MIKAIL
Iroll out of bed, my chest heaving with a deep sigh. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I see the tangled sheets—a war zone of my sleepless night.
Bringing her home is getting harder each passing day. Her place is next to me, and I am done stealing moments.
I shouldn’t have indulged her, but I am putty in my woman’s hands, and I am not ashamed to accept this irrefutable truth.
Thankfully, for my sanity, the secrecy will end. Each day I don’t confess, the guiltier it makes me in my brother’s eyes. Torn between putting an end to this and building a life with her with no more delay, I am a moody asshole.
The asshole has it all. And I am done being miserable at his expense.
I can’t change the past. But sure as hell, I have the power to shape our future. There isn’t a life worth living if she’s not in it.
Loving her is my destiny.
Taking her is my prerogative.
Slipping into my walk-in closet, I bypass my suits and open the safe. I take the small box out and flick the lid, revealing the large emerald-cut diamond set in a platinum band of glitteringdiamonds. It’s precious but not even a smidgeon of how precious she is to me.
I’ve never been impatient. Everything I’ve built demanded strategy, focus, and a level head. But I guess I’ve never craved something as badly as her.
Even when my life imploded, I became a block of ice who issued an ultimatum. Follow me or follow death. Ruthlessness is my nature. To be in command is what I aspire to. I am not a follower; I am a leader.
Soon, I tell myself and place the box back inside.
Dressing in a suit, I head downstairs. At the dining table, as I eat my breakfast alone, I brood, wishing for my woman.
Calla walks inside, oozing self-confidence. When my sister steps into a room, everyone becomes alert, sensing she’s dangerous.
She doesn’t need me, nor my protection. She can do that on her own. That wouldn’t stop me from giving her whatever she desires just to appease the regret of losing all those years with her.
“Is Dahlia okay?” I ask, the thought unbalancing me. I shoot up, needing to check on her.
Calla rolls her eyes at me. “Calm down. Of course she is. Sit and let’s have breakfast together.”
“Why are you really here? It’s a wonder Enzo let you out of his sight.”
For a woman who has wanted to be free of her shackles, she loves being his. And I love reminding her of that.
I loathed her presence in his life, in my city, when I thought she was an assassin sent to kill my best friend. All my hatred and desire to kill her vanished once I found out she’s my sister.
Enzo kept her identity from me for months. I would have used that as leverage for my selfish reasons, but what I’ve kept from him is worse.
For years, he has tried to find out what happened. But with Dahlia’s refusal, I spun the story that my father and his men helped me find her. It was easier to pin the fault on a human trafficking gang that had been on our list for a while.
And Enzo had no reason to doubt me. I was mourning and thirsty for revenge. He thought it was because of losing my father and I had to honor that man by taking on the role of the Pakhan, even though all I wanted to do was spit on his grave.
He was a lesser man. You don’t use innocent women to appease your desire for vengeance. And if you use my woman, regardless of who you are to me, death is the only outcome.
“Tell him already,” she says haughtily. Her voice drips with command.
She might be my sister, but no one tells me what to do.
I arch a brow that implies she should tone it down.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she pins me with a hard stare. “And I’m here because I care about your life. I also care that my best friend gets what she has wanted since forever.”
“If you’re so eager, why don’t you tell him?”
