Crown of Hate (Soulless Empire)

Chapter 11

11

MIKHAIL

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll start thinking you want me, not my sister.”

Ilya’s jaw clenches at my comment, a telltale twitch betraying his struggle not to smile. Since we entered my mansion’s bar, he’s been burning holes through me with his stare, as if I’ve suddenly sprouted devil horns.

He hasn’t uttered a word yet, but I can read the reason behind his serious demeanor—it’s about Alya, no doubt.

I grab two shot glasses and a bottle of scotch, then return to the oakwood bar. Dropping onto a stool next to him, I fill our glasses with a generous pour. Ilya’s gaze remains fixed on me as he downs his drink, wincing at the burn.

He slams the glass down with enough force to rattle the bar top, and I refill it without hesitation. It’s a routine as familiar as breathing by now.

“Don’t take it personally that you weren’t at my wedding. It was an emergency—no time for fancy invitations.”

Ilya’s eyes narrow. “No time, or you knew I’d throw a wrench in your plans?”

“Both,” I admit, gulping down half my drink in one go. “Besides, I didn’t think I needed your blessing to get married.”

“I am your Pakhan.”

I raise a finger. “You’re Pakhan of the Bratva here in Chicago.” Andrei retired a year ago to be with his family, leaving Ilya in charge. But that doesn’t mean he controls me.

“You work for me, Mikhail. I don’t give two shits about what you’re trying to achieve in Russia. Until you do so, I am your Pakhan.”

“And that means I should roll over and play lapdog to your every whim?” I’ve never been one to follow orders. I do what I want, when I want it. Ilya knows that better than anyone. It’s why I can’t ever bow to that bastard Boris. He’s nothing but a puppet. A puppet I foolishly placed on my throne, who stabbed me in the back and is now after my head.

My fist clenches. I can’t wait to gut that bastard.

“No, it doesn’t. You’re my friend and brother-in-law before anything else.” He rakes his fingers through his hair as if grasping for the right words. “I’m worried about you, Mikhail. You’re playing with fire.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. The girl is harmless.” But even as I say it, I know it’s not entirely true. Alya’s become a constant thought at the back of my head, her smile and scent addictive in ways that are far from harmless. It’s a problem I need to address soon before it consumes me entirely.

“She’s Ivan Orlov’s daughter,” Ilya hisses. His jaw clenches and there’s nothing but rage in his eyes. “Her father was a monster. She could be worse.”

His concerns aren’t baseless. In fact, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered the same when I first met Alya. But now? After getting close to her? She’s nothing like the beast who raised her. She’s like a cute little kitten; even her bites are nothing but sweet and charming.

Love bites, they call it.

“She’s nothing like him, Ilya.” The defensiveness in my voice surprises even me. “Alya wouldn’t even hurt a fly, let alone match her father’s crimes. She’s… pure and kind.” I wouldn’t have let her within a mile of my heart otherwise. And yet, here she is, nestled so deep I’m not sure I could remove her if I tried.

He shakes his head in disbelief and drains his second glass. “You’re cunt-whipped.”

“Look who’s talking.” I still haven’t completely forgiven him for getting with my sister behind my back. But they love each other, and he was here for her when I couldn’t be. When I was too busy playing dead.

“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back to stare aimlessly at the neon lights flickering overhead. The colorful glow paints his face in a kaleidoscope of hues, highlighting the worry lines on his forehead.

Ilya has always been the voice of reason, the one who sees through my carefully constructed facade and calls me out on my bullshit. But this time, it's different. This time, it's about Alya. And for once, I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say.

He doesn’t trust me not to let the attraction I have for her blind me. But he should know I’m smarter than that. I’ve survived this long in our world by keeping my wits about me. I won’t let a woman—no matter how irresistible she is—be my downfall.

“Listen, Ilya, I’m not some clueless rookie. I know what I’m doing,” I begin, my voice tight with frustration. “She… She really is different. There’s something about her that sets her apart from her father. I can’t explain it, but it’s true. I swear. So just give her a chance before you write her off as Ivan’s carbon copy.”

