Mikhail
The sun filtered through the heavy curtains of my study, casting long shadows across the floor where broken glass was still scattered.
I hadn't slept. I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. I saw the way she had looked when she said she had rather die as a Volkov than live as an Orlov.
My chest felt hollow.
I stood before the mirror in my private bathroom with a razor in my hand, preparing for what was coming, not because I feared Nikolas, but because I feared what the outcome would be. The face staring back at me looked older than my thirty-two years.
“Boss?” Dmitri's voice came from the doorway. “The men are ready for the final briefing.”
I dragged the razor across my jaw with practiced precision. “Give me ten minutes.”
“About the woman…”
“Her na
