Chapter Eighteen
Mikhail’s POV
I couldn't breathe, I just stared at the destruction. Her dresses in shreds, her broken mirror, and the scent of her perfume mixing with the stench of fear and anger. Every inch of that room screamed violation.
Then I saw them, the guards and my men. They were standing frozen by the door like scared dogs.
"What happened?" I asked in a quiet, low tone. But no one answered, and my vision went red.
"You had one job," I said. "To protect her."
Still nothing, just silence. The kind that made my blood hum like fire. I moved fast, and my hand shot out, grabbed one by the collar, and slammed him into the wall. "Where were you? Where were you when all this happened?"
He stammered something about checking the cameras. I didn't care. My fist connected with his jaw. The other guard tried to stop me, but I turned on him, too. Then, I heard a blur, the sound of a bone cracking, or was it a scream?
"Mikhail," Viktor's voice thundered from behind. He grabbed my shoulder, yanking me back. "Enough! That's enough! You're going to kill them!"
"They failed her!" I roared, with my chest heaving. "They let this happen under my roof!"
Viktor stepped in front of me, blocking my next swing. His face was calm, but his eyes weren't. "And what then? You'll kill half of your men and still wake up to the same enemy tomorrow?"
I was shaking, and my knuckles were bleeding. I didn't even feel it.
"She could've been here, Viktor," I said, in a breaking voice. "She could've been here when they came."
Viktor's tone softened. "But she wasn't. You got lucky tonight, don't waste it."
I turned away, trying to breathe, but the sight of her room made it impossible. Every broken mirror, every torn thread made it all personal. Like they were mocking me or mocking her.
Viktor looked around slowly. "You think beating your men will fix this?"
"They need to fear me more than they fear our enemies," I muttered.
He let out a low, bitter laugh. "Fear doesn't make them loyal, Mikhail. It makes them stupid."
I glared at him, with my jaw tight. "You don't understand."
"I do," he said, stepping closer. "You're losing control, Mikhail. And when you do, she'll be the one you destroy."
For a second, the room was dead silent. Only the sound of our breaths and the distant hum of city lights was heard.
I wanted to tell him he was wrong and that I'd never hurt her. That all this blood, the rage, and the madness was because I loved her. But the truth stayed stuck in my throat because deep down, I wasn't sure he was wrong.
The office door slammed behind Viktor. He tossed his jacket onto the couch, and my jaw tightened. I could still taste blood in my mouth. It was someone else's blood, but I didn't care.
He turned on me the second we were alone. "You've lost your damn mind, Mikhail."
I didn't look at him. "They broke into my home, Viktor."
"Yeah, and you broke your own men's faces."
"They deserve it."
He scoffed. "You think that fixes anything?"
I poured a drink instead of answering. The glass shook in my hand, and whiskey hit my throat like fire, but it didn't burn enough.
"They sent a message, Viktor. They sent a message," I said quietly. "They want me angry."
"You gave them exactly what they wanted,” he pointed out. “Use your head, brother. Care shouldn’t turn you into a pawn. Obsession will only make you weak.”
**********
The suite was quiet when I walked in. She sat on the floor beside the cracked mirror, her reflection split into a dozen pieces. The lights were low, and her hair still damp from the shower, her robe loose around her shoulders. She didn't look scared, but she looked tired.
I leaned against the doorframe. "You should be resting."
She didn't look up. "I can't rest when I live in a war zone."
My jaw tightened. "You're safe here."
She laughed, soft and bitter. "Safe? You call this safe? You beat your men half to death, and you think it makes you my savior?"
I took a slow step forward. "They failed you."
"They failed you," she shot back. "I didn't ask for your protection."
"Maybe you should have," I said.
She stood, meeting my gaze. "And what then? I'm just another thing you guard, another trophy in your glass case?"
"Don't start," I warned.
"Why not?" She snapped. "You control everything. You decide who breathes near me, who touches me, who looks at me. You lock me in this penthouse like I'm something you own."
My hands curled into fists. "I do it to keep you alive."
"You do it because you can't stand losing control."
I closed the distance between us. "You have no idea what I've lost."
She stared up at me, raised her chin, and her voice shook with fury. "You can kill anyone who looks at me wrong, Mikhail, but you can't kill the truth."
"Isabella–"
"My brother is still dead."
The words hit like a bullet. The air went cold, and I couldn't breathe for a moment. She was still glaring at me, but her eyes shimmered with grief, hate, and confusion.
I stepped closer, and my voice dropped. "I hope one day you’ll believe me."
I reached out, fingers brushing her cheek before she could pull away.
For a second, she didn't move. Then I turned away, leaving her standing there, in front of the broken mirror, surrounded by shards of everything she thought was true. And maybe, for the first time, she finally saw the cracks in me, too.
I left because I should show her more vulnerability.
**********
I stood by the window when Yuri walked in, phone in hand, his face was hard.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Marco Moretti slipped out last night," Yuri said. "Private plane. Traced calls to the Italians. He's offering Isabella to a don for protection, as a new alliance."
My chest went cold. "He'd sell his daughter?"
Yuri didn't look away. "Looks like it."
I laughed, low and ugly. "He'll trade her like she's meat."
"Maybe we can track the flight," Yuri said.
"Too late." I pushed the chair hard, papers scattered, and my hand shook.
"Find Marco. Find the don. Find anyone who touched that plane," I ordered. "Double security on her, sweep every route, and burn any safehouse if we have to."
Yuri tried to calm me. "We will–"
"No," I cut him off. "They think they can bargain for her. Let them try."
He warned me, "You can't start a war on a rumor."
"This isn't a rumor," I said, staring at the city. "This is betrayal."
I grabbed a gun from the drawer, and the metal steadied me.
"If they want war," I whispered, pressing my forehead to the glass, "I'll give them war.”