"Mikhail."
I turn. Irina is standing now. She’s pale, but her eyes are clear. She looks at the women, then back at me.
"They’re all from back home," she says. Her voice is steady, but I can see her hands shaking. "Ukraine, Russia, Poland. My father... he’s selling his own people?? I think I’m going to puke."
"Your father doesn't see people. He sees numbers." I step toward her, the heat from the fight still radiating off me. "You should know that better than anyone. He sold you to me, didn't he?"
She flinches, but she doesn't look away. "I’m not leaving them here. I don't care about your dinner or your business. If you think I’m walking out that door while they’re still in this building, you’re wrong."
"I already called it in," I say.
She blinks, her defiance faltering for a second. "Y-You called it in?"
"I did.” I tilt my head, not understanding the shock coloring her features. “Artyom is clearing the hospital wing at the estate. Mymen will be here in a few minutes. They’ll be fed, treated, and guarded by people I trust. No one is getting near them."
Irina stares at me. She looks like she’s trying to find the catch, the hidden motive. She doesn't find it.
"You're protecting them," she whispers.
"I’m protecting our territory," I lie. "And I’m making sure Boris knows that if he tries to run a side business on my watch, I’ll burn his entire world down."
When she still doesn’t say anything, I lean towards her with a smirk. “Are you surprised,dorogaya?”
The sound of tires screaming on the asphalt outside cuts the conversation short. Three black SUVs pull into the bay, their headlights cutting through the dim warehouse light. Lev and Viktor step out, followed by a dozen men in suits. They move fast, fanning out to secure the perimeter.
"Boss," Lev says, walking up to me. He looks at the bodies, then at Irina. He gives her a short nod. "The transport is ready."
"Handle the women first," I say. My voice is loud enough for everyone to hear. "They aren't cargo, Lev. If I find out anyone so much as looks at them the wrong way, I’ll take their head off myself. Get them to the hospital wing. Now."
Lev doesn't blink. "Understood."
"And that one?" Viktor asks, pointing his chin at the man on the floor.
"Take him to the cellar," I say. I look at Irina. "I’ll deal with him after dinner."
The men start moving. They help the women up, giving them jackets and steadying them as they lead them toward the cars. I see Irina watching, her shoulders finally losing some of that tension. The sass is gone. For the first time, there’s no hatred, annoyance or frustration in her eyes when she looks at me. Her eyes are… soft.
"You're not what I thought you were, Morozov," she whispers.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," I grunt. I reach out and grab her arm, pulling her closer, my fingers digging into her leather jacket. "We still have a dinner to go to.”
The tension between us is so thick I can almost taste it. It’s a heavy, wet heat that’s making it hard to think. I want to take her right here, in the middle of the blood and the grease. I want to feel her under me, screaming my name while the world falls apart around us.
"Let's go, wife," I growl. I pull her toward the Aston Martin.
She follows me, her steps in sync with mine. We get into the car, and the engine roars to life. As we pull away from the warehouse,the silence of the docks settles back in. I look at her profile in the dim light of the dash.
"We have to be careful tonight," she says, her voice quiet. "My father... and yours. They aren't going to just let this go."
"I know." I shift gears, the car surging forward.
I look at her, and she’s looking back. The fire is still in her eyes, but the hate has shifted. It’s become something sharper. And most importantly, it’s not directed at me.
Not anymore. I think I’d do anything to keep things that way.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IRINA
