Chapter 37: Mikhail

The silver moon beams down on the princess as I open the grand oak doors in the hall I christened the shrine.

That was what this room felt like when I got out of the hospital.

Everything in here was supposed to be a reminder of good memories my father had of my mother. To me, they felt like memories of what used to be and what will never be again.

Tonight, I look at my wife and focus on her.

Moonlight is what I want her in. Nothing but moonlight touching her skin.

There’s something enchanting about watching her in the silver glow I want to capture. It is the only thing I’ll allow to touch her that isn’t me.

When night fell and the moon came out, I decided I was going to paint her.

I want to paint her in moonlight and show her what she looks like when I look at her. I want her to see herself the way I do when she balances me. I thought it was something else, like she tamed the beast inside me. It’s not that, though.

It’s the other thing my father spoke of.

Balance.

We spent all night and day in that bed, and I found myself thinking that maybe this will work. Maybe I wouldn’t get screwed by love, and maybe I didn’t have to retreat.

As I look at her now, I realize the fucked-up thing was me thinking I can give myself permission to love her. I never had a choice.

The last few weeks told me that truth.

She was the one thing I stole that backfired on me.

I stole her life, and she stole my heart. But there is more about the two of us neither is saying.

We’re far from okay. I’m far from okay and actively choosing to forget the sword of fate hanging over my head, gearing up to sever me from this world.

Nothing about Adriana and me will feel okay until the right things are done.

I’m the villain in our story.

I’m not supposed to do the right thing for anyone else except me. I’m supposed to do what benefits me.

I’m supposed to be willing to do what I must to be the ruthless Bratva Pakhan I’m working hard to become.

But I wasn’t supposed to fall in love either.

Neither was she.

Even now as I look at her, there’s love in her eyes, and I know she can see it in mine.

But in her, I can see love as clearly as the trouble also lurking within them, telling me something worries her. Something more than me.

Again, I think of what her secrets might be.

Right now, I’m being selfish and taking her with me as I escape reality.

She looks around the room at the ballerina sculptures and the paintings with fascination.

She doesn’t know what I want to do to her yet.

I’m sure it will surprise her. The idea still surprises me.

“They’re all so beautiful,” she states.

I watch her floating around the closest sculpture of my mother, and all I can think of is how beautiful my wife is.

My wife.

“My father created them all,” I tell her, and her eyes widen.

“Your father? Really?”

“Yes.”

“They’re amazing, Mikhail.”

“Yeah, that’s what he used to do to balance him.” I borrow his words.

She looks at the largest painting at the end of the room then back to me.

“The ballerina is your mother, isn’t she?” she asks tentatively.

“Yes. This was my father’s way of preserving what he felt for her. Art captures emotions and visions. Each piece is a memory.”

“That’s beautiful. What about those?” She points to the paintings I did that are covered with dust cloths.

I walk over and remove the cloth.

She gasps when she sees the first one. It’s of the snowy landscape in Siberia. I painted it when I was sixteen.

“These are mine,” I tell her. She walks closer to the painting.

The rest aren’t displayed. I didn’t have the respect I do for my father’s.

“You did this?”

“Yeah. My last painting was the unfinished one of my sister you saw weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you finish it?”

“Ivan. He tainted my love for art.”

“Ivan?”

“I’m sure you can tell we’re not exactly fond of each other.”

“Yes, it’s very clear.”

“He’s my half-brother, and he’s always made it his duty to point out we’re only half related. He’s also always done some shit to screw with my mind. We grew up believing he would be the next Pakhan. I didn’t want to get cast out when that happened, so I got stronger and got rid of everything that made me appear weak. The unfinished painting was part of that decision. It wasn’t until recently that I learned I had a shot at being leader.” That’s all I’ll say regarding Ivan for now. I also don’t want to talk about him anymore. “I want to paint tonight, Malyshka.”

She smiles, and it’s an even better sight.

“What do you want to paint?

“You.”

Her delicate lips part. “Me? You want to paint me?”

“I want to paint you naked in the moonlight. You naked lying on that chaise.” I point to the chaise by the window. She looks at it.

“Me… you want to do that of me?”

I nod. “Yes, Mrs. Dmitriyev. So, take your clothes off for me.”

A sensual flame brightens her eyes as she slides the straps of her dress down her shoulders. The dress floats down to her feet.

I watch her take off her bra and panties, too, and step out of her pumps.

All she is wearing now are my rings. The wedding ring and the engagement ring.

“Is this what you want?”

“You know it is. Now lie down on the chaise.”

She does what I ask. As she lowers herself to the velvet chaise and the moonlight beaming through the doors and windows touches her, she looks exactly the way I imagined.

Everything about her is beautiful. Her olive skin, her gorgeous eyes, that long flowing hair, and her perfect body.

I don’t miss the fact that I must have found that muse again my father spoke of.

I just never thought she would come to me this way.

I walk over to the unused batch of canvases I got eons ago and my paint, hoping they haven’t dried out. They should be okay in the little boxes I stored them in.

The princess watches me as I set up to my easel.

She offers me a smile when I sit and start sketching her.

“That’s the most you’ve told me about yourself,” she states.

“Want to know more?” I push away a lock of hair from my eye.

“Yes.”

“What do you want to know, baby girl?”

“What’s your favorite color? I don’t think it’s black, although you always wear it.”

“The sky,” I reply with a smile.

“The sky?”

“The sky has different colors at different points of the day and night.”

“It does,” she agrees.

“Your favorite color is lilac,” I tell her, and she smiles wider.

“How did you guess that?”

“I pay attention.”

“What’s your favorite food?” she mutters.

“I don’t have one. I eat everything. What about you?”

“Ice cream.”

I chuckle at that. “Then I’ll buy ice cream, cover you in it and lick it off you.”

