Chapter Sixteen
Mikhail’s POV
Roman's call came before sunset. "Italian-owned club. West end. They're moving cash tonight," he said.
And that was all I needed to hear. By the time we got there, the music was loud, the lights flashing, people drinking and laughing because they had no idea what was about to happen. I walked in first, with my men close behind. The smell of smoke and liquor hit me, sharp and thick.
"Take the back," I told Kirill. "No one leaves."
He nodded and moved. Then, it started. The first shot cut through the music, and people screamed. Glass shattered, and tables flipped. I didn't stop to think, moving through the chaos like it was a dance I'd done a thousand times.
A man rushed at me with a knife; his moves were stupid. I caught his wrist, twisted it, and slammed his face against the bar. Blood sprayed across the counter, but I didn't blink.
Another one pulled a gun, but I shot first.
"Keep moving!" I shouted. "No survivors, and Marco dies here."
Yuri ducked behind a table, reloading. "Boss, this is getting messy."
"Good," I said. "Let them choke on the mess."
The air was thick with gunpowder and screams. I didn't hear the noise anymore, just felt the rhythm of it. My fists did the talking, and my boots did the punctuation. One man begged before I broke his nose. Another tried to crawl away, but I dragged him back.
"Where's your boss?" I asked, pressing my boot against his chest.
"P... please... I don't–"
I fired. "Wrong answer."
Yuri shouted from across the room, "We got the ledgers!"
"Take them," I said, wiping blood from my face. "We're done here."
But I didn't move. I stood in the middle of the wreckage, amidst broken glasses, dead men, smoke rising from the floor, and it still wasn't enough. My chest felt heavy, and my hands shook, not from the fight, but from something I couldn't name.
My phone buzzed in my pocket once, twice, but I didn't check it.
Because I knew who it might be. Isabella.
I tried not to think about her, but the way she looked at me last night, the anger in her eyes, the softness she tried to hide.
I knew she hated me, I knew that, but the thought of her still twisted something deep inside me.
Yuri came over, holding the phone out. "Boss, it's from the estate. You should–"
"Not now," I cut him off.
He looked at me, nodded, and backed away.
I stared at the bodies one last time. "Clean it up," I said quietly. "Leave nothing."
When I finally walked out, the sky was dark like it was bleeding too. And even with the smoke, the fire, and the smell of death around me... all I could think about was her.
The fight was almost done, and the club was quiet now, only the sound of glass cracking under our boots. Smoke still hung in the air, mixed with blood and cheap perfume.
"Boss, we found one still breathing," Sergei said.
They dragged a man toward me. His face was bruised, his shirt was soaked in sweat and blood. He was shaking, barely standing. I stared at him, waiting.
"Talk," I said.
He coughed, spitting out blood. "Please... I'll tell you everything."
"Then start before I change my mind."
His voice broke. "They're changing plans."
My brows lifted. "What plans?"
"The Italians... they're not going for the Bratva anymore." He paused, breathing hard. "They're going for her."
I didn't move. But my hand tightened around the gun, and my face stayed calm. "Her?"
"Marco's daughter," he said fast, like saying it quickly would save him. "They know, boss. They know she's your weakness now."
The words hit harder than any bullet, and for a second, no one breathed. Even the air seemed to freeze, and then I raised my gun. He tried to back away, stuttering, "I swear, that's all I–"
One shot, and his body hit the ground with his eyes wide open, and his mouth still moved without sound.
The room went silent again as blood spread across the floor. No one said a word. My men had seen this before, the calm after my rage. Roman looked at me but didn't speak. Sergei kicked the man's gun away.
I holstered and started moving fast. But even as I walked away, the man's last words echoed in my head.
They know she's your weakness. I hated how it sounded.
Outside, the air was cold, and the night wind cut through the smoke.
I lit a cigarette, trying to steady the noise in my head.
My hands were still shaking, though I'd never admit it.
They were coming for her, and if they touched her, even once... I'd burn every city from here to Rome.
I don't hesitate, and I don't have mercy. If Isabella was my weakness, then I'd turn that weakness into a weapon.
The drive back to the penthouse felt endless, and the city lights flashed through the tinted windows, slicing across my face like sharp blades. The city looked alive, but I wasn't. Not tonight because my mind was in chaos, rage, fear, and something worse that I refused to name.
Yuri sat in front, quietly. He knew better than to talk when I was like this. The car was filled with silence, except for the hum of the engine.
When we reached the building, I got out without a word. The guards moved aside, and I could feel their eyes on me, all of them waiting, watching. They've seen it before, the calm that came before the blood.
Inside, I didn't slow down. I barked orders instead, the moment I hit the elevator. "Double security on Isabella. No one gets near her."
Yuri followed; his steps were quick. "Already done, Boss, but–"
I cut him off, turning on him sharply. "No, but. She doesn't leave without a word. Not for sunlight. If anyone tries, I don't care who... you end it."
He hesitated. "Even the staff?"
"Especially the staff." My voice came out harder than I meant it to.
Yuri nodded slowly. "Understood, Boss."
The elevator doors closed, and I didn't look at him again. When I finally reached the penthouse, the silence was so thick that it almost hurt. And I pulled off my jacket, tossing it on the floor. My chest felt tight like something inside me was about to break, and I didn't know how to stop it.
I went straight for the bar and poured a drink.
The whiskey burned my throat, but it didn't calm me.
Tonight, it burned differently. After the drink, I walked toward the glass wall and stared out at the skyline.
The city looked cold and merciless, like a reflection of everything I'd built.
Power, fear, and control. I had all of it and yet, one woman, one goddamn woman, was starting to pull it apart.
I didn't even know when it began… maybe when she first looked at me like she wasn't scared.