He regards me skeptically, brow furrowed “And what if you're wrong, Mikhail? What if she's just playing you, waiting for the perfect moment to strike? She thinks you killed her father, doesn’t she?”

She does, and I don’t give a damn that she does. Ivan deserved his fate. It was payback for the women and children he destroyed in his ruthless pursuit of power and wealth.

I’m no saint, but women and children are my red line. Men like Ivan, however, don’t create boundaries —they’ll cross whatever line there is to get what they want. “Her father was a monster. She would hate him if she knew all the atrocities he committed.”

But even as I speak the words, doubt gnaws at the edges of my mind. What if I really am blinded by my own desires? What if Alya really doesn’t care about my reasons for what happened?

Ilya's gaze softens, a flicker of understanding passing between us. He may not agree with my choices, but he respects them nonetheless. “Just promise me you'll be careful, Mikhail. I don't want to see you get hurt. And I don’t want any problems with the Bratva.”

I nod, knowing that his words come from a place of genuine concern. “I'll do whatever it takes to protect everything you’ve built. Even if it means putting myself in harm's way.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Fuck what I’ve built. It’s you I’m worried about. Kira will never forgive me if anything happens to you. She lost you once; she won’t survive losing you again.”

“She won’t lose me. I’m not an easy man to kill.” I take a sip of my drink. The liquid burns down my throat, a welcome distraction from the intensity of Ilya’s gaze.

“So, what happens now?” Ilya asks. “You took her. Akim won’t let it pass. The girl was the former Pakhan’s daughter. She’s valuable to him.”

A devilish smirk plays on my lips. “She’s even more valuable to him now. She’ll be my key to the Russian Bratva.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What’s brewing in that pretty head of yours.”

Asides from fantasies of pinning Alya to my bed and fucking her, I’m thinking of the hundreds of ways I can use her against Boris and Akim. Should I let them hide the truth or use it against them?

Sure, Alya will get hurt in the process, but that will be just collateral damage. I want to believe that lie so badly, but I know I’d burn the world to ashes if she’s ever hurt because of me or anyone else.

“You’ll find out soon.” I can’t begin to imagine Alya’s reaction when she finds out the entire truth. I’ll have to reveal it to her soon, but only after I’ve used it to my advantage.

Ilya scoffs. “You’re a madman.”

I chuckle. “That’s why we’re friends.”

Silence bubbles between us for a moment.

“What will you do with the girl after all of this is over?” he asks. “Will you keep her or let her go?”

“Haven’t decided yet. She has me wrapped around her pretty finger, and she doesn’t even know it. Letting her go… it’s not on the table.”

He tilts his head. “Fair. I hate to admit this, but she seems the charming type. She’s already won Kira over.”

I smile, picturing Kira and Alya as best friends. After our father died and she believed I was dead, Kira grew up too fast. She dedicated her life to becoming a journalist and didn’t get to live the life she deserved. She doesn’t even have friends.

My chest tightens with the knowledge that it’s all my fault my sister lived that way. If I hadn’t gone to Russia and faked my death, none of that would have happened.

Regardless, I would be more than happy if she and Alya became friends. They match each other’s energy, and they’ll have each other to rely on when they can’t rely on me and Ilya.

“Kira’s a charmer too. I think they’ll get along just fine,” I say simply.

My phone rings, and I pull it from my pocket. Semyon’s number flashes on the screen.

I answer. “What is it?”

“Something’s wrong, chief. Where are you?”

I lock eyes with Ilya, adrenaline already flooding my system. In our world, something’s wrong can mean a lot of things. Shipments could have gone missing, or an enemy could be making a move.

If it’s the latter, with Kira and Alya here… fuck. I’ll paint this mansion red with the blood of anyone who dares to threaten them.

“My place. In the bar with Ilya. What happened?”

“Stay put. I’m on my way.” Semyon hangs up without answering my question, which makes me even more anxious.

“What’s going on?” Ilya asks, his face mirroring my own worried expression.

I jump to my feet and head for the secret room where I keep weapons stashed. I have many such rooms throughout the mansion for situations like this.

