"Why would you do that?" The impressive specimen of a man now pacing in front of me glared dangerously.
Mikhail had sat me down on to an armchair in the corner of the dim room we had entered from Mogilevich's study. It seemed to be some sort of seating area, very secluded with only two doors connecting it to the rest of the magnificent estate.
"He deserved it," I muttered out, moving my jaw around to ease the uncomfortable position it had locked itself in after the harsh slap.
His steps halted and he stared me down intimidatingly. He then took off his suit coat, and I laughed spitefully. "You're going to rape me, then? You're all disgusting perverts."
Without a word he turned around and headed to the other door of the room. He opened it and quietly spoke to someone in whichever hallway or room it led to. I heard a murmur in reply, and after a few moments Mikhail closed the door and slowly made his way back to me.
I was frightened at the situation I had gotten myself into, but intent on keeping up a confident facade.
I was unable to conceal my confusion and shock as my eyes travelled from his to the icepack held in his hands.
He rolled up his sleeves in the meantime, before reaching to tower over me once more. Surprising me further, he kneeled down, dark gaze focusing on my cheek.
In complete silence he reached over to place the icepack onto my jaw, immediately easing the sting and pain of the hit. I was staring at him as if I was seeing things, not understanding why he would quite literally put his own life on the line and go against what Mogilevich had ordered him to do to me.
"I don't approve of a lot of things he does," he then cleared his throat, tone incredibly low and comforting despite how gruff it was. His dark eyes moved to mine for a moment, before returning to where he was carefully holding the icepack. "Hitting women being one of them."
"Just because I'm a woman-" I grew defensive and a shadow of a smile passed his lips.
"Even though you're quite capable of handling yourself, yes," he continued, free hand placing itself on the armrest of the chair for balance, his impressive frame enveloping me in the corner, "it's not a habit one should have."
"If you let me walk out of here alive," I then noted, voice much more quiet than I had anticipated due to how close and distracting he turned out to be, "he's going to kill you."
I could hardly drag my eyes away from him, still very confused at his sudden kindness, something that was very rare in our world even when it came to family.
He chuckled lowly, still very focused on the icepack. This left me enough time to study his features under the little moonlight that streamed in through the window beside me.
"Kind of you to care," he grinned to himself lightly, "but I'll be fine."
"What are you? His right-hand-man, or something?" I inquired, shocked at how much he had been able to get away with in front of one of the most dangerous men in the world. Stopping the men with guns, holding Mogilevich back, and now not seeming as if he was planning to kill me as he had been ordered to do.
"Something like that," he murmured in thought, removing the icepack to view my skin underneath it and how swollen it was. I followed closely as he then placed it back against my cheek.
I knew it wouldn't be long until I was located and all Hell would break loose. The extensive and layered security measures leading up to the estate would not be able to hold my father and our men back.
"If Mogilevich won't kill you, Wellesley will."
"He cares about you that much?" Mikhail's dark gaze focused on mine now with genuine curiosity.
"Of course," I was quick to nod, "he cares for all his people. We're like family to him."
"Hm," he resulted in studying my eyes quite intimately, remaining deep in thought.
"They'll be here soon," I decided to then tell him quietly. I didn't know exactly why, maybe as a way to thank him, but I felt like warning him incase he wanted to avoid getting killed tonight.
"I know."
"Are you going to stay here?" I furthered, brows furrowing at how undisturbed he was despite the knowledge.
"No, I'm escorting you home."
I shook my head at how absurd his plan was, "you'll die either way."
"Will you let them shoot me?"
"I don't have the power to stop them," I lied quickly, confused once more as he then chuckled to himself, "if you don't agree with much of Mogilevich's morals, why do you work for him?"
"Why do you work for Wellesley?" he wondered in return, now removing the icepack and standing up. "Let's go."
He offered me his hand and hesitantly I took it. I stood up as well, realising then he hadn't bothered to leave me much room between his toned front and the edge of the chair.
Just as I was about to fall back down to sit on it, his strong arm wrapped around my waist to hold me in place.
My breath hitched in my throat and heart raced, knowing I should have pushed him or moved away as this was incredibly inappropriate. Instead I found myself staring up at him as if I had gone mad, unfortunately unable and unwilling to move.
With his other hand he carefully moved my face to one side, granting him a closer view of my jaw. His touch burned against my skin, drawing heat from my body and igniting each nerve to amplify every sensation.
"I think you'll live," he then offered me a light grin, snapping me out of my daze, "it's barely a scratch."
"Yes," I cleared my throat and managed to slip away from him, mind jumbled up and common sense clearly having disappeared God knows where. I composed myself and brushed my hair back to look somewhat presentable.
I avoided Mikhail's sinful eyes at all costs as he then led me to the second door and I followed him into a brightly lit hallway. From there, I trailed behind him as he headed toward a more private exit of the estate, avoiding any of Mogilevich's other men.
I should have been more critical and hesitant. He could easily have lied to me about his plans and was now leading me somewhere I would never leave alive from, but for some strange reason I trusted him at this moment. Most likely because it was the only choice I had without a weapon on me.
To my relief we soon left the house through a side door, a black SUV waiting there for us on the gravel.
--
"What the hell were you thinking?" my father bellowed, slamming his hands down against the dining room table after I had told him and my brother what had happened.
I tugged the bathrobe over myself tighter, never having seen him this upset with anyone. Noah was quietly sitting at the end of the table, almost shyly glancing up at us every now and then as if he had been the one to do wrong.
"You never leave with anyone," he glared at me, "it's our men's job to die for us, Natalia. Vinnie's life shouldn't be more important than yours. You cause the bloody scene.. whatever it takes for you not to leave where you're safe!"
"I wasn't so safe to begin with if they're able to just waltz in with guns," I reasoned, exhausted after tonight and just wanting to bury myself in my bed.
"And that will be fixed, we're on high alert after that stunt of his," he shook his head, pacing on the opposite side of the long and wooden table, "you do understand this means war, don't you? Because you put yourself in a situation you shouldn't be in alone. Everything has consequences."
"If you start a war they'll know I'm your daughter."
"It makes no difference now," he shook his head vehemently, forehead creased with deep worry and concern, troubled eyes avoiding mine, "I'm getting too old for this. You're an adult, for Christ's sake. Start acting like it."
"Then treat me like one," I spat out, returning his glare, "you seem to think a few bruises will kill me. I should be the one inheriting the business. Noah can't even fire a gun, let alone run a mafia."
"I-" Noah cut in, but once my heated gaze directed at him he pursed his lips together and looked down at his hands. I loved my brother, but he often got pulled into the crossfire whenever my father and I butted heads.
We were both incredibly stubborn and always had to have our own way. He was still my dear father, and a part of my anger stemmed from the hurt Mogilevich's information of him had caused.
"Better safe than sorry, Natasha. Think about what happened to your mother, hm?" he fired back, "this family can't go through that pain again."
"Mogilevich told me you're still associated with human trafficking," I confessed, fearing my father's reaction and reply more than death itself.
His steps halted and my heart sank. His softened eyes met mine, and in that moment I knew Mogilevich had told me the truth.
"Natalia, I-"
"I'm going to bed," I informed him shortly. I turned around and left the dining hall without giving him time to reply, as it would've only worsened things.
I wiped away the lone tear that had fallen onto my cheek at the heartbreaking revelation, not yet knowing how I would be able to move past from this, if at all.