Crown of Hate (Soulless Empire)

Chapter 28

28

MIKHAIL

“What the hell do you mean you lost them?” I bark, pacing my study. My trigger finger itches. It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to shoot these two incompetent assholes in their fucking heads right now.

Igor and Dimitri stand before me, heads bowed like scolded schoolboys. Neither of them has the balls to give me a straight answer. But their silence speaks volumes, and it’s pissing me off even more.

Sure, my sister is a speed demon, but how in the name of all that’s holy did she manage to win a race against two men who’ve spent most of their miserable lives driving recklessly?

And Alya—my wife, my everything—why is she so dead set against having bodyguards? She’s complained about them before, but it makes no sense for her to be so strongly against it. Why would she and Kira go out of their way to avoid them? Unless…

A cold dread settles in my gut. They’re hiding something. They’re going somewhere Alya doesn’t want me to know about.

I whip out my phone and try to call Alya. One ring. Two. Three. Nothing. Same story with Kira. Radio silence from both of them, and my stomach’s tying itself in knots.

“We’ll find them, Chief,” Igor says.

I freeze mid-pace, fixing him with a glare that could melt steel. “Last time you spouted that bullshit, Akim had my wife in his car and threatened her. Remind me why I haven’t already chopped both your heads off.”

They don’t say anything, and I know they’ve been waiting for that other foot to drop since that incident. But I guess I’ve been a little fucking busy. Too busy to be as ruthless as I should be, as I once was.

Alya has changed me. And it might be the death of her.

“It won’t happen again, Chief,” Dimitri assures. “We’ll find her.”

I snarl. “If anything happens to her, you’re both dead men walking. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear, Chief,” they answer in unison.

“I won’t fucking forget it this time.”

Goddamnit.

I wave them off like the useless flies they are. Once they’re gone, I collapse back into my chair, rubbing my temples. Think, Mikhail, think. Kira wouldn’t take Alya somewhere dangerous; that much I know. But my sister can be reckless sometimes. And we’re supposed to leave for Russia tomorrow, for fuck’s sake.

If anything happens to Alya, my plans will be ruined.

I will be ruined.

A knock at the door interrupts my spiraling thought. Before I can bark out a response, Alexei saunters in, eyeing me carefully as he takes in my disheveled state. “You look pissed.”

“Careful, Alexei. I might just use you as a punching bag to blow off some steam,” I warn.

The motherfucker has the nerve to laugh. “Last time we got into a brawl, you won. Don’t get cocky, though. I’ve been working out.”

“Good. You’ll need all the strength you can get for your Irish tango.” I sigh. “I need a necklace with a tracker. Think you can make that happen?”

His brow raises. “For Alya?”

“No, as a token of our undying bromance,” I say sardonically with a roll of my eyes. “Of course it’s for Alya, you idiot.” I’m fucking stressed, and I don’t have the energy for witty banter until she’s back safe. I should have put a tracker in her phone.

Alexei winces. “I’ll get on the necklace ASAP.”

“Make it expensive. Diamonds. Forward the options to my email, and I’ll pick one she can’t resist.”

He nods. “About our trip tomorrow, Semyon is prepping the jet. Anything else you need?”

I shake my head. “That’ll do. Just… I need my wife back. Safe.”

The next three hours are pure torture. I’m glued to my phone, willing it to ring, to chime, to give me any sign that Alya’s okay. But the silence stretches on, mocking me.

My worry’s morphing into full-blown panic with each passing second, and I’ll be damned if I sit here twiddling my thumbs for another moment.

Snatching my phone from the table, I stand up and make my way downstairs. I’m halfway across the foyer when the front door swings open.

My heart stops. Then restarts with a vengeance.

Alya walks in, and I’m ready to unleash hell, but it all melts away when her cloudy eyes meet mine.

This isn’t the same bubbly woman who left home this morning. She looks… broken. Scared.

I’m at her side in an instant, pulling her close. “What happened? Are you okay?”

She lowers her gaze to the ground. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. You don’t look fine.” I’ve only seen that look on her face once before—when she found out Akim was her biological father. Something’s very wrong, I can feel it. But I can’t help her if she won’t let me in. “Talk to me, Alya. What’s going on?”

Grace’s voice drifts from the kitchen, barking orders at the other housekeepers. Alya flinches slightly.

“Can we talk in our bedroom?” Alya asks quietly.

“Sure.”

I guide her upstairs, my hand on the small of her back, a silent promise of support as my mind races through all the worst-case scenarios. Is she sick? Is it something serious? A knot tightens in my stomach, and I can barely keep my hand steady on her back.

She goes straight to the bed and perches on the edge of it, looking small and vulnerable. I want to wrap her in my arms, but I force myself to give her space. She takes a deep breath, then begins to speak. “I went to the hospital today. I’ve been feeling… off lately.”

Air stalls in my lungs. I’ve noticed her lack of appetite, even had Grace whip up her favorites. Nothing helped. “Are you sick?”

She shakes her head. “I’m pregnant.”

My eyes widen, and my jaw falls open. I feel something in my chest, a burst of happiness building at the speed of a hurricane. I don’t think I heard her right. I need to be sure. “You’re… what?”