Pressing the top of a bottle that isn’t actually a drink, the door slides open, revealing an arsenal. Larger guns line the wall, while smaller firearms, knives, and daggers are displayed on a glass shelf.

“He didn’t say, but we should get ready for anything.”

I tuck two guns in my holster. Ilya grabs an Ak47.

I text my bodyguards to be on alert, ordering them to stand guard and be prepared to attack if necessary.

“We have to get to Kira and Alya,” Ilya says.

I nod, and we trudge out of the bar, weapons at the ready. We find both girls sitting in the living room, sipping coffee and chatting.

Alya’s eyes widen at the gun I’m holding. “What is that for?”

“Kira, get behind me,” Ilya orders my sister. He glances at Alya. “Stay behind him. Do not move unless we tell you to.”

Heavy footsteps thunder outside as my men take cover. As Pakhan, Ilya wouldn’t go anywhere without bodyguards, so I’m sure his men are ready for an attack too.

Alya positions herself behind me. Her breath comes in short, panicked gasps. I take her hand in mine and squeeze it reassuringly.

Moments later, the door flies open, and Semyon bursts in. He’s sweaty, bloody, and panting heavily.

“The fuck, Semyon. What happened?” He doubles over, struggling to catch his breath. When he finally speaks, the words hit me like a physical blow. “The warehouse… was attacked.”

I grunt angrily. “Who did it?”

“No fucking clue… But they weren’t Russians,” he gasps. “I heard them speak… Italian.”

“Did we lose any men?”

“Twelve of ours. Gone.”

“Fuck!” I roar, rage boiling over. All I see is red, and all I want to do is murder whoever is responsible for this. “And the weapons?”

“They took everything,” he says, defeat heavy in his voice.

I turn to my sister and wife. “Stay here. Neither of you move an inch until I say otherwise.”

Kira looks ready to argue, but Alya’s eyes are clouded with worry. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I answer, but my voice is strained. I won’t be fucking fine until I’ve gotten my pound of flesh. Those men invaded my warehouse, stole from me, and killed my men. They won’t get away with it.

She nods. “Don’t worry, we’ll be right here.”

I give her hand one final squeeze before I release it and start for the door. Ilya kisses Kira on the forehead and follows me. Semyon joins us.

Back in the bar, I’m pouring myself another glass of tequila. “Explain what happened.”

“We were taking inventory of the shipments when we were suddenly attacked,” Semyon says. I fill the glass Ilya had been using and pass it to Semyon. He takes it gratefully. “There was a shootout. Only five of us survived, and they came prepared.”

I squint. “Prepared how?”

“They came with a truck, and there were at least forty men.” He gulps down the tequila. “It seems they already knew about the shipment and planned for tonight.”

“You said they weren’t Russian?”

He shakes his head. “If they were, I couldn’t tell. They spoke only Italian.”

I steeple my fingers under my chin, deep in thought. While the Italians aren’t my allies, things with them have been going smoothly. I see no reason why they would attack me.

“Did you check the CCTV?” Ilya asks.

“They were disabled. All of them,” Semyon answers. “Someone must have leaked our shipment schedule.”

I hiss. “So you’re saying it could have been an inside job?”

He nods. “That’s the only explanation for what happened.”

I rack my brain, but nothing adds up. The Italians have no reason to attack me, unless someone gave them one. “Set up a meeting with them for tomorrow night,” I order. “Get yourself cleaned up and rest. You’re a bloody mess.”

Semyon nods, finishes his drink, and leaves.

“What now?” Ilya asks, his tone cautious.

I down the last of my drink. “Take Kira home. I’m going to check the warehouse for myself.”

Those weapons were worth millions of dollars. I don’t care if I have to go to the ends of the earth to find out who took them; I can’t just let this go. I’m striding towards the door when Ilya calls my name.

“Mikhail!”

I stop walking, but I don’t turn around to face him. My fury is so intense that the line between friend and foe is a little blur right now.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns. “Don’t risk your life.”

I ignore him and leave.

This is war.