She laughs, and I pause to commit the sound to memory. I continue to stare, and she notices my fascination.

“What?”

“You just gave me a real laugh.” She said something along those lines the other night when I was talking to Irena.

“I did. Now stay just like that and tell me what your dreams are.” A person always shows the most emotion when they’re talking about their dreams.

She stills and rivets her gaze to me, clearly surprised by the question.

She looks away briefly, into the moonlight. The light catches her eyes, making them look brighter.

“I want to be a doctor,” she says barely above a whisper.

“A doctor?” I check if I heard her right. She nods.

I’m surprised by that because of who she is.

“I’ve always wanted to be a doctor.”

“I didn’t know that.” I wouldn’t know, because I never asked and would have never guessed that a Cartel Princess would have such big dreams.

“I didn’t think you’d want to know.”

“I do. You still want to be a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Her skin pales with shock. “Really? You’d allow me to do that?”

“Of course.” I almost sound normal. I’m listening to myself, and I know I’m glossing over the important things we should be talking about, but it’s like I want to do anything and everything to make her happy. Anything to make up for the way I stole her life.

“Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Talk to me about it, Malyshka.”

She does. She speaks for one hour while I paint her.

My first painting in nearly ten years. I haven’t lost my gift at all.

I capture every aspect I want of her body. Everything my obsession guides me to paint and highlight the expression on her face as she talks about her dreams and the arousal I see in the tight, taut peaks of her nipples.

I capture the glint of the ring on her finger branding her as mine and the way she looks at me.

Even when I’m done, I watch her as she continues talking. This is the longest we’ve ever spoken.

“My God, I’ve just talked non-stop.”

“That’s okay. I’m done now.”

“Can I see it?”

“Come take a look.”

She reaches for her dress and wraps it around her body before she walks toward me.

When she sees what I did, she sucks in a breath and brings a hand to her heart.

“Oh my God. I can’t believe that’s me. That looks amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I do.” She leans forward and kisses me. “I forgot to ask you what your dreams are.”

As I stare back at her, I ask myself the same, and I know the answer.

Reaching for the edge of the dress, I tug it from her body.

“Right now, I just want you. Can I have you?”

“Yes.”

I stand and pick her up, but I don’t carry her back to our room like she thought I was going to do.

I carry her out onto the terrace and set her against the wall where the moon shines on the surface and over her.

This is how I want to take her.

“Out here?” She looks around nervously.

“It’s just us. No one can see. Now give yourself to me.”

I claim her lips and then push her against the wall and claim her body, fucking her hard the way I like to fuck.

Madness consumes us quickly, and we share one of those wild nights we got lost in weeks ago.

I take her everywhere in the house all night. By morning, she’s out cold.

I have to go to work, so I can’t stay in. There are also things to do with Ivan I have to check on today.

Instead of leaving her the way I have in the past, with nothing, I pull a white rose from the bouquet in the hallway and leave it on the pillow next to her, so when she wakes up, it’s the first thing she’ll see.

I leave it with a note simply saying, “Later.”

That way, she won’t have to wonder if I’ll be back or whose bed I’ll be sleeping in.

She’ll know I’ll be coming back to her.

Before I even make it down the stairs, my phone rings. I answer quickly when I see it’s Eric.

“Hey,” I say.

“Can you come to the hotel? I found something I need you to look at.”

Fuck, I wish I could feel some accomplishment at him finding something, but every time I get a call like this, my stomach sinks.

“Of course. What did you find, Eric?”

“Just come.” His voice has that cautious edge again. “It’s best I show you in person.”

“I’m on my way.”

Eric has things set up so our phones can’t be tracked or tapped into. His reluctance to give me a hint about what he found means it’s something big again. Something he wants me to see in person.

Shit. What the fuck is it now?

I get to the hotel half an hour later, and the moment I read Eric’s face, I know what he’s going to show me is worse than the previous shit.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Come and sit.”

I do, and he heads over to his desk to retrieve a document. When he returns, he sets in front of me.

“I’ve finally finished checking through Raul’s files. This was one of the last documents I found. It was encrypted, but it wasn’t amongst his emails. It was on his computer listed in a secret file. It looks like he was still working on it, preparing it to be sent out.”

He hands me the sheet of paper from the document. When I look at it, the first thing I see is my wife’s beautiful face.

There’s a picture of her at the top of the sheet. It’s a standard full-length picture of her dressed in a black tunic. There’s nothing amiss about the picture itself, but I notice her eyes.

They are what looks amiss. Her eyes are brimming with that internal pain I witnessed weeks ago and she looks like she’s lost the will to live.

When I scan down to the details below the picture, my eyes are glued to the details listed for her name.

At first, I think my eyes must be screwing with me, then I think this must be wrong because it says here that the name of the woman I’m looking at is Natalia Lily de Leon.

Further down, there’s a listing for her for sale in the virgin auction for two million dollars.

My hands tremble, but I’m not sure what this emotion is I’m feeling or if it’s possible that I’m feeling a myriad of them.

I pick out the burning sensation of anger and rage, but both are fueled by hurt. Like someone stabbed me with a knife in my heart and twisted it to make sure I could feel the sting of betrayal.

“What am I looking at, Eric? What the fuck am I really looking at?”

“Your wife isn’t Adriana Alvarez. This woman is.”

He hands me the rest of the document. It’s medical records and the image of a woman who looks more like Raul.

Her name is Adriana Alvarez.

Everything I thought about the woman in my home that never made sense does now.

The scars on her back, the absence of the engagement ring, her behavior, her personality, her pain.

Her.

She never begged for Raul’s life, but she was worried about José’s.

I stole the wrong woman.

I married the wrong woman.

And the woman I stole lied to me.