LANA
My eyes widen, my voice crawling out of whatever hole it hid in.
"Oh my Goddess! Mikhail! It's you! You look so..." I say aloud, shaking my head in amazement. My voice lowers. "Different."
Mikhail grins, revealing the type of dentition you only see on magazine covers and commercials. His tongue grazes over full lips, a casual gesture that shouldn't be as distracting as it is.
"Look at you — so grown up and handsome. The ladies never get the last of you, do they?" I giggle, my fingers tapping the counter before I realize I'm doing it.
Mikhail's chuckle is low, dry. His eyes don't move from mine — steady, assessing, like he's seeing through the version of me I've built since junior school.
"I never thought I'd see you again," he says, voice carrying that faint rasp that makes it sound almost dangerous. "You just disappeared without saying goodbye."
Mikhail leans in as he drags a stool closer, and I catch a whiff of his perfume — pinewood, cedar. Yup, definitely expensive. He doesn't break eye contact, not even when he settles beside me.
"And you were here all this time…" his lips twitch into a faint smirk, "so what brings you out tonight, Lilith?"
"Well, what can I say? What does it look like?" I sigh, reaching for another shot glass.
"Bad breakup," Mikhail says, arching a brow, as if daring me to deny it.
My lips quirk."Bingo!" I raise my glass in a mock cheers. "Is it that obvious though?"
Mikhail doesn't grace me with an answer, just a slight smirk, then orders a shot.
"I'm serious. On a scale of one to ten, how bad do I look?"
"Worse than Pennywise," Mikhail deadpans, lips twitching with suppressed amusement.
I gape at him, half-offended, half-relieved by the absurdity.
"That was rude!" I swat at his arm lightly, holding back a smile.
"Wow, Lilith. That's a hell of a way to greet your old crush." At the mention of crush, my smile drops. Old me would die smiling to hear Mikhail Orlov, the hottest junior boy in St. George High School, son of one of the biggest Alpha's in Europe, had a crush on me. That's because I was obsessed with him.
"This is new." My voice comes out as a whisper, and I clear my throat. "How come I'm only finding out today?"
"Because you were too absorbed being the class nerd to notice, Anytime I looked at you you'd look away" he snorts.
What Mikhail doesn't know is that anytime I saw him, my first instinct was to blush and head in the opposite direction. Pathetically embarrassing.
"I'll remember to pay attention to other people in the future." An awkward silence follows. "How about you? What are you doing in my country?"
"Your country, huh?" His tone dips somewhere between teasing and thoughtful. "Let's just say... I'm expanding my territory."
I don't know if it's just me, but there's something about the way he stares at me — long lashes flutter slowly through a half-lidded gaze and that perpetual smirk I find contagious.
"More like the family dynasty if my memory is anything to go by," I correct. The Orlovs were – and probably still are – known throughout Russia. Growing up, there were rumours of them tied to the bratva. I never knew if it was true, but they were powerful – and filthy rich at the time.
Mikhail smirks. "Rumors," he says, swirling the drink in his glass. "People love stories more than truth."
"So you're saying they're not true?" My voice comes off as a slur, a faint throbbing sensation building up in the back of my head.
"I'm saying..." Mikhail studies me for a long second. "You've had enough," he says finally. "Any more and you'll start seeing double."
"I'm not drunk," I lie, though the room tilts slightly as I reach for my glass.
He catches my wrist before I can grab it, his touch light but steady enough to still me.
"Trust me, you are." His thumb brushes my pulse, lingering just long enough to make me forget what I was about to say. "Let me drive you home."
My phone buzzes on the counter . Very likely , a work email. I ignore it . I haven't been able to focus all day, not since everything fell apart.
"I don't need a babysitter," I mutter, though the defiance in my tone is weak at best.
"Good thing I don't babysit."He chuckles dryly "But I'm not leaving you here."
"Hold on. Where exactly are you taking her?" Georgia's voice cuts in before I can reply. She's standing with her hands on her hips, towel slung over her shoulder, watching Mikhail like a hawk.
"Home," he answers simply, but there's a weight behind it, the kind that doesn't invite argument.
Georgia eyes him skeptically, then looks at me. "You sure you're good, honey? You don't owe anyone a conversation tonight."
I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. A part of me wants to stay safer under Georgia's watchful eyes and the dim hum of the bar — but the larger, reckless part is curious. About him. About why seeing Mikhail Orlov again feels like stepping into a storm I can't quite resist.
"I'll be fine, we know each other from way back " I say, though my voice doesn't sound as sure as I want it to. Georgia doesn't look convinced but nods anyway.
"Text me when you get home, alright?"
I give her a small smile, grabbing my purse. "Promise."
I glare at him, but the edges of my irritation melt when he throws a few bills onto the counter and stands, motioning toward the door. The bar's dim lighting catches on his watch.
"Come on, Lilith." The way he says it, the way that name rolls off his tongue — makes something tighten in my chest.
Outside, the night air bites at my skin. Mikhail walks beside me, taking confident, unhurried strides. He presses a button on his car key ,opening the passenger door of a black Mercedes Maybach, the leather gleaming under the streetlights.
"Of course you'd drive this." I sway slightly in my heels, and he loops an arm through mine, adjusting my posture. But when your legs feel like jelly, walking becomes almost impossible. I trip over myself and Mikhail pulls me gently by the waist, the warm heat from his palm sending heat straight to my pussy. My palms land flat against his sturdy chest and, lips parting soundlessly . My breath is heavy, so heavy that I'm sure he can hear it.
"Would you rather I pulled up in a taxi?" There's a smirk in voice and I take my hands off his chest.
I slide in, rolling my eyes. "You always did like showing off."
"Guilty."
