“This is our chance,” one of them says. “While he’s distracted with his pregnant wife, we make our move. Convince the others that he’s too weak to lead.”
“And if he finds out?” The second voice is hesitant.
“He won’t. Not until it’s too late. By the time he realizes what’s happening, we’ll have enough support to force him out. Then we can run things the way they should be run, without all this legitimate business bullshit.”
My blood runs cold.
These are Mikhail’s own men, people he trusts, and they’re planning to betray him.
Planning to use my pregnancy as the distraction they need to destroy everything he’s built.
46
MIKHAIL
The warehouse on the south side reeks of rust and old blood, a fitting place for what needs to happen tonight.
I stand in the center of the concrete floor, my hands clasped behind my back, watching as my men drag in the three traitors who thought they could carve up my territory while I played nursemaid to my pregnant wife.
Men I’ve trusted for years, men who’ve eaten at my table and sworn loyalty with their blood.
Now they kneel before me with hoods over their heads, their breathing rapid and panicked through the fabric.
“Remove them,” I order, my voice echoing off the metal walls.
Tony pulls off the first hood, revealing a bruised face.
The man who once ran my eastern operations now looks at me with defiant eyes, his jaw set despite the fear I can smell rolling off him in waves.
“Mikhail,” he starts, but I raise my hand.
“You don’t get to speak yet.” I circle them slowly, letting the silence stretch. “Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past three weeks while you’ve been meeting with the Castellanos? While you’ve been dividing up my empire like it’s already yours?”
He spits blood onto the concrete. “You’ve been playing house with your pregnant whore while your organization falls apart.”
The words hang in the air for exactly two seconds before my fist connects with his jaw.
The crack of bone echoes through the warehouse, and the traitor crumples sideways, held upright only by the zip ties binding his wrists behind his back.
“That’s my wife you’re talking about.” I shake out my hand, feeling the satisfying sting across my knuckles. “The mother of my child. Show some respect.”
Tony moves to stand beside me, his eyes cold as he surveys the traitors. Sophia’s brother has proven himself invaluable these past months, understanding the delicate balance between loyalty and ambition that keeps an organization intact.
He’s everything Marco should have been.
“We have recordings,” Tony says, pulling out his phone. “Every meeting. Every conversation. Every promise you made to divide the Artyomov territory once Mikhail was out of the picture.”
I watch their faces pale as Tony plays the audio. Their voices fill the warehouse, discussing which neighborhoods they’d take, which businesses they’d absorb. The casual way they talk about eliminating me makes my blood run cold.
“You were going to kill me,” I say quietly. “Not just take my territory. Actually kill me.”
“You’re weak,” one of them spits. “The great Mikhail Artyomov, brought to his knees by a woman half his age. You spend all your time at home while your enemies circle. The families are laughing at you.”
“Let them laugh.” I crouch down to his eye level. “I’d rather be weak and have my family than dead like you’re about to be.”
I stand and nod to Tony. He moves with practiced efficiency, pulling out the Glock I gave him when I made him my enforcer. The weight of leadership sits well on his shoulders, better than it ever did on Marco’s.
“Wait,” the first guy cries out, his voice cracking. “Please, Mikhail. We can work this out. We were just talking. We never actually did anything.”
