Page 82 of Crown of Hate

He chuckles softly. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

I glance pointedly at a nearby CCTV camera and smile. “He’s always watching.”

“Ah, you must be Mikhail’s wife,” he says, his tone suddenly cooler.

I feel my nerves come alive. Every cell in me is suddenly on high alert. “How do you know my husband?”

He snorts. “It’s not hard to figure out. But relax, I’m not here for him. I’ve got business with someone else.”

The neon lights flash, illuminating a scar across his face I hadn’t noticed before. Something about him seems off, dangerous. A chill runs down my spine, and I instinctively take a step back. “Who the hell are you?”

“Tell Alexei I send my regards. If things go well, he’ll be out of Mikhail’s shadow soon. I hope to meet him again someday.”

My heart races, and I back away some more, until my back collides with something solid—someone. I immediately know who it is by the all too familiar scent of his cologne and the gentle yet firm grip of his hands on my shoulders as they steady me.

“Do you have a death wish?” Mikhail’s voice rumbles behind me, deeper and more menacing than the stranger’s, as it pierces through the thumping music.

The man in front of me looks over my shoulder and smirks. He might look terrifying, but as I turn around, the man behind me—my husband—is even more intimidating. He could command the air to stand still, and it would obey him. No one can match his dominance; I’m sure of that.

“Nice to meet you again, Mikhail. Word on the street was you were dead. Good to see that’s not the case.”

I flick my eyes between them, feeling the thick hostility in the air. It’s like a storm about to break, making the tension claw at my gut God, I hate this feeling. “Do you two know each other?” I blurt out, desperate to cut through the heavy silence, anything to break their damn glaring contest.

“Oh, we go way back,” the man drawls. “And I have a score to settle with his little friend.”

“Alexei,” I realize out loud.

Mikhail steps between us, shielding me with his broad frame. “You come near my wife again, and I’ll rip your throat out. That’s not a warning, it’s a promise. Now get the fuck out of here.”

The man’s smile strains, as if he’s fighting back the urge to clench his teeth or flare his nostrils. “You’re threatening me, Zirkhov?” He chuckles sardonically. “Are you so eager to be sent back to hell?”

“Ivan Orlov and Akim couldn’t kill me, no matter how hard they tried.” Mikhail squares up to the man. “You’re no match for me, Fionn.”

Fionn’s expression sours, but he backs down. “Fine. I won’t cause a scene today, but only because I’m not here for you.” He smiles at me, and the ferocity in Mikhail’s expression heightens. “It was nice to meet you.”

I don’t say anything in return as Fionn leans in to whisper something to Mikhail that makes his fists clench. With a final chuckle and lingering look at me, he retreats.

Mikhail turns to me, his face hard as granite. And I know exactly why. I should apologize, but I don’t want to.

“What was that about?” he asks. His calm tone contrasts sharply with the rage etched into his face.

My brow quirks. “What was what about?”

“Don’t play with me, Alya.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I told you to stay put. That bastard could have hurt you.”

“But he didn’t,” I snap back. “What are you so pissed about? I should be the one losing my shit right now. One of your ex-fucks walked up to me and spewed some nasty shit. Gave me a detailed description of how you used to fuck her.”

“So, you chose to cozy up to a complete stranger because of that?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You know I would never cheat on you, Alya. Do my feelings for you mean nothing?”

I know he wouldn’t cheat. Deep down, I know. But he doesn’t understand how I feel about him. He doesn’t know how jealous I get thinking of him with someone who isn’t me, or how afraid I am about losing him. Our marriage might not have started with love, but somewhere along the line, I fell. Hard.

His teeth dig into his lip, and I see pain flicker in his gaze. “There’s a fucking war looming. I can’t bear losing you.”

“Neither can I.” I don’t know what pushes me to say it, but the words are out of my lips before I can stop myself. “You know why, Mikhail Zhirkov? Because I love you.”

Time freezes. So does Mikhail. He blinks, his dark eyes wide as they bore into mine. But his expression is unreadable, and I immediately regret my admission. I wait, my heart in my throat, desperate for him to say something, anything. I want him to return those words so badly it hurts, and despite myself, I know I won’t be able to handle it if he doesn’t say them back.

He lowers his head for a moment, and I hold my breath. But when he looks up, his voice is flat. “Go back to the bar. Kira is waiting.”

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