the door clicked shut behind me, and I spoke in a flat voice. "Marco sent someone to meet the Italians tonight. Your father keeps betraying us, despite owing us. What a fool I’ve been.”
Her face drained. "What do you mean he sent someone to them?"
"He did," I said it plainly. "He sent his lieutenant, and I intercepted him at the docks."
She stepped closer, sucking in a shallow breath. "Why would he do that?"
"Because he's a coward," I said. "Because he thought he could buy peace with blood and lies." I watched her hands. "Because he traded Giovanni."
The words left my mouth like a stone, and she froze. For a second, she didn't move at all.
"No," she whispered. "No, that can't. My dad would never–"
"He did," I said. "He promised Giovanni as payment to the Italians after some shipment blew up."
She laughed then, and the sound was short and broken. "Prove it," she said. Her voice was sharp now. "Prove it to me. Bring proof. Tell me the men who know, show me messages."
"Ask him," I said. "Ask your father why the Italians stopped dealing with us. Ask him who pulled the trigger. The record is there if you want to dig. But the truth is in his hands, not mine."
She stared at me like she wanted to tear me apart. "You think I'll believe you over my blood?" Her fingers curled into white-knuckle fists.
I stepped forward, close enough to feel the heat from her. " Your blood sold him out," I said. "Your father's choices killed Giovanni, not mine."
Her hand moved fast then, anger burning on her face. She slapped me hard across the cheek. The sound echoed off the windows.
"You lying bastard," she hissed, and tears flashed, but she didn't let them fall. She pushed at me with her fierce hands.
For a second, I saw the girl from years ago with fire in her eyes. Not the broken woman. The part that made her dangerous and the part that made me both proud and terrified.
She stared at me while her chest rose and fell. I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her everything would be different. I wanted to tell her I was sorry in a way that meant something.
But sorry didn't fix the dead, and it also didn't bring back Giovanni. It didn't clean betrayal.
I held on to her, our breath mixed, heavy and fast. Her tits pressed against my chest through the thin robe, and damn, that fire in her eyes wasn't just rage, it was raw and fucking uncontrollable rage. I could feel my cock hardening already, the anger twisting into something darker.
We were both angry. For different reasons, however.
The tension snapped like a wire, and I crushed my mouth to hers, rough and hungry, biting her lip. She moaned into the kiss, not pulling away. She kissed back like she wanted to devour me. Her hands fisted in my shirt, tearing at the buttons.
"Asshole," she muttered against my lips, but her tongue tangled with mine, wet and desperate.
I ripped her robe open, exposing her lace bra. "Shut up," I growled, shoving the bra down and palming her tits, pinching her nipples until she gasped. She slapped my hand away, but then yanked my belt open.
"Yeah? Do it then." I spun her around, slamming her front against the wall, yanking her skirt up over her ass. No panties, goddamn, she was soaked already. I shoved two fingers into her pussy, thrusting deep.
She cried out, pushing back. "Harder, you prick,"
I pulled my fingers out and replaced them with my cock, slamming into her from behind in one brutal thrust. She screamed, her wall gripping me like a vice. "That's it," I grunted, pounding into her, my hands on her hips, pulling her back onto me.
We crashed to the floor somehow, her on top now, riding me wild. "I hate you," she moaned, grinding her clit against me, her tit's bouncing as she fucked me harder.
"Hate me all you want," I said, flipping us so I was on top, thrusting deep and fast. "But you're mine." I grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head, my other hand rubbing her clit in rough circles.
She bucked under me, cursing. "Fuck... Mikhail...don't stop."
Our bodies slapped together, and sweat slicked our skin, and moans mixed with growls. "You feel so good," I rasped, biting her neck. "Tight little pussy taking my cock like it was made for it."
She wrapped her legs around me, heels digging into my ass. "Deeper!"
I did, slamming in until she shattered, her orgasm ripping through her, and her pussy pulsing around me. "Yes! Fuck yes!"
I came hard, spilling into her with a roar, and collapsing on top. Her nails dragged my back, drawing blood, as I whispered in her ear, "Hate me. But don't ever leave me."
The room was quiet, only our breathing filled the space. Her body lay against mine, slick with sweat. My hand moved up her spine, slowly, tracing the bruises I'd left. She didn't flinch, didn't even speak. She just stared at the ceiling like she wished she could disappear through it.
I pressed my lips to her shoulder. "Say something," I murmured.
"Yell, hit me. Do something at least."
But still silent, she didn't move. Finally, she whispered in a low and raw voice. "You ruin everything."
I turned her face toward me, with my fingers on her jaw. "You can hate me all you want, Isabella. But you'll never leave me."
She stared at me not with fear but with the dangerous calm she got before she broke something. "You think this is beyond our bodies?" She asked quietly.
"I don't know what this is," I said. "But it's real."
"Then maybe we're the wrong kind of reality," she scoffed and rolled away, using her robe to cover herself. I caught her wrist, pulling her back against me.
"Hurt me if you want," I whispered again to her ear. "But you'll never walk out that door. He will pay for this one day, when you finally see that Giovanni's death wasn't my fault."
Her breath hitched, just once. "You think saying that makes it true?"
"It is true."
"Then why do you sound like you're trying to convince yourself?" She said in a flat, cutting tone.
I didn't answer.t I just held her tighter, maybe to protect her, to keep her from running. She stopped fighting, but she didn't relax either. I could feel her heartbeat under my palm.
After a long moment, she whispered, "You'll regret ever knowing me."
"Maybe," I said. "But not now."