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“It’s not yours, though, is it?”
His eyes darken, and he looks away from me. “It was my father’s, and that means it’s mine now. He wanted me to take back his section of the city, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Before he passed, he wrote down a list of properties he wanted me to take. I ran into a problem when I found out Giovanni wants the same one.” He lays his head back and lets out a breath.
“What else did Pavel give you?” I ask.
His head turns to mine, though he doesn’t give me a welcoming look. His fingers clench by his sides and the muscles in his jaw tick. “What else did ...whogive me, Sloane?”
My mouth drops slightly when I suddenly realize what I’ve said. I just came clean without having to tell him a single thing.
I lay my hands down on the couch and begin to step away from him slowly. There’s anger in his eyes like I’ve never seen before.
My breathing picks up to an uncontrollable speed as I panic. My mind overloads with feelings of regret. I try to swallow, but there’s a lump in my throat.
He stands up from the couch, messing with his cufflinks. “Tell me what you know,” he demands as I continue to back away from him.
Do not fear him; challenge him.
It’s easier said than done when the man in front of you looks at you as if you are disposable. No matter how hard I try, I will always be beneath Mikhail. He carries the kind of power that isn’t known to many, and I’m at his full disposal.
His eyes are dark, lacking the glimmer I once saw. Whatever it was that he felt for me vanished into oblivion the moment I uttered his father’s name. The name I’ve had to swallow down hundreds of times since I’ve been near Mikhail.
My hands reach into my pocket until I find the pocketknife. I grab onto it, ready to defend myself at any given moment.
He watches my hands, already aware of what I’m doing. He laughs darkly and rolls his tongue over his bottom lip. Nodding, he takes a gun out of the waistband of his pants. Every limb on my body trembles with panic.
“You’re scared,” he says in a tone that almost sounds condescending. “I’d be more concerned if you weren’t.”
It’s as if he blinked and just shut off all his emotions. His words are coated with anger, resentment ... even betrayal.
I try to listen to my intuition, begging myself to give me an idea of what I should do, but nothing comes to mind when he walks toward me, reloading the chamber. “Please,” I beg. My lip quivers and my legs threaten to give out on me. Tears spring into my eyes when I accept my defeat. At this point, I deserve it.
Mikhail felt like he could finally trust me—give himself to me—and I betrayed him.
He continues to stalk toward me, every emotion clear on his face. “I could fucking applaud you for the performance you’ve given.”
When he lifts his gun at me, I slam my eyes shut.
“Sloane,” my dad calls, and I follow the sound of his voice.
I grab onto the railing at the end of the staircase and swing my weight around it. Standing by the front door, my father holds his hands in front of his body while another man steps inside. I look up at both of the men, suddenly nervous to ask why Dad is letting me see someone who isn’t a part of this family.
He has a difficult time even letting me go outside because he’s nervous someone will see me.
“What’s going on?” I ask hesitantly.
Dad doesn’t say much—or anything for that matter. The stranger looks at me with a kind smile. It kind of contradicts the intimidating look he has. Even for an older man, I can tell many fear him. His body looks weak, but he still carries strength.
“Koldunya,” he calls.Witch. “That is what they call you.”
I nod. I’m aware of what members of the Bratva view me as.
Dad walks up behind me and places his hands on my shoulder. “This is Pavel,” he tells me, and my mouth drops. The man standing in front of me is the boss of the outfit. The palms of my hands begin to sweat, and I suddenly grow nervous.
Am I presenting myself correctly? If I had known he’d be here, I would have worn something other than sweatpants, for Christ’s sake.
I smile brightly and offer him my hand. He grabs onto me, but he doesn’t shake my hand; he just holds it. All my life I’ve dreaded this moment. A part of me thought I’d never meet him. Another part of me thought he’d never want to meet me. I’ve caused him trouble just by being born—why would he ever even want to speak a word to me?
Regardless of the fact he is very close with my dad, I still feel like I don’t deserve to stand in his presence.
