Page 26 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

I hold Gabriette tightly, her sobs muffled against my shoulder. My voice, when it comes, is a low, comforting rumble, carefully measured for the ears of my men.

“Gabriette, I’ll handle this. You’ve shown immense strength today, and I’m proud of you. But this is my world.”

I release her slightly, still keeping her close, my fingers tracing comforting circles on her back, yet I maintain a stoic facade, aware of the watchful eyes of my men.

My tone carries the weight of my authority, a reminder to both her and my men that while I am comforting her, I am still the unyielding leader they follow.

“No more tears,Malyshka, let them see your strength,” I switch to Italian so only she can understand, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Your tears mean nothing to me, except to serve as a reminder of what I’m capable of when someone threatens what’s mine.”

For a brief moment, I meet the eyes of my men, conveying a silent command that they understand well. Their expressions harden, and they avert their gazes, giving us the privacy we need.

I push her away from me and cup her face in my hands, seeing that she’s stopped crying. “Remember, you’re mine, and no one can break what’s mine without facing the consequences.”

She looks up at me, the earlier anger all but gone. For a moment, I let her see the depth of my fury, the lengths I would go to protect her, before my expression smoothens into something more controlled.

“Now,” I say, my tone returning to its usual calm, a steel edge cutting through my words. “Let’s finish what we started.”

In the ruthless world of organized crime, vulnerability is a luxury I cannot afford. Her safety is paramount, but it doesn’t mean I’ll expose our connection as a weakness.

With Gabriette held close, I turn my attention back to the captive, my glare fixed on him and it takes everything in me not to empty my clip into his fucking face.

“You made my wife cry,” I say, my voice as sharp as a blade, locking eyes with the captive. “That just put you right on the top of my shit list. Talk. Who sent you?”

My men grip their weapons tighter, ready for my command.

The man hesitates, his eyes darting between me and Gabriette. Finally, he mutters, “Someone from your past who wants your head,” grimacing as he tries to maintain his composure.

“Well, that narrows it down,” I say sarcastically. “Take him away. Make sure he talks, but not here.” I direct this to my men in Russian. As they drag the captive away, I turn back to Gabriette.

She looks at me, her eyes searching for something; empathy, reassurance, a sign that the man she’s married to is capable of feeling something other than cold detachment.

I offer her none of these things, my face a mask of indifference because I can’t afford to slip up.

I scoop her up into my arms and tell one of my men to get the elevator as I hold her close. Her flowery perfume calms my frayed nerves for some reason, and I find myself breathing out a sigh.

After calling on Nikita to tend to her, I leave the penthouse, even though everything in me is telling me to stay with her, to make sure she’s fine.

But I can’t do that. I have a job to do that doesn’t require the side of me Gabriette saw a few moments ago.

GABRIETTE

The heavy doors of the elevator shuts behind Mikhail, closing off the outside world, and I’m left alone in the aftermath of the chaos. I find myself alone in the spacious living room, my heart still racing from the chaotic events that unfolded in the underground parking.

With trembling hands, I wipe away the remnants of tears from my cheeks, my fingers tracing the lines of distress etched into my skin.

Nikita walks out a few seconds later. She’s seen it all, I’m sure, the raw emotions and the unexpected outbursts. But like Mikhail, she maintains a stoic facade, offering no words of comfort.

“Come, let’s clean you up,” is all she says.

I nod in acknowledgment, grateful for the practicality of her presence. Together, we head to the bathroom, where she retrieves a first aid kit. She cleans my face and I feel my skin stinging from where the glass shards exploded.

Afterwards, I grab my makeup remover and a cotton pad and begin to wipe away the smudged makeup, my movements mechanical.

Nikita remains silent, her gaze averted, as if giving me space. It’s a stark reminder that in Mikhail’s world, emotions are something that needs to be hidden. As I clean my face, I can’t help but replay the events in my mind, the anger, the fear, and Mikhail’s words of reassurance, however minimal they were.

I take a deep breath, attempting to steady my trembling hands, but the reality of the situation bears down on me. Once I’ve cleaned up to the best of my ability, I glance at Nikita, her expression unchanged.

“Mikhail... he...” My voice catches in my throat, unable to articulate the whirlwind of emotions churning within me.

---