Page 64 of Crown of Hate

“I’m fine.” I collect my hands from his. I can’t bear his touch right now. It makes me want to lean in and kiss him fiercely. Too much has happened today, and I need him. I want him to pin me down and fuck the melancholy out of me, but I can’t. I still haven’t forgiven him for keeping Akim’s identity from me. The wound is still too raw. “I’m just?—”

His phone rings, cutting me off. He pulls it from his pocket, and I catch a glimpse of Ilya’s name on the screen.

“I’ll take this,” he says. Then he gets to his feet and walks out of the room, leaving me to my swirling, chaotic thoughts.

I fight the urge to follow him and eavesdrop on the call. I know the call is about the Russia Bratva, and I want to know every detail, just in case Mikhail leaves anything out in an attempt to protect me.

Lying on my back, I stare at the ceiling, allowing my thoughts to wander in whatever direction they want. But they keep circling back to my mama and Akim’s affair. Did my papa—Ivan—know I wasn’t his biological child?

He loved me so much that I never would have questioned our biological bond if not for tonight’s revelation. Asking my mother is the only way I’ll get the full truth, but she’s sick now, and I don’t want to jeopardize her treatment by confronting her about Akim.

I’ll wait until after her treatment to get the details.

I’m on the verge of drifting off to sleep when the door opens and Mikhail returns. His shoes clink on the marble floor as he approaches the bed. His cinnamon scent filters into my nostrils as he sits beside me.

I twist my neck to look at him. “Is something wrong?” I ask, taking in the unreadable expression on his face. I can’t tell if he’s angry or not.

“There’s a party on Friday night. A gala. One of Akim’s trusted allies will be there. Arsen Krugovoy. I’m bringing you with me.”

My face splits with a smile. It’s Wednesday, which means the party is only two days away. That means I’ll have a chance at my revenge sooner than expected. “Is there a dress code?”

He shrugs. “I’ll get you something decent.”

Mikhail’s idea of “decent” arrives the next morning, and it’s anything but.

The dress is a masterpiece of contradiction—expensive yet daring, classy with a dangerous edge. It’s the kind of red that doesn’t whisper, it screams. It’s strapless, with a neckline that showcases a generous amount of cleavage. Louisa’s gaze meets mine in the mirror as she helps me into it.

“What do you think?” I ask, twirling. The fabric swirls around me like a crimson tornado.

She scrutinizes the dress for what feels like the hundredth time. Then finally gives an approving nod. “The boss has an eye for beautiful things.”

From the way she’s smiling, I can tell she doesn’t just mean the dress. She’s talking about me. I blush. “I know.”

And damn, do I agree. Mikhail’s taste is impeccable. Along with the dress, he has picked out a silver purse and heels that complement it perfectly. They’re stunning and look absurdly expensive.

A traitorous thought sneaks in: How is he so good at picking out nice outfits for a woman?

The answer is obvious: Experience. Other women. A confusing blend of pride and jealousy wars inside me—pride athis exquisite taste, and jealousy at the thought of him dressing up other lovers.

“Tell him I love the dress,” I manage to tell Louisa, pushing those feelings aside. With two days until this high-stakes party, Mikhail has been a ghost. He’s holed up with Alexei and Semyon, plotting and planning, obsessing over our safety.

We’ve barely shared two words, let alone an actual meal. My time with Mikhail has been little more than fleeting moments, snatched between his endless work. And dammit, I miss him, but I don’t want to interrupt his work. Although, part of me wants to storm into his study, demand his attention, and remind him I exist beyond this mission. But I hold back. The stakes are too high for distractions.

Still, as I admire my reflection, a wicked little thought crosses my mind. After this party, after we’ve set our plans in motion… well, let’s just say Mikhail won’t be forgetting about me anytime soon. I’ll climb that man like a goddamn tree, sit on his face, and ride myself to heaven.

Then I’ll get my revenge.

20

MIKHAIL

Holy shit. Alya steps out of the foyer, and my jaw practically hits the floor. She’s not just beautiful, she’s a fucking goddess in that dress. It clings to every curve like it was painted on, and the sight of her cleavage sends a rush of heat to my cock.

She tucks a strand of her fiery red curls behind her ear as she saunters toward me, a simple gesture that somehow drives me insane. The scent of vanilla—sweet, soft, and so her—fills the space between us, making it an all-out war inside me not to hike up that dress, flip her over the car, and fuck her like my life depends on it.

“Hey,” she says, smiling nervously.

I finally manage to snap my jaw shut, swallowing hard. “God, you’re beautiful tonight. I mean, you’re always beautiful, but tonight…” I trail off, shaking my head in awe. “I think I might die just looking at you.”

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