Crown of Hate (Soulless Empire)

Chapter 26

26

MIKHAIL

“Your mind’s a million miles away.”

I snap my head to Alexei. He’s watching me with that familiar, probing look—trying to read me like a damn book again. Fucking hell. “I’m listening.”

“Bullshit,” Ilya chimes in from across me, his gaze just as penetrating. “Spill it. What’s eating you?”

I straighten up and steeple my fingers in front of me. “Fascinating, this sudden interest in my personal life. Shouldn’t you channel that energy into something more useful?”

Ilya chuckles. “Oh, I would, but it’s hard to focus when the reason I’m neck-deep in this shitstorm of a war can’t even pay attention.”

I roll my eyes and reach for the glass of tequila in front of me.

With a wave of his hand, Ilya dismisses the room. Only Alexei dares to stay behind, the ballsy bastard.

“Fionn was here.” I shoot Alexei a glance. “Looks like you owe him a debt. He’ll be coming to collect it soon.”

“That son of a bitch,” Alexei growls. Still, his expression remains calm and collected despite the rage simmering in his eyes. “About damn time. I’ve been itching to settle that debt for years.”

I shake my head. “If Fionn is here, it means the Irish mob is back in Chicago.”

“Fuck,” Ilya mutters, voicing what we’re all thinking. “We can’t afford a war with the Bratva in Russia and the Irish here at the same time. We need to deal with Akim and Boris, fast.”

I take a sip of my drink. “I’m going back to Russia in two weeks. Might be a one-way trip.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Alexei and Ilya aren’t exactly known for wearing their hearts on their sleeves, but I can practically taste their panic.

“Planning to die on us, you bastard?” Ilya asks. “Your sister will have my balls if anything happens to you.”

I pretend to cringe. “When did you become such a sentimental sap?”

“Since you became my brother-in-law,” he shoots back.

“Our friendship before that didn’t matter?” I tease back.

“Not after what happened in Russia.”

“What you thought happened in Russia. But we cleared that up didn’t we?”

“Mikhail—"

“Why Russia?” Alexei asks, trying to bring us back on course. It works, and I’m thankful for the excuse.

“Come on, aren’t you two the brightest lads in Chicago?” My lips curl into a razor-sharp smile. “I’m going to reclaim what’s mine. You don’t expect me to rule the Bratva in Russia from Chicago, do you?”

“Shit,” Ilya mutters, downing his drink in one gulp and immediately pouring another. “How the hell am I supposed to keep things running here without you?”

“If all goes according to plan, Semyon and Alexei will return to help you. I still have some loyal men in Russia.”

Alexei gives me a disapproving glare. “Like hell. I’m going wherever you’re going. I?—”

“You’ll take my place here as second-in-command,” I cut him off. “And take care of whatever business you have with the Irish mob. I’m not changing my mind.”

Ilya and Alexei exchange a look, then sigh in unison. They know better than to argue.

Ilya is the first to speak. “Akim won’t be an easy target. He’s more cunning than Ivan ever was.”

“He won’t sit on his ass if he catches wind of your return to Russia,” Alexei adds. “He’ll kill Boris and take over the second he smells you coming.”

“That’s why I plan on tricking him.” I’ve thought it through and considered all the possibilities. It’s risky, but it’s our best shot. With my men, a direct confrontation would cost too many lives, and tipping him off would only give him time to prepare. No, the only way to end this swiftly is with the element of surprise. His guard will be down if he thinks he knows my next move.

“What’s the plan?” Ilya asks, a cocky smile growing on his face.

I turn to Alexei. “Put some eyes on Akim and Boris. Make sure they know they’re watched, but don’t overdo it. We want them uneasy, not paranoid.”

“You’re buying time,” Ilya says, catching on quick.

“Exactly. If Akim thinks I’m still plotting my next move, he won’t see the knife coming until it’s buried in his back.”

“And Alya?” he asks.

“She’s coming to Russia with me,” I say, swirling the last of my tequila.

