Misha
As sunlight streams into the bedroom, I blink blearily into the morning and wish I could go back to sleep. My dreams were astonishing, an unbelievable future full of love, warmth, safety, and family.
Mila and I had survived the hell of our existence in Russia and escaped to America, and she was the Pakhan, as she deserved to be. Wherever we lived, it wasn’t cold, and life was good, with a huge extended family and a Bratva operating as a well-oiled machine.
The best part, by far, was having a family. A beautiful woman who loved me, not for my money, and despite the terrible things I’ve done and will continue to do. A gorgeous redhead, and in my dream she had just told me we were going to have our first baby.
Abby!
I’m wide awake now, realizing that parts of my dream are my reality. My reality, a murderous street kid from the streets of Moscow. I do have a goddess of my own, although to my knowledge she’s not pregnant. After yesterday, though, a man can hope.
My cock twitches, its half-hard status threatening to rise to the occasion and point its way toward its favorite place to start the day.
Thinking of the way we made love, the raw emotion and power of her soul as she surrendered it to me…
it was different from any other time we’ve been intimate, and it shifted something within me.
Maybe today’s the day to do something wild. We could take the bike out on a proper road trip since I don’t have to be back for practice until tomorrow morning. Or try the new cheese conveyor belt place down the street.
Or you could go down to the courthouse and then try to convince her to take her IUD out.
If my dick was showing moderate interest in starting the day a moment ago, he’s fully at attention now.
The idea of Abby agreeing to lock herself to me legally, to share a last name and be a family, even if it’s just the two of us for a while…
It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever imagined, and I turn to her side of the bed to try to convince her to make my dreams come true.
Within the next second, I realize that the other side of the bed isn’t just empty, it’s cold. Abby usually doesn’t wake that much earlier than me. Sitting up, I listen for the shower, but the condo is silent. Perhaps she’s soaking in the tub.
“Lesnaya?” I call, rising from the bed and pulling on my sweatpants from the night before.
There’s no answer, and if I weren’t supremely confident in my security system, and the fact that even though I sleep more soundly with Abby in my arms than I ever have, I would be concerned that something had happened.
Strolling into the bathroom, I find it empty, along with the other bedrooms and bathrooms, the kitchen, and finally the veranda.
She’s gone. A glance at the garage cameras shows that her parking spot is empty, and finally the pit of despair that’s been simmering deep in my stomach boils over past the point of no return when I see that she’s left the country.
My tracking app goes wild, and my mind goes into overdrive.
No note, car gone…this isn’t like her at all.
Nausea mixes with my anxiety as I see the slightest flutter of a piece of paper on the fridge that wasn’t there before.
It’s in the center of the fridge, in pride of place under our Shrek and Fiona magnet.
Her chicken-scratch handwriting is more legible than usual, so I know she must have taken her time writing to give me the best chance to read it.
My phone buzzes with message after message, but they fade into white noise as I begin to read my worst nightmare.
Misha, my love…
I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for barging into your life and making such a mess of things.
That’s what I’m best at, though, and have been for a while, so I’m not surprised.
You told me your deepest secrets, things you were ashamed of…
and I lied to you. I lied to you, even as you handled my insecurities and jealousies like the wonderful man you are.
I’m married.
It makes me want to vomit to think that, let alone write it, and I’ve been crying for a while now…Even if I hadn’t, the thought of you reading those two words would be enough to push me over the edge.
The incessant buzzing of my phone finally stops, cut short by a notification from my security software, and as the incomprehensible words on the paper in front of me blur and white noise fills my brain, heart, and soul, I force myself to check the alert.
Abby Reid a.k.a. Abigail Reid a.k.a. Niamh Fitzpatrick a.k.a. Niamh Abigail Reid Fitzpatrick
Family/known associates: Conor Fitzpatrick (husband) HIGH ALERT FLAG
Fitzpatrick, Conor–known trafficker, Irish Mafia Don–Canadian Eastern region
The calm that washes over me is beyond rage, and seeing the name of a human trafficking rapist piece of shit that’s vile enough to ring a bell fills my veins with electricity.
I’m still, presumably, a human man, but I would swear on my last dime that every atom within me just morphed into something far, far more dangerous.
A being whose only objective is to destroy.
My eyes fly between the alerts that continue to pop up on my phone, including all my Santori contacts, the Taranov brothers, and security gurus trying to reach me about my tracker leaving the country without authorization.
They’re ready to press the nuclear option, and as I read more of Abby’s letter, I’m tempted to let them.
My husband is, well…he’s a bad man. I found out on my wedding night. I swear, I had no clue what I was getting myself into before then. By the time I did, it was too late. Recently, I’ve discovered that he’s even worse than I thought, but again…it’s too late.
It’s never too late, my love.
