43. Michael #2
He jabbed a finger toward her chest.
“One. Thing.”
Her breath shook. She knew.
“You’re the last bloodline left,” Roman said, voice cold. “The last pawn they can use. The only way you walk away from this with your life is if you give them what they want.”
“A baby,” she whispered. “They want a baby.”
Roman nodded once. Slowly.
Like the executioner confirming the sentence.
“But we’re not doing this the old-fashioned way,” I said quietly, stepping forward. My voice dropped to a jagged, lethal register. “We’re doing this my way.”
Krystal looked between us, terrified and trembling.
“And you’re going to sign every parental right away,” I continued. “Every last one. You’re going to be the vessel and nothing more. You don’t get the child. You don’t get the power. You don’t get the life you fantasized about. You get your pulse.”
Roman smirked.
Cold approval.
“Do what Michael says,” he told her. “Or I’ll let your uncle know exactly who killed Kaim.”
Krystal folded like paper.
“I’ll do it,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’ll do whatever you say.”
I nodded once.
And that was that.
The empire shifted in a single, bloody night.
Roman lit a cigarette right there in the sitting room, ignoring the “NO SMOKING” signs I personally put up. The man treated rules like decorations — pretty, pointless, and easy to ignore.
He exhaled a stream of smoke directly over Krystal’s head as she knelt on the carpet, trembling, still streaked with her brother’s blood and her own tears.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Roman said, voice flat and lethal. “I’m going to tell the council this was a professional hit. Russian mob. Maybe Chechen. Doesn’t matter. It’ll play.”
He leaned down, gripping her chin so hard she winced.
“And you”—he dragged her closer—“are going to keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Krystal nodded frantically, snot and mascara dripping down her face.
Roman slapped her lightly—not to hurt, but to emphasize.
“No tears. No guilt. No truth. Do you understand?”
“I do,” she sobbed.
“Good.” He took another drag. “Because if you open that pretty little mouth and say even ONE WORD about what happened here tonight…”
He pressed the barrel of his gun beneath her chin so gently it almost looked affectionate.
“…I’ll put a bullet in your skull myself.”
Krystal froze.
Her whole body locked up like ice.
Roman smirked and lowered the weapon.
“Kaim always was a loose cannon,” he said, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder with mock tenderness. “The council will mourn, yes. But blame? No. They won’t waste time investigating a junkie brother who made too many enemies.”
He straightened, flicked ash onto my floor, and turned to me.
“You’ll take her to the clinic,” he instructed. “I’ll handle the narrative. Russians. Payment disputes. Retaliation. Something clean.”
“That’s why I had her here. She wasn’t clean. I didn’t want my baby hooked on crack since birth or born impaired because Krystal couldn’t’ stop using. I never stopped being loyal… even to my unborn child.”
Uncle Roman nodded with respect, “Good. Good.”
I nodded. Another plan was forming—ugly, but airtight.
“And Michael?” Roman added, his tone dropping into something colder, more ancient.
If rage had a heartbeat, it would sound like that.
“You better keep this bitch under control until we have what we need.”
I felt Krystal flinch beside me.
Roman opened the door to leave, then paused and looked back at her with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.
“You’re lucky,” he said. “Really. Most women who kill council heirs don’t survive the night.”
Then he walked out, leaving the smell of gunpowder and cigar smoke behind like a curse.
Krystal curled in on herself, shaking uncontrollably.
I crouched in front of her.
Not gentle. Not cruel. Just necessary.
“Get up,” I said quietly.
“I—I can’t,” she whispered.
“Yes, you can.” My voice sharpened. “Because this is the part where you stop being a liability and start being useful.”
She lifted her head, eyes empty.
“You’re going to stay alive,” I told her. “You’re going to obey every damn thing I say. We’re going to give the council their new ‘heir.’ And then you’re walking away clean. That’s the only deal you’re getting.”
Krystal swallowed hard.
“But after that,” I added, “your life doesn’t intersect with mine ever again or the child’s.”
She nodded slowly.
Fearfully.
Roman’s men carried Kaim’s body out the back, zipped in a bag like he’d never existed.
The house fell silent.
Except for Krystal’s ragged breathing.
Except for the faint echo of her brother’s death.
Except for the pounding truth in my chest?—
Kate.
Kate was the only real thing in my life.
And she was out there alone.
I stood, wiped blood from my face, and opened the door.
“Tomorrow,” I told her, “we go to the clinic.”
And then I walked out before I could choke on the weight of everything we’d become.
The Strip burned like a neon artery beneath us, but inside the boardroom the air was ice.
