Page 57 of Hers to Control

Mikhail chuckles. “You don’t know because it would be a stupid move. My father might want me to crawl back, but there isn’t a chance in hell he’d accept me being with Gianna, so why the fuck would I ever do that?”

He looks at Gianna the way a lion looks at an antelope, only she stares him down, and that makes him grin even wider. Without hesitation, he gets up and walks over to her.

Hell, the guy is a psycho but he’s also as whipped as they come. Which makes it unlikely that he’d go behind Gianna’s back to make peace with his father.

“If we don’t know how they got the information,” Mia says, “could it be that your phones are tapped or something? Or that someone in the house is listening in on conversations? Or that the house is bugged?”

“We can feed them misinformation and see who takes the bait,” Mikhail says, finally bothering to add something semi-helpful.

Gianna nods. “It could work, unless they are listening in right now. We do bug sweeps regularly, though, so I highly doubt they could have snuck anything in. But it’s worth a try to spread something. We’ll need to fabricate a convincing enough story to lure them to come after Mia again, though. With you getting her from Tsepov once, they will know we’re going to have a close eye on her. And that she’s valuable to us.”

“Hell no. I’m not letting Mia walk around as bait.” I stand up, leaving only Mia seated. I look down at her, to see how she’s holding up.

Mia’s expression is different than before. Something like surprise showing in the way she’s looking up at us, as if the notion that she’s valuable to anyone, least of all Gianna and me, is a foreign concept. Which makes Gianna’s plan unacceptable.

Mia reaches up and her hand lands on my lower arm. “Nobody said I have to actually pose as bait. Only that we need to make it look real enough that they think I’m out there.”

I exchange a glance with her. Her gaze is steady. Hell, the woman has more guts than she should. She might be determined to see this through, no matter the risks, but I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to her.

“Fine, so we make up a story that Mia is, say, staying in one of the Bruno Properties apartments. We use a different location depending on where we leak the information, using only addresses that are fitted with cameras,” I concede. “Depending on where the Russians show up, we know which channel the Russians get their info from.”

Gianna nods. “That could work. I fucking hate the idea that someone has ears in my home or office.”

Mikhail growls something under his breath that only she can hear, and it puts a small smile on her face. I can be happy for them, as long as Mikhail doesn’t think he’ll be the one skinning whoever is behind leaking the information.

He might want those eyeballs, but this will be my revenge.

Chapter Twenty-One

Eric

Ileave Mia at the villa and make my way to Millhaven. It’s a two-hour drive along the 401 towards Kingston, but I have the time. Today, Gianna will leak the different addresses, saying Mia will move into the apartment tomorrow. Which means today I have some time to take care of another piece of unfinished business.

When I finally see Millhaven looming in the distance, my knuckles grip the steering wheel tight, the tension in my muscles a testament to the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

After picking one of the many empty parking spots, I step out of the car. The crisp air of the prison yard is a good reminderthat I don’t ever want to end up locked behind bars in a place like this.

I make my way through security. Finally, I reach the visiting area and I spot Samson sitting alone at a table in the corner. There is definitely a resemblance to Mia. His hair has the same color, except for the white strands, and the set of his mouth is the same as hers.

His eyes meet mine, a flicker of recognition crossing his face before he schools his expression into one of indifference.

I approach him slowly, my footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. “Mr. Samson,” I say, my voice cold.

He looks up, his gaze wary. “Eric Merlino,” he replies, his tone devoid of emotion. “What do the Italians want from me?”

I take a seat opposite him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, missing the feel of my knife right about now.

“They came for Mia.”

Pain flashes across Samson’s face. “Is she dead?” His voice is barely a whisper.

The words make me want to punch him, but I can’t get kicked out of here just yet. I need to speak with this asshole.

“No, she’s alive.”

He lets out a breath, then gives me a suspicious look. “What do you have to do with it? Why are you here? I’ve never had any business with the Italians.”

“I’m keeping her safe.”

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