Page 38 of Mikhail Petrov

By the time I woke up this morning, Mikhail was gone. He left a text saying he’d be back by 10 a.m. and to meet him at the cafe for breakfast. Our flight is scheduled for noon, and while we still have a good two hours, I can’t help feeling anxious. There’s a heaviness in my chest I can’t shake, but it’s probably because he hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts.

Baby, where are you?

I try his cell again, and it goes straight to voicemail this time. Panic begins setting in.

I spring to my feet, not sure where the hell I’m going, but I need to move. I need to feel like I’m doing something—anything to burn this adrenaline.

Mikhail knows no one here. I can’t think of a single thing he’d be doing that would keep him away from his phone, much less have it turned off.

Something’s wrong.

When I whip around, I slam into what feels like a brick wall. Hands grip my shoulders to the point of pain.

Fuck. Did one of the men from last night find me?

As I reach for my firearm, I see a familiar face staring down at me. Dark eyebrows pinched with annoyance.

“Carlo?”

Carlo is my dad’s right-hand man. He’s been his partner-slash-bodyguard for years. But what the fuck is he doing here?

Another rush of blood plummets to my toes when I peer around the massive body holding me prisoner.

Papá.

“What...what are you doing here?” I stutter, staring between them in disbelief.

“I think I should be asking you the same, no?”

My father’s glare roots me in place. And I suddenly feel like I’m sixteen again. Powerless and entirely at his mercy.

“Do you have any idea the shit I had to pull to find you?”

Carlo steps aside so my father can advance on me, finally releasing his death grip on my arms. However, I’m not sure which of the two is worse. “Why are you here?”

“Again, that’s my question for you.”

My father’s eyes fall to my neck, nostrils flaring at the telltale redness marking my skin. He shakes his head and narrows his steely gaze, looking at me like I’m the biggest disappointment of his life.

“You’ve done nothing but sabotage yourself at every turn.” Clenching his teeth, he lowers his voice. “You know how hard it will be to find a decent man for you to marry at your age and when you’ve already been tainted by God knows how many. And now, that fucking Russian bastard, Petrov. I knew I should have taken care of that problem years ago the moment he set his eyes on you.” My father grabs my arm, in the same sore spot as Carlo, and I hiss in pain. “But I listened to your brother like a fool. I won’t make that mistake twice.”

As he starts dragging me, realization dawns, jolting me awake like a bucket of ice-cold water. With my pulse racing in anguish, I rip my hand from his grasp and stumble back.

“What did you do to him?” I hate how my voice shakes, but it’s not out of fear. It’s anger and the cloying waves of grief sitting heavy on my chest at the possibility of Mikhail being hurt...or worse.

“Get your ass in the car. And if you dare make a scene—”

“No! I’m not a fucking child anymore. You won’t dictate my life.” My father’s eyes widen with shock and indignation. “Now, tell me. Where is he? What did you do?”

I don’t care that people are staring and whispering. Not while I’m dying inside and withering in the unknown.

“Papá, please.” For Mikhail, I’m not beyond begging. “I love him. And if you loved me, you would understand. You know I’ve felt this way for a long time.” Tears stream down my cheeks, but he remains silent, the crease in his features firmly in place. He doesn’t give a damn about me or my happiness. To him, it’s all about money, power, turf—I’m barely even human in his eyes.

I’m just a walking transaction.

“I hate you,” I say from between my teeth.

My father’s mouth thins, his jaw tensing. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

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