Maybe when she talked back like she had nothing to lose, or maybe when she touched me, and it felt like something I didn't deserve.
I told myself it was nothing, that it was just lust, curiosity, and control. But that lie was wearing thin.
Every time I thought of her, something inside me shifted, and every time she defied me, I wanted to crush her and protect her in the same breath. I hated that feeling, and I hated her for causing it. My fingers tightened around the glass, and I didn't realize how hard until I heard it crack.
"Fuck."
Blood slipped between my fingers, red against the glass. The pain was sharp. I welcomed it. The sound of footsteps came from the hallway, and Yuri's voice carried through the air. "Boss, are you–"
"Out," I snapped.
He didn't argue, and the door clicked shut. I stood there, bleeding, the city lights reflecting off the glass. Whiskey dripped onto the floor, mixing with my blood.
This wasn't love. It couldn't be because love was weakness, and I'd spent my whole life cutting weakness out.
So, I told myself again that it was an obsession and control.
I was still the one holding the strings.
But as the blood kept dripping and the ache in my chest grew heavier, I knew the truth.
That I wasn't in control anymore than she was.
And I knew the second I heard her voice, she'd heard too much.
"You knew they were coming for me," she snapped, stepping like a storm breaking through the door. "You knew, and you said nothing."
Her hair was loose, and her eyes were wild. The kind of anger that didn't come from fear but from betrayal.
I turned and looked at her, forcing my tone to stay level. "You shouldn't have been listening."
She gave a sharp and bitter laugh. "That's not the point! You're treating me like a prisoner, Mikhail."
"You don't need to worry about anything."
"Worry?" She took a step forward. "You locked me in your glass cage, surrounded with guards, and you think that makes me safe? I'm not one of your soldiers!"
My jaw tightened, and I could feel the anger rising, not at her, but at the thought of someone even thinking about touching her. "You're mine," I said, the words were rough and low. "You're my wife and property, and anyone who touches you dies."
Her chin lifted. "I'm not your property. I don't need your protection, and I'd rather die than be your pawn."
That word hit harder than a bullet... Pawn. She thought that's what she was to me, just another piece on a board I controlled.
Before I could stop myself, I crossed the room, and my hand slammed against the wall beside her, trapping her there. The sound echoed through the room, and her breath hitched, but she didn't flinch.
"If you die," I said, in a breaking voice, "I die too."
The words came out raw and honest. And for a second, neither of us moved. The air between us burned, and I could hear her breathing, fast and steady. I could see the fight still in her eyes and that fire that drove me insane.
Then something inside me cracked. I stepped back, and my hands dropped to my sides. She stood there, staring at me like she didn't recognize what she saw. Maybe she didn't. Maybe I didn't either.
"Why?" She whispered, finally. "Why do you keep doing this?"
I wanted to tell her that I didn't know how to protect her without caging her. Every time she looked at me, I felt like a man instead of a monster. That I couldn't let her go, even if it meant breaking her. But the words stayed stuck in my throat.
"You don't understand what you've become," I said instead, in a voice now almost a whisper.
She looked at me one last time and then turned away. The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall, and they felt heavier than any gunshot I'd ever heard.
I stood there in the silence, the taste of whiskey and regret thick in the air. I was half a king and half a ruin, and she was already in every part of me I'd sworn no one would ever touch.
The night dragged on, long and silent, and the city lights blinked through the glass walls, but didn't reach me.
I sat at my desk, with half a drink untouched, staring at nothing.
My mind wouldn't shut up, and her voice still echoed in my head.
.. I'm not your pawn. Her eyes when she said it, the way she looked at me when she said it, made me look like I was the enemy. Maybe I was.
I leaned back in the chair, rubbing my temples.
I'd killed men for less than the way she talked to me tonight, but none of it mattered because she wasn't like them, and she never would be.
A soft knock broke the silence, and Yuri stepped in, pale and holding an envelope as if it might explode in his hand.
"Boss," he said in a low voice. "This just arrived."
I frowned. "From who?"
"No return address."
I stood, took it from him, and tore it open. A single photograph slid out, and I picked it up. For a second, I couldn't breathe. It was Isabella. She was stepping out of her father's villa, wearing that same calm mask she always wore in public. But that wasn't what made my stomach twist.
There was a small red circle drawn around her head.
It was a crosshair, a sniper's scope, and I stared at it, and the air around me turned to ice.
For a moment, everything went quiet. My pulse, my thoughts, and the world.
Then it hit all at once, the rage, the fear, and the fire that never stopped burning.
Yuri shifted nervously. "Boss."
I looked up slowly. "Where did this come from?"
"It was delivered to the lobby. No name, just that."
I clenched the photo until the edge cut my skin. "Get every man we have," I said, in a low, hard voice. "No one sleeps until we find who did this."
Yuri didn't argue; he just nodded once and rushed out.
The door shut behind him, leaving me alone with the picture.
I stared at it for a long time, her face, her eyes.
.. the target over her head. They were coming for her, and now they knew exactly what she meant to me.
I poured another drink, but my hand shook, and the whiskey splashed onto the desk.
I didn't care. I couldn't stop thinking, when did she become this?
The weakness they'd use against me, the one thing that could break me.
Was it love? Obsession? I didn't even know anymore. All I knew was that if anyone touched her, even breathed near her, they'd never see daylight again.
I looked down at the picture one last time, my voice barely a whisper now. "You're not dying, Isabella. Not while I'm still breathing."
I placed the photo on the desk, and the red circle stared back at me like a challenge. If they wanted war, they'd get one. And this time, I wasn't just defending the Bratva, I was defending her. Even if I had to burn the whole city to the ground to do it.