Will Dad stoop so low as to cause harm to his own child?
“Are you sure about this?”
“A hundred percent, Bella,” she assured. “I'm extremely worried about you. I knew I had to come see you.”
I swallowed the chill that came with the realization that my dad was putting a bigger target on my back than ever.
“Thanks for this intel, Liza.”
“Anytime. I’m standing right beside you.”
“I like her. Emilia,” Liza revealed.
“How could you not?” I answered, chuckling.
“She’s real.”
Emilia walked into the living room carrying a tray.
“I was just telling Bella you’re real,” Liza disclosed as Emilia dropped the tray on the center table. “It's surprising how someone like you became a Pakhan’s wife. It’s a title women fight for in our circles, Bella can testify to it.”
“That tells you the Pakhan isn’t as typical as you think he is,” I pointed out.
“He’s not,” Emilia answered, an adorable smile on her face. “Popcorn and ice cream. What do you think?”
“Perfect! I like you even more,” Liza enthused.
As we laughed and chatted, the thought of my dad’s dealings sat at the bottom of my chest.
Chapter Fourteen
Mikhail’s POV
Rain fell hard that night, soaking through the cracks of the dockyard like it wanted to wash the sins away. It was close to midnight, and the city slept, but not us. My men waited in silence, and their faces hid under hoods, and their guns tucked beneath their coats. The smell of oil, rust, and the river mixed with fear.
I could hear the engine before I saw the car. Headlights cut through the mist, slicing the dark in two. Yuri nodded. "That's him, boss."
I stepped out of the shadows, and the rain hit my coat, cold and sharp. The black Mercedes rolled closer, slowing when they saw the men blocking the road.
"Move!" the driver yelled, but his voice cracked.
Yuri smirked. "You're in the wrong neighborhood, man."
Before the man could reach for his gun, I smashed my elbow through the side window. Glass shattered like ice, and my hand shot in, grabbed him by the throat, and dragged him out through the door. He hit the ground hard, coughing and gasping for air.
Another man jumped from the backseat, aiming a pistol. He didn't even get the chance to pull the trigger. One of my men, Kirill, slammed the butt of his rifle into the side of his head, and he dropped instantly.
The first man, the lieutenant, spat blood, trying to crawl away. "You don't know what you're doing," he choked out. "My boss–"
"Your boss sent you to die," I cut him off. My boot pressed against his chest. "And you came running like a loyal dog."
He glared at me, defiant even with a split lip. "The Italians will-"
I leaned down, gripping his collar tight enough to choke him again. "The Italians will what? Hide you? You think they'll care about a dead errand boy?"
He wildly and desperately swung at me with a knife. I caught his wrist midair, twisted it, and felt the bone snap. His scream echoed through the empty dock.
He groaned, trying to grab his gun with the other hand, but I kicked it away and slammed him against the car door. "Where were you headed?" I asked.