Ilya clears his throat. “Mikhail, this is war we’re talking about. Let me keep her safe here. You can come back for her when the dust settles.”

I huff. “Not a chance in hell. She goes where I go. I can’t trust anyone else with her safety. I’ll die protecting her if I have to, and my most trusted men will be with us in Russia.”

“We’re more than friends, Mikhail,” Ilya says calmly. “We’re brothers. She’s your woman, and that means I’d give up my life for her without hesitation.”

I shake my head. “I can’t allow that. I already owe Kira for the years I left her on her own. She loves you more than anything, so I won’t put that responsibility on you. If anything, just promise me you’ll look after her.”

He lifts his glass in a solemn toast. “You have my word.”

We clink glasses and drink, sealing the promise.

“Enough about mafia business. What had you so distracted earlier?” Alexei asks with a mischievous grin. “I know it wasn’t Fionn. That bastard can’t rattle you like that.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Ilya chimes in.

I fall silent for a moment, recalling my earlier fuck-up. ‘I love you.’ Three simple words that had left me frozen, unable to say a damn thing back. I fucked up royally, and I have a feeling Alya’s livid. Rightfully so.

“We didn’t fight. I was just a world-class idiot.” I swig the rest of my drink and lean back in my seat. “She told me she loves me, and I… I choked.”

Alexei’s eyes narrow on me. “By ‘choked,’ you mean…”

“I didn’t say it back. Couldn’t get the words out,” I answer honestly. In our world, showing weakness is a death sentence. But if I can’t share stuff like this with my best friend and the guy who gave up everything to follow me to Chicago, who can I trust?

Alexei’s loyalty is unshakeable. He has stuck by my side for years, never questioning my leadership, never betraying me, even when he had everything to gain by siding with Akim. And Ilya, well, we have our history, plus he’s family now.

Ilya hisses, glaring at me as if I’m the universe’s biggest idiot. And I don’t blame him. Even I think I’m one.

“How the hell did we end up friends? I thought someone in my sphere would be better at this whole romance thing. But you’re absolutely shit, man,” he drawls, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“That’s rich coming from you, the ‘master of romance’ who knew jack shit about romance until he met my sister,” I taunt back.

My mind drifts back to Alya and that angry glower she gave me before she left. My chest constricts, and my heart starts pounding against my ribs.

“Why didn’t you tell her you love her?” Ilya asks. “And don’t even try to bullshit me about not loving her back,” he adds before I can open my mouth.

“What if something happens to me during this war with Akim? She wouldn’t survive if she knew how I truly feel about her.”

“No, you idiot. You have to tell her for that very reason. If something happens to you, she deserves to know how you feel. To know she wasn’t just some pawn you used.”

I rub my forehead. He’s right, damn him. But the thought of saying those words, words I never thought I’d say to anyone… it’s terrifying. It’s complicated, messy, and I’m not sure I’m ready to explore that emotional abyss just yet.

She deserves to know, Ilya’s words echo through my mind.

I finish my drink and grab my suit jacket draped on the backrest. “I’m going home.” I look at Alexei. “You coming?”

“Sorry, man. But I’ve got some tension to work off, if you catch my drift. It’s been way too fucking long.”

I wince. “Gross, asshole.”

His laughter follows me as I walk out through the VIP door and leave the club. The drive home is a blur, and I find myself sitting in the driveway for a good half hour, wrestling with my thoughts.

I have two choices: go inside and bare my soul to my wife or keep playing the emotionless idiot. Alya has awakened a part of me I never knew existed. She cares for me, loves me, even when I’ve been nothing but an asshole. I don’t deserve her—that much I know for sure. Still, I can’t—won’t—let her go, because at the end of the day, I’m a selfish, possessive bastard.

And maybe, just maybe, I’m also a man in love.

With a deep breath, I turn off the engine and head inside. The manor is unnervingly quiet. Usually, I come back home to the sound of Alya chatting with the maids and staying up to wait for me—not tonight.