“Pregnant.” She straightens up. “Look, Mikhail. I know this probably isn’t what you wanted. It might feel too soon, but I want this baby, and I’m willing to raise the child on my own if I have to. You don’t need to worry about us becoming a burden on you?—”

“I’m going to be a father?” I cut her off, my voice barely a whisper. My heart is doing a drum solo against my ribs, and I feel like I might spontaneously combust from sheer joy.

She stops mid-sentence and studies my face like she’s trying to decode a cipher. “Yes. I’m five weeks along already.”

The next few moments are a blur. Suddenly, I’m laughing and sweeping her into a bear hug. I’m riding a high that puts every drug to shame. It’s like I’ve just been handed something I’ve always craved but never dared to hope for.

I’m buzzing with an emotion I can’t even name. My hand finds Alya’s stomach, and I stare into her eyes in awe. There’s a tiny life growing in there. Half me, half her. A living, breathing symbol of our love. If this is a dream, I want to live in it forever.

“Are you… happy?” she asks cautiously, still watching me intently, almost like she can’t believe my reaction.

“Happy?” I drop to one knee and take her hands in mine. “Alya, this is the happiest moment of my life. You have no idea how excited I am.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I was worried you weren’t ready for this. That you wouldn’t want this baby.”

“You really thought that?”

She nods, and my heart breaks a little.

I can’t blame her. It’s not like I’ve been husband of the year so far. I haven’t given her much reason to believe I’d be a good enough father either. I’ve been too caught up in Bratva business, too wrapped up in my own world that I never showed her how much I’ve always longed for a child. But I swear to every god listening, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving myself to her after all of this is over. It’s a promise I make to her in my heart.

I cup her stomach again, desperate to feel some connection to the tiny life inside, even though I know it’s far too early to feel anything. The idea of becoming a father has wiped out my common sense, and I don’t mind one bit. I’m savoring every moment of this experience.

“I’ll love our child. I’ll protect them with every fiber of my existence.” I cradle her delicate face with my other hand. “I’ll protect both of you and give you all the love and care you deserve. That’s a promise, Alya.”

A single tear rolls down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away. “I believe you, Mikhail. I know you will.”

I blink rapidly, fighting back my own tears from falling. I’m not used to feeling this way, so raw and open. Alya has brought out the most human part of me, and I owe her everything for it. She has made me see that there’s more to life than power and control. There’s love… real love, and now there’s family.

She rests her head on my chest, and I wrap my arms around her. She’s small, radiating barely any heat, but in this moment, she’s my entire world and everything is perfect.

Tomorrow, we’re off to Russia, and God knows what waits for us there. But tonight, I just want to hold on to this precious moment. “Alya,” I murmur into her hair.

She looks up at me, those gorgeous eyes shining. “Yes, husband?”

“Do you think he’ll look like me?” I ask, gazing at her like she’s the eighth wonder of the world. Because to me, she is.

Her brows knit together. “He?. You think they’ll be a boy?”

“I don’t think. I know he’ll be a boy,” I say with absolute certainty. I can feel it.

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “You can’t be that sure.”

I smile back at her. My God, I still can’t believe this stunning, fierce, loving woman is mine. It still feels like a dream. “What if I told you I am?”

“Then I won’t argue.” She loops her arms around my neck, lips pursed playfully. “But what if it’s a girl?’

“Then I’ll love her just as fiercely, and pray she looks just like you,” I answer honestly. “But trust me, it’s a boy.”

She chuckles and sticks out her pinky. “Let’s make a deal. You’ll get to name him if it’s a boy. But if it’s a girl, I’ll get to name her. Deal?”

I link my pinky with hers. “Deal.” Without warning, I scoop her up in my arms. “Now, how about I give you a nice, relaxing bath?”

She laughs, pinching my nose. “Only if you promise to behave yourself.”

I brush a light kiss across her lips, then carry her to the bathroom. Setting her down, I turn on the tap. “Don’t worry, I’ll be the perfect gentleman. I just want to talk more about our son. Should I teach him to ride a bike first or play soccer?”

She pokes my arm as if she’s trying to snap me out of a daydream. “He’s barely the size of a sesame seed! Isn’t it a little early to be thinking about that?”

I unzip her dress and help her out of it. “It’s never too early. What do you think is an appropriate age for firearm training?”

She glares daggers at me, but it’s not enough to deter me. I’ll die from excitement if I don’t let it all out now. “No guns,” she says sternly. “Not until they’re old enough.”

I tap my lips thoughtfully. “I feel like ‘fresh out of the womb’ is old enough.”

“Mikhail!”

I throw my hands up in surrender. “Alright, ma’am. No guns… until later.“

“Good boy.”

I carry her into the bathtub, then strip down to join her. For the next hour, we soak while chatting about everything from life in the Bratva to my mansion in Russia. She listens, fascinated and engaged as I fill her in on all the things she needs to know.

After our bath, we curl up in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. She drifts off first, her little snores quickly filling the room, a soothing melody that makes my heart swell.

Tomorrow, we leave for Russia. If things go wrong, I might never see her beautiful face again. So tonight, I’m staying awake to watch her sleep and commit every detail of her serene expression into memory.

And maybe brainstorm some names for our unborn son.