Mila nods and hurries off to collect her belongings, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I walk to my office where I pick up my wallet and pause to imagine what it would be like to have Mila as a wife. It isn't hard to picture a life with one of Vera's daughters—they'd spend my money, demand far too much attention, and probably cause a lot of drama.
But Mila is quiet and intelligent. I doubt she'd be the sort of woman to be wasteful with spending, and so far, the only thing she's asked for is to go home. Though I'm a man of great self-control, I wonder why she dresses so modestly, and just then as she was serving me, I found myself wishing her top were a bit more revealing.
Maybe it's not good that I'm letting her get to me, or maybe it's just been a long time coming. I am human, after all, and every man has desires. But I push them away and head toward the front of the house because business comes first, then pleasure. I have all the time in the world to figure out what I want to do with Mila Radin and limited time to make arrangements for the next few weeks of fighting.
I meet Mila out front and the ride to the fight lounge is quiet. With Yegor driving, it frees me up to go over the etiquette I expect from her during the meeting, watching as she listens intently and nods along with my instructions. I like that she'staking this responsibility seriously. It pleases me to know she's respectful in that regard.
"You're there to observe and take notes," I remind her, handing her a tablet as we pull up to the building. "Keep your opinions to yourself unless asked, and don't interrupt."
"Yes, sir," Mila says as she takes the tablet and follows me inside.
We ride the elevator to the third floor and make our way to the conference room which is already full of men. Mila is the only woman here, and I watch her shrink a little as she enters, so I slide my hand into the small of her back and guide her forward. Her cheeks darken to a warm pink and she bites her lip, blinking hard a few times.
The room quiets slowly as we walk in, and most of the men here turn to look up at me. My brother and a few other family members, along with several fighters, all settle down when they see I've arrived.
I clear my throat. "This is Mila Radin. She'll be attending as my personal assistant today. I expect you to accord her the same respect you would me."
Kazimir raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. "Wasn't she the one who tried to steal from you? And now she's your assistant?" He chuckles, and my cousin elbows him but snickers right alongside him—two class clowns who think they know it all.
My glare calms them as I say, "Her role here is not up for discussion. Let's focus on the task at hand, shall we?"
Kazimir's smirk fades, and he gives a curt nod. I gesture for everyone to take their seats as I settle into my chair at the head of the table, Mila taking her place beside me.
Yegor clears his throat and begins the meeting. He slides a stack of files across the table, each one labeled with a fighter's name. "These are our top prospects for the upcoming season," he says. "We need to decide who to sign, who to cut, and how to match them up for the most exciting fights."
The men leaf through the files, murmuring among themselves as they study the fighters' stats and records. I watch as they pass the papers around and read cautiously, but I'm also scanning each fighter's posture as they stand against the wall. A few of them were the same ones we were supposed to decide on the night Mila stole from me, and that got pushed, unfortunately. But there are a few new faces. I'm eager to see how this turns out.
"Sokolov looks promising," Timur mumbles, tapping a finger on the folder in his hand. "Undefeated in his last five fights, and he's got a mean right hook." I watch a man's chest puff out a little farther and deduce he must be Sokolov. These men come from all over Russia to join my fights. It's impressive sometimes.
Stepan grumbles in agreement. "He's definitely one to watch. But what about this one?" he asks, sliding a file across the table toward me with another man's name on top. "He's been on a hot streak lately, and he's got a big fan following."
The discussion continues, the men weighing the pros and cons of each fighter, debating potential matchups and strategies. I lean back in my chair, listening intently to the opinions and arguments flying around the table. These men know the fight game inside and out, and I trust their judgment. But I also know that the final decision rests with me.
As the meeting stretches on, I notice a change in Mila's demeanor. Her typing on the tablet has slowed, and she's shifting restlessly in her seat, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for something. Even the way she leans closer to me is odd. It's unlike her, and she's been composed during the meeting so far.
I lean in close, my voice low. "Mila? Is everything alright?" I expect her to say she has to pee, or maybe to comment about the fighters and weigh in with her own opinion, but I notice the way her hands shake and her skin has lost its color.
"Sir," she says quietly, "something is off about Barkov…" Her eyes flick up at the man whose shoulders are squared but his jaw is tight, and his hands are behind his back at an unnatural angle. She's right, something's off about him and I can't put my finger on it.
I continue watching him while Timur yammers on about another fighter's stats and the fact that he knows several martial arts and Krav Maga too, but the longer I study him, the more evident it is that his entire demeanor is off.
It's enough of a distraction that I can't ignore it, and I slowly straighten my posture and lean forward, cutting my brother off mid-sentence to say, "Yegor, please have Mr. Barkov demonstrate his best takedown moves on you." If I'm wrong, and nothing is off about this man, they'll follow my instructions well. But the minute Yegor stands and turns to face Barkov, he pulls a gun and points it at me.
It all happens so quickly, no one has time to think. I dive on top of Mila, spilling both of our chairs to the ground as I collapse on top of her in a heap and hear a gunshot boom through the room.Glass shatters overhead and rains down on us, and shouting erupts as more chairs topple and men explode out of their seats.
In seconds, the room is heaving and Yegor has Barkov pinned to the ground. I can see them on the other side of the table. Sokolov stands holding Barkov's gun on him while Radimir and Timur hover over top of my guard who has stopped the threat. But my gut tells me I'd be dead right now if Mila hadn't warned me.
She lies trembling under me, clinging to my chest with her face buried there. And I know she just saved my life.
"Are you okay?" I ask her, and she sucks in a breath that compresses her chest against mine as she nods yes. Then I push myself upward and tug her to her feet next to me. The tablet lies broken on the ground where we were lying and my men stand around dumbfounded. The inner window to the hallway is shattered and not a soul moves.
"Yegor… Take Mr. Barkov out back to show him what happens to men who try to harm me." I straighten my tie and clear my throat. All eyes are on me as the room falls so silent, you can hear a pin drop.
No one has to ask what I mean, and no one questions my judgment. "The meeting is now over. We'll let you know who has been chosen tomorrow." My chest is heaving as the adrenaline continues to rush through me, and now I have to know how Mila spotted that man in a crowded room and saved all of our lives. "Everyone out," I snarl. "Now."
Yegor is first, with Radimir on his heels, dragging Barkov out the door. Sokolov lays the pistol on the table and nods at me, dropping his gaze as he passes by out the door, and then one byone, the fighters and my family file out the door until they're off on the elevator heading downstairs and I am alone with Mila.
She stands trembling by the window as I lean on the table, splaying my palms flat, staring out the window past her over the city.