I take the stairs two at a time, my heart in my throat as I approach our bedroom. To my surprise, Alya’s not asleep. She’s sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, focused on a book in her hands. A thin-laced nightgown is wrapped loosely around her body. I swallow at the sight of her. Fucking gorgeous as always.

But she doesn’t even look up as I gently shut the door behind me.

“Hey,” I gently prod. Fuck. Nothing makes me as anxious as this tiny woman. She really does have me wrapped around her finger. “I’ve been a bastard.”

She swallows, keeping her eyes fixed on her book. “That’s nothing new.”

I take a step closer to her. “Look?—”

Before I can start, she scrunches her nose and takes a big exaggerated sniff.

“You stink.”

“Excuse me?”

Finally, her gaze rips off the page and onto me. There isn’t as much rage there as I expected. Mostly, she just looks disappointed. Sad.

My heart balls into a fist. If anyone else made her look this sad, I’d kill them. But what do I do when I’m the one who broke her like this?

“I said you smell… like booze…”

“I may have had a few drinks down at the bar.”

She lifts her eyebrow. “A few?”

“You’re mad at me,” I say, lifting my arm to take a discreet sniff of myself. She’s right.

“I’m not mad…”

“Well, you’re not happy, and I can’t have that. But you’re right, I stink. I’ll take a shower, then we can talk.”

“About what?”

“You know.”

Her defiant shoulders seem to sink under my words. My chest aches. I need to make this right. And that starts with washing this cowardly stench from my skin.

With a short nod, I turn away and walk to the bathroom, half expecting her to follow me. She doesn’t.

So, I strip off my clothes in silence and step into the shower, groaning as the hot water hits my flesh. The heat works its way into my muscles, loosening the tension that’s coiled tight in my body. But it does nothing to calm the storm in my head.

What the hell am I doing? Why couldn’t I just say it back to her? Just three simple words, but they feel like weight dragging me down, suffocating me. I’ve stared death in the face countless times, but the thought of opening up to Alya, of being that vulnerable, somehow has me paralyzed.

Maybe I didn’t really need a shower. Maybe I just wanted to hide.

Coward.

I press my forehead against the cool tiles while the water pours over me like rain. It’s always been easy to shut off emotions, to keep people at arm’s length. But Alya isn’t just anyone—she’s my wife, my woman. Damn it. And I fucking love her.

I close my eyes, letting the warmth seep into my bones, trying to find some clarity.

Before I can latch on to anything, though, I hear the bathroom door creak open. My eyes open and I turn around to see Alya walking in.

Her red nightgown drags along the tiles, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. From behind the steamy glass shower door, she looks utterly angelic. But that splash of red reminds me of all the pain she’s been through… and of all the hurt I’ve caused.

“Join me?” I offer, edging the shower door open. I’m not expecting her to accept, but I can’t think of anything else. I need her close to me.

Alya looks down at her feet, clearly weighed down by conflict.

“Would you let me say no?” she whispers, barely audible over the shower.

I harden my resolve.

“I think we both know the answer.”

She sighs, looking up at me, hunger and conflict dancing in her eyes.

“Then I might as well get something out of you.”

“Anything.” I hold out a hand to her, inviting her in.

Holding my gaze, she slides off the robe, then takes my hand and steps under the water. Her soft body presses against mine, and I inhale deeply. She smells different tonight—sweet, like roses instead of her usual vanilla.

It’s a small change, but it catches me off guard. So much for resolve. I wrap my hand around her waist and pull her closer until she’s fully drenched. Her body molds to mine, and I’m instantly rock hard against her. Everything is heightened—the heat, the steam, the intoxicating feel of her skin against mine.

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” she mumbles.

God, I want to fuck her like I’ve never fucked a woman. No. That’s not it. I don’t want to fuck Alya. I want to make love to her. To lose myself in her completely. I’m dying for it. But first, I need to address what happened earlier.

“I heard you the first time,” I say, unable to help myself. She’s at her best when she’s fighting me. But it can’t be all rage and hate this time. I need to show her how I feel, even if I can’t bring myself to say it yet. “And I agree.”

