Mikhail

11

The doctor had confirmed my suspicions and concluded that my rib was indeed fractured.

He had told me to take something for the pain and avoid moving too much, which was the last thing I could do right now.

Mikhail had escorted me out of the red room, where the lifeless body of one of their men laid. His ability to kill Mogilevich's men without repercussions haunted me, pointing further into the lack of care the mafia boss held for his soldiers.

In silence I was brought to a grand and luxurious guest bedroom, where fresh clothes had been laid out on the bed for me.

"How long do you plan on keeping me here?" I muttered out, carefully walking further into the room while he remained by the door.

I could escape through the windows, but the fall would be dangerous and not a possibility in my current state. I could barely draw in a deep breath without a burning pain in my chest, let alone start jumping out of buildings. If I was desperate enough to result to such and my ankles survived the fall, it was less than likely I would be able to leave the extensively secured estate.

"Depends," he gruffed out simply, and I felt his heated gaze focused on me observing my new surroundings.

"On what?" I furthered, frustrated and annoyed now that the drugs had worn off and I was able to think somewhat rationally, even in his vicinity.

The kiss had been a completely inappropriate mistake and a total misjudgement on my part. At the time it had helped, but thinking back on it, it shouldn't have happened.

I had no idea why I hadn't just pushed him off at first, and now blamed it on having been in a panicked state. I didn't even want to consider why I had purposefully missed the shot I had fired at him from point-blank range, which would have made life a whole lot easier post-escape.

"It's up to Mogilevich. He wants to speak to you."

I turned around with an angry laugh, meeting his dark eyes with a glare. "I'll kill him with my bare hands."

"I advise you not to," he cleared his throat and straightened his intimidating stance, "if you do, I'll have to kill you."

I raised my brows at him with a challenge and forced my arms to fold over my chest, my torn shirt still hanging open. "You wouldn't dare try."

"Would I not?" he sent me a grin.

My gaze hardened, not appreciating being held here and him ever so pleased about it. I knew he enjoyed bickering with me, because he always managed to win.

"I need to see my father," I gritted out, fighting the urge to sit down onto the bed to ease the pain in my chest.

"I thought he was dead."

My eyes widened involuntarily once I realised what I had let slip, and my heart halted.

I remembered having told him and Mogilevich that my father was dead, as to not have to endanger myself by revealing too much. I brushed it off as nonchalantly as I could and turned my back to him to further observe the bedroom in search of realistic options for escape.

"Wellesley's coming for me," I mused confidently, arms falling to my sides, "you'd be smart to leave before he gets here."

"Since he seems to care about you so much," Mikhail retorted tauntingly, and his footsteps became louder the closer they then neared me. My body tensed, eventually sensing the heat of his body burning into my back. "We'll welcome him in for a talk."

"As if he'd fall for that," I shook my head with a scoffed out laugh, walking toward the windows as an attempt to create space between us and let my rational mind remain in charge.