The city lights blur past in streaks of gold as we drive. I lean my head against the window, exhaustion slowly catching up as I direct Mikhail to my parent's. I want to close my eyes but I can't bring myself to snore infront of this Adonis– not like I haven't embarrassed myself enough but still. By the time we pull into my parents' driveway, the quiet between us feels heavy but not uncomfortable. I reach for the door handle, but he stops me, pressing a sleek card into my hand.
"In case you need an ear or a wallet," Mikhail teases.
"Thanks," I whisper quietly.
"Goodnight, Lilith."
♠♠♠♠
Heat creeps into my face as I walk down my parents' lawn. I've tucked my pixie cut behind my ear so many times tonight I've lost count. Hopefully, Mikhail doesn't notice; I've embarrassed myself enough for one night.
The second my feet land on the front porch, his engine revs. By the time I open the door, he's driving away. I let out a deep breath, disappearing into the house I grew up in. Inside is unusually quiet for 9:30 p.m. The lights are on… Anna, my younger sister, probably forgot to turn them off. Guess she'll have to sit through a "life is hard" lecture from Dad tomorrow morning. I move carefully, not wanting to startle anyone since my visit home is unannounced. The last thing I need is Mom mistaking me for a thief and banging my head with a saucepan.
Just as I'm about to head to my old room, a soft sniffling from the dining room halts me. I peek to see my whole family is huddled over the table. Mom's crying into Anna's shoulder, who's whispering something into her hair. Dad looks exhausted, his elbows are on the table, palms clasped, head bowed.
"What's going on?" My voice comes out shaky as I step in. Three pairs of eyes snap up to meet mine. Mom starts to speak, but her voice dies in a sob. Anna's red-rimmed eyes meet mine for a second before flicking away.
"Svetlana." Dad gestures toward the chair beside him. A dozen questions rush to my lips—who died? What happened?—but none make it past my throat.
I slide into the empty chair slowly. "Is everything okay?" My voice is barely a rasp.
Dad lets out a deep sigh, placing a trembling hand over mine. "Everything is not okay, Svetlana. I hope you find a place in your heart to forgive me for what I've brought upon this family." His eyes glisten when they meet mine.
A lump forms in my throat. I nod numbly.
"Remember how we suddenly left Moscow when you were fifteen?" I nod again. Of course I do. I'd cried for days, for friends I didn't want to leave, for our golden retriever, Max, and for the life I didn't want to leave behind. Worst of all, I didn't want to relocate to a country where I was told my life would be different.
"I didn't tell you the whole truth when I said we left because my company wasn't doing well," he clears his throat. "The truth was that I borrowed money from an Alpha named Nikolai, someone I knew through a few business partners. What I didn't know or maybe refused to admit, was that he was part of the Bratva, extremely brutal in his dealings too." His voice falters.
"At first, it seemed harmless. He offered help when I needed it, no questions asked. Back then, it seemed it would turn out lucrative like the rest. It did at first; for the first five months everything thrived… then everything collapsed. I lost everything—a lot of money from the new business and also other investments—until I was nearly bankrupt. At that point, I knew I had to save my family before things went south." He pauses, running a hand through his tousled hair.
"Went south? What were they going to do?" Panic rises in my voice. Dad lowers his head.
"They were going to kill me and force you girls into something illegal to clear my debt." The silence that takes over the room is deadly. It's like the whole room stopped breathing, like someone snatched the oxygen from my lungs.
I stare at my dad, but my thoughts are anywhere but here. They've traveled back twelve years, to the hushed conversations my parents had before we traveled that night, to the new passports that carved our new identities, the fear in my dad's voice when he told me we'd be homeschooled and couldn't post our pictures anymore on social media…
"You said we left because Mom was sick and wanted to go back to her country," I argue, trying to make sense of what he's just said.
"It was all a lie," he admits. "I didn't want you girls to be scared. Didn't want you to carry the weight of my mistake. I'm truly sorry, Svetlana. I only wanted to protect my family, but I failed in the end."
"In the end?" I let out a half-bitter laugh. "Wait, are you saying this isn't over?"
He looks away, guilt twisting his features. My stomach churns, dread coiling like vines inside me. "You've got to be kidding me. Holy shit." I jump out of my seat, pacing around the room.
How bad could this day get? I swear I'd asked myself that earlier—it was probably a five back then. But now? Right now, it's a fucking ten. Maybe eleven. My thoughts haven't spun this fast ever. Damn it, I don't even know what to feel: angry, hurt, scared, confused? Maybe all four.
"So," I groan, "are we going to run away again?" I probably shouldn't have said that, but I can't stop the anger from taking hold of my words.
"No." Dad's voice is flat, final. " Even if we tried they'll track us. We're dealing with a very dangerous person ". His word halts me mid-step. And for the first time, I force myself to think, really think.
"Is there more to this story?" I ask quietly.
Mom's sob grows louder and she bolts out of the room before Dad can get a word out. A pensive silence shrouds the ambiance, its cold presence gripping to the core. My eyes skim over Anna's face; she shuts her eyes, hot tears trickling. Whatever it is these people want, I'm sure it's worse than the last time. Dad and I are the pillars of this family. Mom struggles in her own way—but Anna has always been the fragile one. Seeing her like this makes me want to pull her close and tell her it'll be okay, even though I don't believe those words.
"Dad," my vision fogs as I collapse into a chair, wrapping my arms around myself. "What do they want now? Isn't there a way to clear this debt?"
"They're asking for us to pay a visit. The whole family, Lana…" Her voice cracks, the rest swallowed by a sob.
Dad wipes at his face. " I don't know what they want this time," he says finally.
The words hang in the air like smoke, heavy, threatening the life I've built. My stomach knots, my pulse hammering so hard it feels like my chest is going to burst.
Fuck.