Roman sat at the head of the table, cigar smoke curling above him like a crown of thorns. I took the seat beside him, mask on, heartbeat steady. Around the polished obsidian table sat the people who controlled our world—Redmond, Valdez, Tuscani—every one of them a viper in designer suits.
Redmond tapped ash into a crystal tray.
“So, Roman… explain to us again how Kaim ended up dead.”
Roman didn’t even flinch. “Professional hit. Russian mob. Probably retaliation for that stunt he pulled in Reno.”
A few nods. A few narrowed eyes.
Valdez steepled his fingers. “And Krystal was with Michael at the time?”
“Yes,” I said, tone neutral. “She heard the gunshots. She saw the shooter fleeing. Masked. Tall. Russian accent.”
That seemed to satisfy about half the table.
The other half smelled blood.
Tuscani leaned forward. “See… we received the pregnancy test photo Michael sent.” He glanced at Roman, then at me. “Congratulations are in order.”
I gave a polite nod, stone-faced.
“But we need more than a photo,” he continued. “We need sonograms. Physical confirmation. Our own doctors must examine her.”
Redmond added, “This baby could shift the balance of power. We need proof the bloodline is intact.”
Roman exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You’ll get your proof.”
“Good,” Valdez said. “Because with Kaim gone, she’s the only heir left. We can’t take chances.”
Their suspicion lingered like a blade pressed to my throat.
So I leaned in, slow, confident.
“You want proof?” I said. “Fine. I’ll bring Krystal to dinner tomorrow night. You can see for yourselves.”
A ripple of satisfaction passed around the table—mixed with distrust.
“Make sure she’s glowing,” Redmond said.
“She will be,” I replied.
Roman stood, signaling the meeting was over. The council filed out, whispering among themselves.
When the doors slammed shut, Roman didn’t sit. He rounded on me like a storm.
“Dammit, Michael,” he hissed. “This shit is getting too fucking close. They don’t buy everything. Not fully. I can feel it.”
“So can I.”
Roman paced, thumbs on his suspenders, teeth grinding around his cigar.
“Either they put bullets in us… or we put bullets in them,” he muttered. “The only thing keeping everyone alive right now is that baby.”
He stabbed a finger at my chest.
“So make the illusion real. Fast.”
“It’s handled,” I said. “We’re already in motion.”
Roman dropped his voice to a razor’s edge.
“And Krystea? She better act pregnant. She better sell it. Because if she slips, if she panics, if she opens her mouth with the truth… they’ll kill you, me, and Brett in one night.”
He leaned in, eyes hard.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Roman smirked—dark and proud.
“You’re a smart motherfucker,” he said. “Except when it came to that blonde bitch.”
My whole body stilled.
Roman laughed, tapping ash from his cigar.
“You really think I didn’t notice? The way you were chasing that girl around Bayview like a lovesick teenager? You’re lucky she vanished. Because if the council ever knew you were picking pussy over power?—”
He stopped.
Smiled.
Deadly. His eyes gave it away. He was in on the hit against my real wife.
“You get what I’m saying.”
My jaw tightened until it hurt.
I nodded once.
And in that moment I knew:
Roman wasn’t an ally.
He wasn’t even family anymore.
He was another name on the list.
A problem I’d eventually have to solve.
Before he ever laid eyes on Kate.
The moment the last councilman stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut, the temperature in the room changed. The danger wasn’t gone — it was just concentrated.
Roman clapped me on the back.
“You handled yourself well in there,” he said, lighting a fresh cigar. The flame flickered across his scarred knuckles. “Almost had me believing the bullshit myself.”
I didn’t smile.
Instead, I closed the double doors, locked them, and lowered my voice.
“There’s something you need to know,” I said.
Roman turned, one brow lifting. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s important,” I continued. “And I’m only telling you because if this goes sideways, you need to know how to protect the assets.”
Roman narrowed his eyes. “Spit it out, Michael.”
I stepped toward him, calm, steady.
“My marriage to Krystal isn’t legal.”
Roman blinked.
Once.
Slow.
Like a predator processing new information.
“Explain,” he growled.
I didn’t flinch.
“Brett found loopholes,” I said. “Technicalities… the minister who performed the ceremony wasn’t licensed in Nevada.
Only Florida and Texas. Requirements weren’t met.
Signatures that weren’t notarized. It looks real on the surface — enough to fool the council — but legally?
It wouldn’t hold up in a probate court.”
Roman stared at me for a long moment, smoke curling from his lips.
“And why the fuck,” he finally asked, “would you do that?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“To protect the casinos. To protect our assets. To make sure that if anything happens to me — if the council decides to put a bullet in my skull — Krystal gets nothing.”
Roman let out a low whistle.
“Well, well, well,” he muttered. “You sly son of a bitch.”
I continued.