Bullet ✔️

Chapter 37

The darkness of the night had my eyes burn every time a car drove past. I was standing outside of the warehouse, getting some fresh air, while Damian did his best to track down Orlov with his family.

It was odd. And chilly. I pulled Damian's leather jacket closer around me—he pulled it out of his car when I said I needed some air. I was pretty sure there was snow coming down from the sky, but I wasn't really trusting my own mind enough to tell anyone about it. Normally I'd be the first to yell "Snow!" and dance around under it with my tongue out, but not this year. Not when I needed to figure out who I was becoming.

"How you doin', sweetie?" A large hand landed on my shoulder, and I turned to see Michael standing there, a cigar in his other hand and a smile on his lips. He was a handsome man, but in the dimness from the late night it was obvious he was dangerous.

"I'm fine," I replied, sending him a smile back. "I think."

He lit his cigar and inhaled, turning his head towards where his son barked orders and pointed fingers. "You know, the first time I pointed a gun at someone, I laid down and cried after." He turned again, staring out into the nothingness on the other side of the road. "I was still teary eyed last time I did it."

My eyebrows raised in surprise, and I looked at him.

"No, it's true," he confirmed, nodding along as he took another drag from his thick cigar. The smell enveloped us, the smoke hiding us inside a bubble. "I hate my father and his father for making our family business into this crap—" A sigh escaped him, as if he regretted saying it, "but I love them for making an empire I'm proud of. I've done my best, every damn day, Isabelle, to make this city a better place for my boy to grow up in. I taught him it's braver to spare a life than to take one, and, hell, I think he's a better person than I ever dreamed he'd be."

I watched the large man as his eyes turned shiny. His fingers went up to his nose as he sniffled, concealing the fact that he was about to shed tears because of the good person his son turned out to be. My own throat had thickened, and as I turned to watch Damian talk into his phone by the entrance to the building, Michael said, "My point is that I'm not the best person, but your father was, and you are, and I understand your urge to make Orlov pay. But it's okay to let him live, too. I think, honestly, that he'd be better off rotting in prison."

Before I thought twice about it, I put my arms around his torso and pressed my cheek against his chest. His arm went around my shoulders, patting one of them gently. I could smell his cigar, but I didn't mind it. I just hugged him, a silent thank you for his words. Then I sniffled and stepped back, wiping my suddenly wet cheeks with a light chuckle.

"You better marry this one, son," Michael said before I'd even registered that Damian had come up to us.

"I plan to," he replied, putting his arm around my waist, pulling me in. "I thought we could go home and get some sleep. James was ordered home, and Kurt's got it covered here."

"See? That Elina's got him around her finger," Michael said, winking at me. "I'll help Kurt any way I can. Go rest."

"I was gonna tell you at dinner next week," Damian said, looking at his dad with a small grin, "Isabelle's moving in with me."

"Oh, congratulations!" We were pulled into a hug together, and held there for a little while longer than necessary, but I didn't complain. Michael was amazing. Intimidating and without a doubt dangerous, but amazing. "I can't wait for the housewarming party."

He grinned, looking every bit as wicked as his son did with that same expression, before he wordlessly walked away, taking a long drag of his cigar.