CHAPTER NINE
1435 Words
MIKHAIL
I didn’t stop myself.
I didn’t stop the rage either—the kind that didn’t explode outward but burned straight through my gut, slow and consuming, like acid poured into flesh.
I had thought betrayal would feel louder than this. I had imagined screaming, smashing, blood spraying everywhere. But this, this was quieter. Heavier. Like something had collapsed inside me and crushed everything underneath it.
I wasn’t even this angry when I learned she had kissed me five years ago because she was a sweet charm who cozied up to me in order to bug me.
Though the truth hurts, it wounds me, yes—but it hadn’t shattered me like this.
The kiss back then had felt… human. Reckless. Like a mistake born out of curiosity, youth, a moment stolen under fireworks. I could almost forgive that. Almost.
But this?
This was different.
The realization that she had burned herself into my memory while belonging to another man, while walking toward a marriage somewhere else, while using me? To achieved a goal for Hudson!!
That was what twisted the knife.
Like a wind, she had wheezed into my life, squeezed herself into my bones, refused to disappear. And now—
Now she was on the ground.
Blood pooled beneath her body, spreading fast, too dark against the concrete. Her chest hitched violently. Each breath looked like it hurt. Like it might be her last.
And I did nothing.
I dared not. I would not save an enemy.
I would not act weak in front of one.
The second the gun went off, something in me snapped into place. Training over instinct. Survival over emotion.
I lunged for Hudson.
Harder than he had ever held me.
I ripped the gun from his hand and slammed him against the nearest car, the impact rattling metal. I pressed the muzzle against his head with enough force to make his teeth clack together.
Anger roared through me, hot and blinding.
Every emotion I had forced down moments earlier came rushing back at once—betrayal, grief, fury, loss—and each one cut deeper than the last.
And to make it worse—
My father had never trained me to cry.
Not when I was beaten. Not when I was kidn*pped. Not even when I learned he was dead.
“Men don’t cry,” he used to say. “It’s a weakness. A taboo. Especially for a Russian man.”
And I was a Petrov.
A mafia heir.
What right did I have to shed tears?
So I didn’t.
I grabbed Hudson by the throat, my forearm crushing his windpipe. He gagged, clawing at my wrist, eyes bulging as I tightened my grip.
What do I do with him?
Kill him.
The thought was clean. Simple. Final.
I was so sure of it—
Until his men surrounded us.
Guns appeared from everywhere. Corners. Shadows. Doorways. Red dots danced across my chest and shoulders.
I pressed the gun harder into Hudson’s skull.
“If anyone moves,” I said coldly, “I kill him.”
My voice didn’t shake.
My men hesitated. His men froze. No one wanted to be the one who caused a misfire.
I didn’t want to lose anyone else tonight.
Not my men.
Not again.
Slowly, cautiously, they fell back.
I dragged Hudson with me toward the limousine, step by step, never loosening my grip. His breath rasped beneath my arm, panic setting in.
My eyes betrayed me then.
They flicked back.
Is she going to die?
Is she going to live?
A part of my heart withered.
This is not how I had dreamt of Dana.
This is not how she had lived in my memory for years. This is not how I thought of her under the fireworks. How she has stood staring at me with those eyes...what am I thinking now!!!
She doesn't matter. She shouldn't matter. I stepped into the opened limousine and pushed Chairman Hudson, my men started firing as they struggled to get into limousine and we drove away.
Far into the night.
Sasha began to ring my phone.
Over and over again. I didn’t answer, I couldn’t. I couldn't take the calls, maybe not ever for I have lost something far more than her itself.
Soon, I was at the airport, leaving America with a painful memory, one that I didn't want to remember, her in the pool of her own blood. Her in need of help, her that I had shot with my own hands.
I did the right thing. A mafia does no wrong. A mafia doesn't harbour emotion, a mafia exists to rule with absolute authority.
DANA
"You killed my son!! How could you!!! How could you kill him!!" Voice of my mother in law echoed into my head, she started shoving until I was wide awake. I looked around me, I was in my bed, lying down.
I clenched my fist.
The lingering hate and pain that have been sitting in my chest for months was recognized again.
I'm going to kill him. I had sworn on my hospital bed as soon as I recovered consciousness weeks later.
I swear on Anthony's grave that I'm going to kill Kyle. Chairman Hudson and The Boss.
Especially Kyle, his eyes still haunted me. His cold eyes before he shot me and those same eyes after he did shoot me.
No remorse, just coldness.
I will bury a bullet into his skull no matter who he thought he was.
Chairman Hudson's words that night have been my daily motivation, it's the reason why I still lived. Maybe that's why I had survived that night despite being shot at a vital spot by that bastard.
I could've died if not for Lucky and Andrew who saved me. I went through tons of surgery till my body couldn't take anymore, or maybe I wanted to take more since it was so unfair for me to die that way. But it dawned on me in crystal clear waters.
That for five years, I had been backing the wrong tree. Chasing shadows. Calling it justice when it was only confusion. I had sensed pieces of the truth surrounding Anthony’s death, but I hadn’t known the hand behind it.
But now I am sure who to fight.
Chairman Hudson squeezed life out of my man. Him and the Boss.
I stood up from the bed to go for a run. I need it. My head needs it to stay calm and before I lose my senses.
When I returned, drenched in sweat and breathing hard, my phone buzzed.
Lucky.
“How are you doing today?” his voice note asked gently. “Just wanted to check on you.”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Another message came through.
Andrew.
"I found the footage."
My breath stalled.
The footage.
That night. Six months ago.
I had searched relentlessly for it—pulled strings, bribed staff, circled that bar like a ghost. They never gave it up. Either Chairman Hudson had silenced them before he disappeared… or Kyle had.
His power had grown overnight after his father’s death. I learned that much later—after my two months trapped in a hospital bed.
Power.
I clenched my jaw.
“Help me release it to the press,” I said, my voice steady with resolve. “Just the part where Hudson spills the truth.”
“Why?” Andrew asked. “Cropping out Petrov?”
“Yes,” I said hoping I'm not lying to myself again. “This won’t make waves if he’s involved.”
I was right.
It didn’t take long for the internet to turn vicious. Netizens tore into Chairman Hudson once Andrew helped me post the clip. Accusations. Speculation. Public outrage.
I smiled as I scrolled. They all wanted him to come out of hiding. I wanted him to. So killing him will be easy.
In front of me was my board—Chairman Hudson. The Boss. Kyle. Their pictures pinned neatly in place, surrounded by names, connections, red lines of cause and consequence. Everyone tied to Anthony’s death stared back at me.
Targets.
I sipped my coffee slowly, committing their faces to memory again.
Now there was another person to hunt.
The Boss.
Andrew confirmed he was in Russia.
That's how I ended up in Russia, Moscow. Sitting in a bar sipping and looking the dishes Russia had to offer. Then I saw him.
Not more than ten feet away.
Seated. Calm. With someone beside him.
Crisp. Changed.
But him.
Kyle.
And he was looking...really looking sternly at me.
- Writer
