My eyes lock on his, my entire body bristling with tension and power. “You think you’re so clever,mudak. The dutiful, concerned onlooker.”
Andrey shrugs again, the picture of innocence. “I try to be a man of honor, Dmitri, a contrast to the prevailing culture inourworld, unfortunately. You carry so much darkness, brother. The anger from Lauren’s death consumes you. It makes you reckless. And now you want to drag the innocent Clara into all of this?”
He said her name. He said both of their names. He’s weaponizing my dead wife, my grief, and my feelings for Clara against me, pretending to offer me counsel.
My jaw clenches, my teeth grinding together so hard, pain lances through my cheek. “You dare put her name in your mouth? You dare speak about the woman you took from me? I warned you. You dare to talk about darkness when you are the architect of darkness? You are a psychopath in an Italian suit. Everyone else sees your mask, the man who prays in church and donates to charities. But I see the hole where your soul should be. Youlivefor darkness, Mikhailov.”
Andrey’s smile remains on his face, but it has no warmth, no humanity. Nor do his eyes, which have gone dead and frozen. “Are we not the same, you and I,Dimochka? Do you not have a dark, gaping hole where your soul should be? Did you not sell it the moment you became part of thevory v zakone? The moment you pulled the trigger and took your first life? You blame me for everything, but the truth is, you killed Lauren the minute you made her part of your world. Her death, your son’s death, was a consequence ofyourchoices andyourlife. You know who you are deep inside—a monster, a killer—one who doesn’t deserve happiness.”
The dining room and everyone around me falls away, replaced by gray and red, by the buzz in my ears that drowns out all sound, all sensation, other than my ragged breathing and pounding heart.
Andrey lets out a heavy sigh. “You were reckless then, too. You always are when you let your emotions govern your power. That’s always been your downfall, hasn’t it, brother? Didn’t Natasha say your father warned you about letting your emotionswin? He fretted about wishing for another heir because you would bring down his dynasty.”
My blood is roaring in my ears now, drowning out my internal alarms, drowning out all rationalization.
“I know the real Andrey,” I growl. “The man who can look another man in the eye while he slits his throat, then go home and fuck a woman. The man who can watch a pregnant woman die just to clear a path and get what he wants. You think you are untouchable because you leave no fingerprints or trail. But I know who you are, Andrey, what you are. It’s my success, everything I’ve built, my happiness, that you covet, because, no matter what you do, you willneverbe me.”
Finally, the mask slips, and if I were anyone else, I’d be terrified of the inhumanthingthat lurks underneath. “You have a very dangerous imagination,Dimochka. You might want to get your paranoia under control.”
“Listen closely.” I lean forward over the table, planting my hands as though ready to spring at him at any moment. “Clara Benson works for my company. She is undermyprotection, the protection of the Smirnov Bratva. If I so much as find you standing on the same side of the street as Clara again, if I hear you’ve even spoken her name, if I suspect you are watching her?—”
My voice drops to a near-whisper, lethal and absolute, “—I will personally see that you lose everything you have, piece by piece. You will be erased from every contract, every ledger, every bank roll, every memory, until the only thing left of you is a bloody smudge on the pavement. You want me to be the vicious one? The unhinged one? I will give you vicious and unhinged. Stay thefuckaway from Clara.”
The air between us vibrates with dangerous promise. For a split second, the mask slips again, something only I would notice, someone who has studied my enemy for years. The gray eyes go cold and flat again, full of shadow and fog, utterly devoid of human emotion.
A muscle in his jaw twitches.
Then, he smiles, the psychopath who orders murder and destruction as easily as ordering dinner. It’s not a full smile, it is more an expression of satisfaction, a precise, controlled smirk. Andrey knows he’s pushed me to the edge, proven his point, and made it clear just how Clara fits into my life.
“Is that all, Dmitri?” he asks, throwing back the last of his drink.
My muscles bunch, gathering to launch at the monster sitting across from me, to strike the killing blow, to protect Clara and gain revenge for Lauren and our son in one moment.
“Whatever thefuckis going on between you two, quit it—now. Or someone is going to call the cops.” Natasha is suddenly there. I never saw her move from the bar, too far gone inside my rage.
Fuck.
“And no one here needs that, especially you two.”
She stands at the side of the table, hands on her hips, eyes glaring at both of us in turn. She senses imminent carnage in the air, notices the rage on my face. She might be the head of a legitimate business now, but she’s still a Mikhailov, well aware of what happens in our world.
“You’re right, Tasha.” Andrey pushes back his chair and rises slowly, returning to the act of being a concerned friend. “Dmitriis still experiencing a great deal of stress and grief. It seems to have affected his mind.”
When he flashes that grin again, I’m on my feet in an instant. “You motherfucker!”
Natasha steps between us as the restaurant falls silent, every eye glued to our table. It’s a dangerous place to be, and she knows it. She places a hand on my chest, a touch that used to mean something, but is now just a painful reminder of my past recklessness. “Enough! Where the fuck is Pavel? You know very well what he’s trying to do, and you’re playing right into his trap.”
We remain frozen like that for a heartbeat before I take a deep, shuddering breath and pull back, forcing my hands to unclench. The tension starts to drain away, leaving me cold and empty.
“This isn’t over.” I look at Andrey first, then Natasha, making sure the threat echoes in her ears, too. “The clock is running out for you. I’ll make sure of it. And you will stay away from Clara, or so help me God, I will tear you apart with my own hands.”
I turn on my heel and walk out, leaving the two siblings and the silent restaurant behind. I don’t look back, but I can still feel the weight of Andrey’s satisfaction, a cold scrawl under my skin that tells me I have won nothing today, except a confirmation of my worst fears. The mole, the council, and now Clara—all of it is tied together by the psychopath I just failed to extinguish.
Andrey’s words ring in my head, strong and clear:Didn’t Natasha say your father warned you about letting your emotions win? He fretted about wishing for another heir because you would bring down his dynasty with those reckless emotions of yours.
It’s the truth, and I can’t deny it.
Clara Benson is going to be the death of me and the Smirnov Bratva.
