Chapter 6 6

Mikhail

My brows knitted together in a sharp line. A low hiss slipped between my clenched teeth.

Who dares to interrupt a moment with my wife?!

The heavy oak door to my study burst open without warning. Dmitri stumbled inside, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. He hadn't bothered to knock.

"Mikhail!" He yelled, his voice cracked with urgency, sweat beading on his forehead.

Slowly, I pulled my hands away from Liliana's delicate chin. My eyes lingered on her face, searching for any sign of distress. Her expression remained perfectly calm, almost serene. Even her heartbeat stayed steady.

I sensed no fear in her posture.

The sharp crack of gunshots echoed from somewhere in the compound, yet she didn't even flinch. Most women would be cowering by now, but not her. The realization struck me as both impressive and curious.

The violent sound of glass exploding grew louder, and closer.

"Mikhail, we need to move now!" Dmitri's voice rose to a shout, finally pulling my full attention away from my wife.

I turned to face Liliana one last time. "Stay here," I commanded, my voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. Without another word, I strode out of the study and pulled the heavy door shut behind me.

The door lock clicked satisfactorily. The door was reinforced with steel and no force on this planet could open it, not without my blood.

As we moved down the corridor, Dmitri quickly filled me in on the situation. His words came fast and breathless.

"The audacity of these bastards!" I snarled, my hands already reaching for the weapons cabinet. I grabbed two pistols and began loading them with practiced efficiency, each bullet sliding into place with a metallic click.

"How are our guards holding up out there?" I asked without looking up, checking the safety on both guns before tucking them into my waistband.

"They're managing to keep the attackers at bay for now," Dmitri replied, his own hands busy preparing his arsenal. "But we're outnumbered."

We moved swiftly through the compound's main corridors. The moment we stepped outside, chaos greeted us. An army of my personal guards had formed defensive positions throughout the courtyard, each man armed with automatic weapons and wearing tactical gear. The air was filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder and smoke.

My men fought with intensity. They moved like a well-oiled machine, each knowing his role in protecting what was mine.

Each of my men went through rigorous training of not just the body but also of the mind. They were trained like dogs to only obey their master.

A sharp pain tore through my left shoulder as a stray bullet had grazed my shoulder. Warm blood began to seep through my shirt, staining the expensive fabric dark red. I gritted my teeth but didn't slow down.

"Fucking Bratva!" The curse ripped from my throat.

I had expected this day would come. The Pavlov crime family had been circling like vultures for months, waiting for any sign of weakness. Now they had finally decided to make their move, bringing war directly to my doorstep.

They think my new possession - Liliana - would be my weakness. But little do they know that she was my strength.

One of the enemy guards broke through our perimeter and charged straight at me, his weapon raised. Without hesitation, I drew my pistol and put two bullets in his chest. He dropped to the ground instantly, his eyes going blank.

Beside me, Dmitri fought tirelessly, moving with deadly grace. His years of training showed as he took down three rival guards in quick succession, each shot placed with surgical precision. Blood splattered across the concrete as bodies fell around us.

Hours later, the compound finally fell silent. Bodies littered the courtyard like broken dolls, and the acrid smell of gunpowder still hung thick in the air. We had won, but at a cost. Three of my best men wouldn't see another sunrise.

I made my way back to the study, my shoulder throbbing where the bullet had grazed me. Blood had dried into a dark stain across my shirt, but the wound was already beginning to heal, a good thing about my particular heritage.

The reinforced door recognized my presence and clicked open. Inside, Liliana sat exactly where I had left her, perched on the edge of my desk with her hands folded in her lap. She looked up as I entered, her green eyes taking in my disheveled appearance without a flicker of shock or disgust.

"It's over," I said simply, closing the door behind me.

She nodded, as if wars were merely a part of her evening routine. "Are you hurt?"

The genuine concern in her voice caught me off guard. I had expected fear, tears, perhaps even accusations about the danger I had brought into her life. Instead, she seemed more worried about my welfare than her own safety.

"Nothing that won't heal," I replied, moving closer to her.

Why does she care? I wondered, gazing at her.

She stared at her feet, biting her lips.

Something had shifted during those hours of battle. The adrenaline, the knowledge that I could have lost everything tonight, including her, had awakened something primal within me. Not the usual cold calculation that governed my actions, but something far more dangerous.

When I reached for her this time, my hands were surprisingly gentle. I traced the curve of her jaw with reverent fingers, marveling at the dryness of her skin. She didn't pull away. Her body stiffened under my touch.

"Mikhail," she whispered, and my name on her lips sounded like a prayer.

I claimed her then, but not with the ruthless possession I had always imagined. Instead, I worshipped her body with unexpected tenderness, my touch almost reverent as I explored every inch of her pale skin. She didn't respond, she sat still, allowing me to fumble with her body.

My hands grasped her tiny breast and she moaned silently, biting her lips immediately in regret. That night, I showed her the pleasures she had never known.

I placed her on the massive mahogany table. Dipping my fingers into her core ever so slowly.

She winced in pain.

"Breathe Malyshka." I said, my voice gentle.

What has come over me? I thought, taking her delicate breast in my mouth.

She moaned silently, digging her fingers into my skin.

I thrust slowly into her core and she screamed, a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Mikhail," she called. I stared into her green eyes, full of pleasure.

We moved together through the night, our bodies finding a rhythm as natural as breathing.

I held her against my chest as she slept, her breathing soft and even. For the first time in years, I felt something resembling peace.

The sharp click of heels on marble shattered that tranquility.

I tensed as familiar footsteps approached the study. Only one person in my organization had both the audacity and the clearance to enter my private quarters unannounced.

Aunt Anastasia.

The door swung open without ceremony, and there she stood, tall, elegant, and radiating the kind of cold authority that made hardened killers tremble. Her silver hair was pulled back in a severe chignon, and her ice-blue eyes swept over the scene with calculating precision.

"Well, well," she purred, her Russian accent lending a dangerous edge to her words. "What do we have here?"