But my voice doesn't sound strong. It sounds like I'm begging myself to listen. I remembered his rough and careful hands on me, his breath against my ear, and the way his eyes softened after everything we did last night. It wasn't love, I know that, but it wasn't hate either. It's something worse, the light turned green, but I didn't move. The cars behind me honked, and someone yelled, "Move, lady!"
I wiped my face, realizing I'd been crying. "Get it together," I muttered, pressing the gas.
Mikhail's face flashed in my mind again, the bruise of his jaw, the way he looked at me and saw me through everything I tried to hide.
He said, "Your blood killed mine."
And maybe that's what scares me most, not that he might be lying, but that he might not be. I whispered to myself, "If he's telling the truth... then I've been hating the wrong man."
The thought hit deeper and sharper than I expected, and I gripped the wheel until my knuckles ached. "No, I won't fall. I won't."
But deep down, I already am. I'm falling for a man I swore to destroy. And I don't know which one of us will burn first.
The night air felt heavy when I arrived hours later at the Bratva estate. I told myself I came for answers, for Giovanni,but my heart knew better. I was there because I couldn't stop thinking about him.
The guards at the gate bowed when I passed. Inside, the courtyard lights cast long shadows on the ground, and voices echoed. Men talking, boots hitting gravel, and the sharp sound of orders being followed.
And then I saw Mikhail standing in the middle of them all. He was calm and steady, like he owned the night itself. His sleeves were rolled up, his veins were visible, and tattoos snaked over his skin. He spoke low and firmly in Russian, and every man listened because no one dared interrupt him.
I froze behind one of the pillars, watching.
"Check the eastern side again," Mikhail ordered. "No mistakes this time. And I want reports by dawn."
"Yes, Boss," one of the men said before rushing off.
His tone wasn't loud, but it carried weight, and it was the kind of power that made everyone obey. I'd seen dangerous men before, but Mikhail was different. He didn't need to shout to be feared because his silence said enough.
I bit my lip, angry at myself for staring too long.
"Don't forget who he is," I whispered under my breath. "He's the enemy."
Still, my eyes didn't move. He turned slightly, and his profile caught in the courtyard light. His jaw was still bruised, maybe from me. I remembered how I felt under my hand, the heat of his skin, and the breathless chaos between us last night.
"Damn it," I muttered. "Stop thinking about that."
But I couldn't because every time he moved, something inside me stirred. The control, the danger, and the calm fury all pulled at me. It was wrong, and I knew that. Mikhail was everything I swore to destroy, but he was also the only one who ever looked at me like I was more than a weapon.
One of his men approached him. "Boss, do we handle the shipment tomorrow?"
Mikhail nodded once. "No mistakes, I'll deal with it myself."
His voice was colder this time and sharp enough to make the man flinch. My chest tightened. I didn't know if it was fear or fascination or maybe both.
Then, he looked up, and his eyes found mine. For a moment, neither of us moved. The space between us felt like it might break. The noise around us faded, and the men, the footsteps, and the night all disappeared.
Mikhail didn't speak; he just stared at me, calm and unreadable. But I felt it, the pull, and that dangerous thread tying is closer with every heartbeat.
I took a shaky breath and turned away. I couldn't let him see what was in my eyes. Because if he did, he'd know I wasn't just watching him, I was falling. And falling for Mikhail Lobanov was the one sin I wouldn't survive.
**********
The city outside the penthouse was quiet, but my mind wasn't. I had been pacing for almost an hour, waiting for Mikhail to come back, and every sound, from the ticking of the clock to the hum of the air conditioner, felt louder than usual.
When the door finally opened, I stopped. Mikhail walked in with his coat still on and his expression unreadable. He didn't say a word at first. He just went straight to the bar, poured himself a drink, and stared out the window.
The silence stretched, and I finally broke it. "You're late," I said finally in a sharp voice.
He didn't look at me. "I had to meet with the council."
