The door opened behind me, but I didn't have to turn to know it was him. Mikhail stepped beside me, silent at first, and his presence was enough to make my chest tighten. For a long moment, we just stood there, two people tied together by everything we refused to say.
He finally broke the silence. "If this war begins," he said in a low and steady voice, "you'll have to choose which side you're on."
I didn't look at him. "And if I don't?"
He turned slightly, his reflection catching in the glass beside mine. "Then you'll be swallowed whole."
Something in the way he said it, not as a threat, but as a truth, made my throat close.
"I don't want to stand with my father," I whispered. "But I don't know if I can stand with you either."
Mikhail's gaze lingered on me, unreadable. "Then stand with the truth," he said softly. "That's all I ask."
The words hung in the air, fragile, like they could break if either of us breathed too hard. He left before I could respond, and the sound of the door closing echoed through the penthouse. I stayed there, gripping the railing until my hand ached.
The truth... if only I knew what that even was anymore. My father's blood ran in my veins, cruel, deceitful, and unrelenting. And yet, Mikhail's dark and unshakable shadow had found its way into my heart.
Two men, two worlds, and I was caught between them, between what I'd lost and what I could never have. The city lights blurred as my eyes filled, and I whispered to no one, "What if there's no right side? What if I'm just another pawn in their games? What if I don't know what to do?"
The wind carried no answer, just silence and the reminder that I was already too far gone to turn back.
Chapter Sixteen
Mikhail’s POV
Roman's call came before sunset. "Italian-owned club. West end. They're moving cash tonight," he said.
And that was all I needed to hear. By the time we got there, the music was loud, the lights flashing, people drinking and laughing because they had no idea what was about to happen. I walked in first, with my men close behind. The smell of smoke and liquor hit me, sharp and thick.
"Take the back," I told Kirill. "No one leaves."
He nodded and moved. Then, it started. The first shot cut through the music, and people screamed. Glass shattered, and tables flipped. I didn't stop to think, moving through the chaos like it was a dance I'd done a thousand times.
A man rushed at me with a knife; his moves were stupid. I caught his wrist, twisted it, and slammed his face against the bar. Blood sprayed across the counter, but I didn't blink.
Another one pulled a gun, but I shot first.
"Keep moving!" I shouted. "No survivors, and Marco dies here."
Yuri ducked behind a table, reloading. "Boss, this is getting messy."
"Good," I said. "Let them choke on the mess."
The air was thick with gunpowder and screams. I didn't hear the noise anymore, just felt the rhythm of it. My fists did the talking, and my boots did the punctuation. One man begged before I broke his nose. Another tried to crawl away, but I dragged him back.
"Where's your boss?" I asked, pressing my boot against his chest.
"P... please... I don't–"
I fired. "Wrong answer."
Yuri shouted from across the room, "We got the ledgers!"
"Take them," I said, wiping blood from my face. "We're done here."
But I didn't move. I stood in the middle of the wreckage, amidst broken glasses, dead men, smoke rising from the floor, and it still wasn't enough. My chest felt heavy, and my hands shook, not from the fight, but from something I couldn't name.
My phone buzzed in my pocket once, twice, but I didn't check it. Because I knew who it might be. Isabella. I tried not to think about her, but the way she looked at me last night, the anger in her eyes, the softness she tried to hide. I knew she hated me, I knew that, but the thought of her still twisted something deep inside me.