I was young, naive, and in love, then spent a decade in a drug-induced stupor, barely living.
When he told me that he had an assignment for me, I leapt at the chance to be away from him.
In the process, I regained my sense of self and started to see the woman I once was.
The one who believed in good people, friendship, and love. I thought she had died long ago.
I was sent to spy on the Santori family, presumably by seducing my way into the inner circle. It was never my intention to do any harm, and I was only ever going to give enough information to keep Conor off my back and hopefully never return to Canada.
She was sent to infiltrate?
As soon as I met Ellie and the rest of her family, I realized everything I had been told was a lie. They welcomed me and made me feel more like a part of a family than I have in so long…I ended up abandoning my plan to seduce a Santori, right around the time I fell head over heels in love with you.
The paper is warped from here to the bottom, the evidence of tears falling and then drying clearly marking the point where Abby couldn’t keep it together anymore.
I fell in love with you, and with Ellie as my friend, and with Giulia and Nonna, and I just…
couldn’t do it. I gave Conor the bare minimum information that I could, ignoring him most days, and I thought…
well, I thought maybe he would forget about me at some point.
Or at least not care enough to come after me and kill me.
My darling, nobody is ever going to hurt you again and live.
I was going to tell you everything, I promise. I’m so, so sorry. This is the last of things you don’t know about me, and it kills me that the chance to tell you myself, on my own terms, was taken from me. I should have known better and involved you earlier. You would have known exactly what to do.
The paper is even more wrinkled, and the pink ink of her favorite silly pen is slightly smudged. I bought it for her at a truck stop while we were out on the bike one day, and the glittery flamingo on a spring, bouncing back and forth with every stroke, made her giggle uncontrollably.
It’s too late now. He knows about you, and he knows I’m not playing his games anymore. If I stay any longer, it won’t be me he comes after. It’ll be you, and the people you care about most. I can’t be responsible for that, Misha. I just can’t.
It’s better for everyone if I go quietly and willingly, and he doesn’t have a reason to cause a scene. Please know that I’ll always love you. You’ve taught me what it truly means.
I hope you know that when I told you I’d met one person who I immediately knew would matter to me, forever, it was you. It was so wholly, obviously you.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
More texts flow as all my security redundancies continue to flare. One catches my eye above all others.
Mila: I won’t waste time asking questions. Our guy’s deep dive resulted about thirty seconds before I got the notification of her location change. Here’s what we have.
The file is long but already expertly highlighted by the only person who knows the exact pieces of information I always want from an intel sheet. Without time to second-guess myself, I dial the number from the top of the report. It doesn’t have to ring twice before the dead man answers.
“Ah, finally. It’s the man who’s been fucking my wife. Took you long enough to call.”
“You’re a dead man, Fitzpatrick. I’m not sure what you thought the outcome of fucking with the Santori family was going to be, but I can guarantee you that reality will be worse than your worst nightmare.”
“I’m not so sure. I’ve gotten plenty of the information I was after, and my little bride has brought all of her holes back to me just like I knew she would.”
“She’s your bride in name only, and that’ll be easily remedied once you’re dead and scattered to the wind.”
His maniacal laugh is proof that we aren’t dealing with a cold, calculated businessman. He might be savvy and smart enough to maneuver the political circuit, but Conor Fitzpatrick is crazy.
“Oh, I don’t think I can agree with you there, Mr. Mavrin. Yes, I have my own in-house tech. Don’t be so surprised that your name popped up with your number. But my Niamh is my wife in plenty of ways, aren’t you?”
The unmistakable sound of rough oral sex fills the speaker, a woman choking and gagging as Conor grunts and curses.
That doesn’t mean it’s Abby. It could be anyone.
“Say hello to your Russian lover, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”
After a sniffle, the love of my life quietly answers.
“Hi, Misha.”
I fall to my knees in the kitchen as the rhythmic sounds continue.
“By all means, keep listening if you want to hear me fuck her. I have missed her so much. Otherwise, I can’t think of anything we have left to speak about. Oh! Other than this. If you see Nikki Santori anytime soon, can you thank him for sending my wife back to me?”
I end the call, having no doubt that Conor would follow through with his promise. As tempting as it is to listen to proof that Abby’s alive, my time is better spent picking myself off the floor and getting back to what matters.
Finding out what the hell Conor was talking about with regard to Nikki. He’s one of the hundreds of unread messages in my inbox, and when I get a call notification, I’m already halfway out the door to my bike.
Letting it ring, I hop on my bike. I don’t care what he has to say to me. Nothing can forgive his betrayal. As I speed out of the parking garage and race toward the compound, the prospect of relieving some of my tension against Nikki’s face is the only way I know how to calm down.
I pray it works. Otherwise, the world might burn down around us all.