I begin to pepper a trail of kisses along her neck, reveling in the way her breath hitches and her body arches into me. Her moan is soft, almost lost in the sound of the water, but it’s there—a sweet melody that has me throbbing for more.

“Just because you accept it doesn’t mean I forgive you,” she rasps, her hands reaching to my chest. Her fingers furl and unfurl like she isn’t sure whether to pull me closer or push me away for good.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I murmur against her neck. “I fucked up.”

She stiffens slightly, then lets out a harsh breath as I flip her around and cup her tits from behind. “For what? The girl… or the words you refused to say?”

“Both.” My hand slides between her legs, fingers parting her folds. Even through the water, I can tell she’s already wet. Soaking. “Sasha was nothing to me. Just a fucktoy to use and throw away.” My thumb circles over her clit in slow, deliberate strokes.

Alya’s moans grow loude. “Is that what I am to you?”

“No. You’re so much more. You… You’re everything to me.”

“But you don’t love me.” Her voice cracks, a mix of frustration and resignation that pierces through me like a knife. I go weak when she pushes back against me, her hips buckling as she grinds against my hand. “You forced me into this marriage because of my father. You’ll toss me aside when you’re done using me.”

“No, malyshka .” I drop to one knee, spreading her legs wider and positioning my head between them. “I worship you.”

When I swipe my tongue over her folds, we both groan. She’s so fucking delicious. “You’re mine, Alya. And I’m yours. Forever.”

She grabs my hair and throws her head back, crying out as I dip my tongue inside her.

Her back arches and her grip tightens as I suck on her clit, using my fingers and tongue to lead it in rhythmic circles. Each stroke, each lick, is a silent plea for her to understand, to feel what I can’t always put in words.

I fucking love her.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice shaky with raw need. “I need this. I-I need you…”

She has no idea what hearing that does to me. It’s like a shot of adrenaline straight into my veins. “I’m far from done with you,” I rumble.

“Fuck!”

She cries out when I slide a finger inside of her, then press my tongue against her swollen nub and devour her like the feast she is.

“You keep me so well fed, malyshka . How kind of you.”

I can taste her through the pouring water and it drives me wild. I’m absolutely ravenous. I need more. My hands are greedy, my mouth insatiable. Her moans mix with my groans, her body melting into mine as I pleasure her like our lives depend on it.

And maybe they do. Because I’m not sure I want anything to do with a life that isn’t spent with her. That isn’t dedicated to making her happy. To making her erupt .

“I’m yours,” I huff. “All yours. Forever.”

I feel her shudder under my touch, her body convulsing, her moans becoming more ragged and needy.

“Goddamnit, Mikhail. I hate you. I fucking lo—” Her voice cuts off, replaced by a cry that’s sweeter than any words.

I know what she’s trying to say, and I’m desperate to hear it again. The words caught me off guard earlier, but now they’re all I want to hear. I’m ready to make the same confession back to her.

“Say it!” I demand, nibbling on her clit a little before pushing up another finger inside her.

Her eyes roll back, her body stifling. “Not again.”

“Say. It.”

I gently pull at her clit with my teeth and her entire body rattles.

“Fine!” she cries, before hushing into a whisper. “I love you… Happy?”

“Fuck,” I grunt. Hearing my wife whisper her love for me as I make her cum is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. My body electrifies. “Not happy. Ecstatic.”

She tightens around me, her core clenching as I push her over the edge. Her cries cut through the water and fill the steam.

When she finally collapses against me, panting, trying to catch her breath, I pull my fingers out and hold her, waiting until she comes down from her high before I tell her the words she needs to hear. Words I mean with all my heart.

Gripping her cheeks in both hands, I stare deep into her hazy eyes.

“I fucking love you.”

This time, she’s the one who freezes. Her pupils dilate as she looks at me, completely stunned. “… What did you just say?”

I respond with a kiss. It’s the hardest I’ve ever kissed anyone before, but it doesn’t matter… not until she starts kissing back.

Then, it feels like heaven.