Page 60 of Crown of Hate

A beat of silence, then her voice, small and broken, cuts through. “Mikhail… Can you come pick me up?”

“Where the hell are you?” The words come out harsher than I intend, but I’m barely holding it together. My patience is fraying, caught between relief and worry—I can’t let myself relax until she’s in my arms, safe.

“I don’t know. I’ll share my location.”

My phone pings, and I glance at the map—she’s way out on the outskirts of Chicago, at least two hours away. One, if I drive like a madman. “Stay put. Don’t move a muscle. I’m coming for you, malyshka.”

Alexei and Semyon’s eyes bore into me, but it’s Sophia who speaks up first, voice tight with concern. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

I don’t have time to reassure her. Instead, I look at Semyon, my voice clipped. “I’ll send her location. Check the CCTV and get me a copy to see later. Make sure Sophia is taken care of.” Before he can respond, I’m already running to my car, engine roaring to life before I’ve even fully shut the door. Then I peel out of the parking lot, leaving a cloud of dust in my wake.

This isn't just about finding Alya; it's about making sure she isn’t hurt.

The GPS in my car guides me through the labyrinth of the city to a secluded area on the outside. I screech to a halt near a small dilapidated house that matches her location. My heart pounds like a war drum—she’s in there, waiting for me.

I can’t shake the thought of her alone, scared out of her mind, wondering if I’d ever arrive. I race towards the house and burst through the door. “Alya!” I call out, my voice reverberating through the dark, eerie room.

When my vision adjusts, I see her, standing in the middle of the room, trembling and wide-eyed. “Mikhail.”

“Alya.” I cross the distance between us in seconds and gather her into my arms, feeling her tremble against me.

She’s alive. She’s here. She’s safe.

She breaks down, sobbing into my chest. I hold her tight, my own eyes stinging with unshed tears. The relief is overwhelming, but so is the lingering fear and rage. Who did this to her?

Carefully, I take off my suit jacket and drape it over her shoulders. “Are you hurt anywhere, malyshka?”

She shakes her head, still sobbing.

“I'm so glad you're safe.” The words come out ragged, laced with relief and guilt. “I'll never let anything happen to you again. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Cupping her face, I gently wipe away her tears. “Let's go home now.”

She nods, sniffling, and together we make our way back to the car, leaving that godforsaken place behind.

The drive home is silent, tension thick in the air. I keep glancing at her, reassuring myself that she’s really here, safe beside me.

When we arrive back at the mansion, Semyon and Alexei are waiting at the entrance, faces grim. I help Alya out and guide her inside, my hand protective at the small of her back. I’ll be damned if I let her out of my sight again.

Grace emerges from the kitchen, her face creased with concern. “Goodness, are you okay?” she asks Alya, whose eyes are swollen from crying.

“I’m fine,” she says weakly, but we all know it’s a lie. My wife’s entire being radiates fragility. I’ve never seen her so vulnerable before, and it kills me.

“I’ll get you some hot chocolate,” Grace offers. I nod my approval, and she disappears back into the kitchen.

My mind races as I lead Alya upstairs. What happened to her? How can I fix this?

“Do you want something to eat? You only had breakfast,” I say as I help her onto the bed.

She shakes her head, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “I can’t eat. I just want to shower and sleep.”

“Alright. But drink your chocolate first.” The bed dips under my weight as I sit next to her. “Can you tell me what?—”

A knock on the door cuts me off. Grace enters with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and I take it from her. “Thank you, Grace.”

She nods. “Let me know if she needs anything else.”

“I will.”

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