Page 33 of Crown of Hate

I open my water and take a long gulp, relishing the icy liquid as it trails down my throat and simmers in my stomach. When I’ve had my fill, I slam the almost empty bottle on the island and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Me? Have Mikhail wrapped around my finger? I doubt that very much.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s Mikhail freaking Zirkhov we’re talking about,” I huff, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “He might act like a gentleman, but he’s just a handsome devil in an expensive suit.”

Grace’s laugh fills the kitchen. “So you believe all that talk, huh? The big bad wolf of Chicago?”

“It’s not just talk. It’s who he is.”

“Oh, he can be ruthless when necessary, I won’t deny that. But not to you, dear. If you could hear how that man goes on about you…”

I lean in, curiosity winning out. The island’s edge digs into my stomach, but I hardly notice. “What about it?”

She cracks two eggs into a bowl and mixes it with some veggies. “The man can’t shut up about you. He turns into a lovesick puppy whenever your name comes up. I’ve been back five minutes and he’s already spilled your entire life story. Your likes, your dreams, everything...”

“No way. You’re pulling my leg.”

Grace rolls her eyes, whisking the eggs. “Darling, I’m sixty-three. I’ve known more men than you’ve had hot dinners. I can read them like an open book.”

Sincerity shines in her eyes, warm and convincing. But I choose not to let myself believe her. It’ll completely alter my brain chemistry to know Mikhail likes me even a tiny bit.

I’ll lose my self-control, and I’ll abandon my revenge.

“What exactly did he tell you?”

Grace chuckles softly as she begins to pour the eggs into a hot pan. They sizzle, the smell mixing with the bacon. “Well, for starters, he mentioned your weakness for chocolate chip cookies. How you can’t resist them, especially when they’re fresh out of the oven. And how you like your coffee black with just a touch of cinnamon. Said it’s the only way you drink it.”

My jaw drops. How on earth did he know that? I’ve never breathed a word about my coffee preferences or my secret cookie addiction.

It's weird… but kind of nice. Warmth spreads in my chest, but I squash it down.

“It’s true,” I admit. “But I never told him any of that.”

"Oh, he has his ways, that one. If he married you, you can be sure he already knows everything about you from your shoe size to your favorite color. Probably the name of your first pet too,” Grace replies with a knowing smile. “He may not wear his heart on his sleeve, but he cares about you, Alya. In his own way. He’s not the heartless monster people in Chicago or Russia paint him as. He can feel. And yes, he can hurt too.”

Her words linger in the air, heavy with implication. I watch her cook, mind whirling. The eggs fluff up, golden and perfect. Could it be true? Could Mikhail actually see me as more than a pawn in his grand chess game? The thought both terrifies and intrigues me.

Before I can dwell on it further, Grace slides a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of me. The aroma makes my mouth water. “Here you go, dear. Breakfast is served. Eat up while it’s hot.”

“Thank you.” I close my eyes and inhale more of the food. When I open my eyes again, Grace is filling a cup with milk. She walks the milk to me.

I dig in, savoring each bite in comfortable silence while watching Grace prepare her own plate.

Just as I’m polishing off the last morsel, a commotion erupts from the foyer. The front doors slam open, the bang echoing through the massive house

“Where’s that asshole?” An angry female voice cuts through the air.

I jump, fork clattering to the plate. Who is this woman? And what could Mikhail have done to make her this upset? But more importantly, why would a woman be angry at Mikhail? Enough to barge in here and yell?

A dozen scenarios flash through my mind, each worse than the last. Is she an ex-girlfriend? A business partner he has crossed? Or is it something even more sinister tied to his dark world…

I glance at Grace, hoping for some reassurance, but her smile only sets me more on edge. There’s a glint in her eye, like she’s about to watch her favorite drama unfold. Does she know something I don’t?

I finish my milk in one long gulp, then get to my feet and trudge to the foyer.

11

MIKHAIL

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