Page 46 of Between Power and Passion

"How did you get there when you did?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

Alexei glances at Dmitri before answering. "I followed the men who took Dmitri out of Sergei's house," he explains. "But I couldn't make any move until my reinforcement arrived."

He finishes peeling the orange and hands it to me with a smile. As I take a bite, the sweet citrus flavor floods my mouth, bringing a sense of normalcy back into my life.

I nibble on the orange slice, savoring its sweet tang as Dmitri and Alexei exchange a silent conversation with their eyes. There's an unspoken understanding between them, something deep and intrinsic. My stomach tightens, sensing that something important is about to happen.

"Dmitri," I begin hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Do you need to go?"

He looks at me, those striking eyes filled with a mix of regret and determination. "I have to take care of something important," he admits, his hand tightening around mine. "And I don't want you to see me like that."

A pang of worry strikes me, but I push it aside. "You should do what you need to do," I say softly, trying to be strong for him.

Dmitri leans in and kisses me deeply, his lips warm and reassuring against mine. "I'll be back before you know it," he promises, his breath warm against my skin. He whispers a soft "Thank you" into my hair before pulling away.

Alexei grins at us, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hey, don't I get a kiss too?" he teases.

Dmitri glares at him, but there's no real heat behind it. Alexei laughs it off, clapping Dmitri on the shoulder. "Calm down, Dmitri," he says with a chuckle.

Dmitri sighs but manages a small smile as they both head for the door. The room feels colder without him by my side, but I know he needs to do this. I close my eyes and focus on the lingering warmth of his kiss, holding on to the hope that he'll return soon.

Chapter 22 – Dmitri

I step into the white room, the stark brightness almost blinding after the dim hallway. Mikhail is there, tied to a metal chair in the center of the room. His head lifts, and his cold, calculating eyes lock onto mine. A laugh bubbles up from his throat, a sound that grates against my nerves.

"Dmitri," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "You don't look ready to do this at all. You should let me go, and I'll forgive you."

I walk over to a chair placed directly in front of him and sit down slowly, letting the silence stretch out between us. His arrogance makes my skin crawl, but I keep my expression neutral.

"I'm not here to exchange words with you, Mikhail," I say evenly. "No one is coming for you. Sergei has run away, and all your men are either dead or on my side now."

"Liar!" Mikhail shouts, straining against his bonds. "You're just trying to isolate me!"

A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips as I lean back in the chair. "Think what you want," I reply, then call out, "Bring him in."

The door opens, and one of Mikhail's right-hand men steps inside. The man's face is a mask of indifference as he approaches us.

"Pick up the pliers," I instruct him.

The man obeys without hesitation. Mikhail's eyes widen in disbelief as he realizes what's about to happen.

"You bastard! I'll kill you!" Mikhail screams at his former ally.

The man remains silent, his grip firm on the pliers as he moves toward Mikhail's hand. I watch without flinching as he positions the tool around Mikhail's thumb.

"No!" Mikhail yells again, but it's too late.

With a swift motion, the man cuts off Mikhail's thumb. Blood spurts out, staining the pristine white floor. Mikhail's scream is primal, filled with agony and rage. His eyes are wild with pain as he looks at me, but I don't waver.

I stand and take the severed thumb from the man's hand. The flesh is still warm, slick with blood. I wrap it in a piece of cloth and tuck it into my pocket for now. Mikhail's breath comes in ragged gasps, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of hatred and fear.

I walk over to a small table in the corner and pick up a stack of papers.

"These," I say, holding up the stack, "are the deeds to your life. Your businesses, your bank accounts, your houses." I drop the stack onto his lap. "Basically everything you own down to your underwear, and I am about to become your heir."

Mikhail's eyes flicker with a mix of disbelief and dawning horror. He struggles to sit up straighter, but the pain and blood loss make him weak.

"You think I'll sign those?" he spits out through gritted teeth.

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