31

31


"What will happen to Richard?" Amy asked in a small voice.

Mikhail remained silent. All she could hear was his slow, measured breathing as he held her. She could feel the heat of his chest through his shirt, the steady beat of his heart.

Then he turned her to face him. His good hand traced the line of her cheek, brushing the tears away with his thumb.

"I should kill him for making you cry..."

Her breath caught in her throat. Mikhail would make Richard pay in every right. A part of her couldn't bear it—the thought of Richard dead, even after everything, even though he might have been working for Silver all this while, pretending to be her friend.

Mikhail leaned down, his lips brushing against the top of her head in a kiss. "I should kill him," he murmured again, his voice thick with restraint, like he was at war with himself, the arm around her tightening.

He exhaled, stepping back from her. "But I won't."

Amy stared back at him, not thinking for a moment. "You... you won't?" she repeated, her voice shaking slightly.

"Yes, milaya." Mikhail's voice was firmer now. He had made up his mind, enough to let her know that he was telling the truth, and he was never one to go back on his word.

"Come downstairs. I'll make coffee for you," he said, slowly guiding her towards the door, his hand behind her back.

"Why?" Amy whispered, finally finding her voice.

"Why am I making coffee?" He gave a short laugh. "Because, goddamn wife, seeing you so vulnerable and stressed out kills me a little inside."

"No..." She felt a flush rise up her cheeks at his honest admission. She stared down to avoid his gaze, but she could still feel his eyes on her.

"Why aren't you killing Richard?" she asked, her voice going quiet.

"You want me to kill him?"

"No! I just..." Amy jerked back from him, eyes wide.

He sighed, pulling her back to him, tucking her safely by his side, a hand over her shoulder.

"As much as I wanted him dead yesterday, he's still the person you waited for nearly every day for two years just to have some salad and lemon juice and talk about arsenals or that extra pile of work."

Her eyes locked on his as he spoke. She felt something in her heart clench. He wasn't looking at her, staring ahead as they walked, but she could feel the weight behind his words.

The pain, the spark of jealousy, the controlled anger and possessiveness, all wrapped into one big grudging acknowledgement of Richard's existence.

"He's still the fucker you ignored my warnings just to say goodbye to. I'm not going to hurt you more than he already has." His eyes met hers finally. They had reached the entrance of the kitchen now, but Amy didn't feel like she wanted coffee. Maybe just him, right there by his side. Maybe there was a side of him she didn't know, hidden beneath all his guns and wealth.

"Thank you," she whispered, too low for him to hear. He was already moving, walking over to the counter where the coffee mixer sat.

Pulling out one of the chairs from the dining area attached to the kitchen, she sat down, watching him quietly, finding herself captivated by every move he made. Her eyes followed his frame, the way he stood, back to her, turning on the mixer, reaching for a cup from the shelf above.

He did it, his motions so fluid. If she hadn't seen him come home that night with his shirt stained red, she wouldn't have known he was shot.

"What are you thinking of?" He came over moments later, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, even as he slid into the chair in front of her, holding out the cup of coffee in a saucer.

"Nothing," she replied slowly, taking the cup, their fingers brushing against each other's.

She brought the drink to her lips, the liquid warming her insides.

No sugar, just the right amount of raw honey. Her eyes met his immediately. There was no way he would have known all of that.

Mikhail wore a look of pride, leaning back in his seat. "Love it?"

"Yes, Mikhail. It's perfect."

"Good," he thought, breathing in relief, just as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, his eyes clouding over as he read the message, the soft look leaving his eyes.

Amy looked up as he rose to his feet.

"You said something about you used to know much about Viktor?" she began, suddenly remembering.

He hummed in the affirmative, crossing to her side of the table. "I'll tell you all about it, I promise."

He leaned down, both hands on either side of the chair. He breathed in the scent of her hair deeply—the traces of shampoo and something creamy—planting a kiss on her cheek. She looked up at him, only managing a "yes," too stunned to speak.

Mikhail patted her head, secretly pleased with himself. He made his way out of the room, leaving it open behind him. Killian was at the main hallway, waiting.

"Boss."

Mikhail motioned with his hand, walking straight for the door. Killian fell into step wordlessly behind him.

"The penthouse," he said, stepping into the car, sitting in the back seat, pulling out his phone from his pocket, glancing down at the message from Daniel one last time.

Carl and two other men were waiting at the hallway when they arrived.

Mikhail followed them up the stairs, walking fast, his muscles in his jaw twitching. He reached instinctively for his gun, then realized that he didn't have it. "Just as well," he muttered. He might be tempted to use it, just when he made a promise to Amy.

Killian pushed open the door, stepping aside to let Mikhail inside.

Richard and Silver were tied to chairs. Daniel sat on the table beside them, tracing the edges of his gun with one hand.

He stood up when Mikhail came in.

"How did it go?" Mikhail asked, all his attention on his second in command.

"Annoying. I was too focused on getting Silver away from Miss Amy. This one called the cops." He motioned, pointing the gun at Richard.

Richard flinched, his eyes wide, struggling against the bonds like his life depended on it. "You motherfuckers!" he hissed under his breath. "What is the meaning of this?"

Moving, Mikhail crouched down in front of him. He stiffened immediately. "No... no, please, God, no."

Mikhail's lips curved slightly up. "You sorry excuse of a man," he muttered. "Who would have thought that Chicago was too close to home?"

"C... Chicago?" Richard blinked in confusion, jerking against the bonds with renewed panic.

"Good," Mikhail thought, watching him connect the dots. "That's right, Richard. You were playing my game long before you became a participant."

He stood up slowly. "Your transfer, the truck that nearly ran you over, the booked cinema two weeks ago..." He stopped, looking in Richard's fearful eyes, watching in satisfaction as the man cowered. His next words were slow, punctuated, making sure Richard understood. "That was all me."

"And why? Because you dared to come close to what was mine. But don't worry. I'll make sure that's the last decision you'll ever make."

"You're a monster!" Richard spat.

"Not yet," Mikhail grinned, walking away.

He stopped a few steps from Silver. The other man didn't bother to fight, his head bowed down. "Look at me." Mikhail grabbed him roughly.

His eyes were cold. "I told you to leave Chicago." He sounded almost confused. "Why? Why risk your damn life like this?"

The only respect he had for the man was that he was Amy's father—a title that stopped him from doing a lot of things. But constantly pushing him, that was something a man like him couldn't ignore.

Silver gave a bitter smile, staring back at him unflinchingly. "The war is bigger than you, Volkov. I'm the least threat you'll ever have."

Mikhail's grip on him tightened. "What deal do you have with Baranov?"

Daniel touched him on his shoulder. The fire diffused out of his eyes. His eyes locked on Silver for a second longer, then he stepped back.

"Take them to the basement," he said, walking back to the table in the room. "Lock them up and get them to talk. And as for Richard, don't touch him yet. But make him watch."

Daniel nodded, motioning to Carl and the others. They moved forward, untying the chairs from their fixed positions.

Richard's voice cracked as they dragged him toward the door. "Wait! Please, I didn't know—I swear I didn't know who he was!"

Mikhail didn't turn around, his fingers drumming against the table's surface. The sound echoed in the now-quiet room.

"Everyone says that," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, staring disinterested into the distance. "Until it's too late."

Killian stood at the doorway, watching as the men got dragged outside. "And miss Amy? He asked, turning back to Mikhali. She's going to ask questions."

"Let her ask, I already promsied not to kill him,"