Nine Months to Bear By Nicole Fox - 67
67 I pace my office in endless laps. The tech team cleared out an hour ago, leaving behind their mess of cables and monitors. Taras sits in my chair, feet up on my desk, watching me wear a path in the rug. “You need to—” “Don’t tell me to calm down,” I lash out. “Fine.” He shrugs. “Lose your shit. ...
67
I pace my office in endless laps. The tech team cleared out an hour ago, leaving behind their mess of cables and monitors. Taras sits in my chair, feet up on my desk, watching me wear a path in the rug.
“You need to—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down,” I lash out.
“Fine.” He shrugs. “Lose your shit. See how that helps.”
I stop pacing and look at him. “We let her go. We just let them take her.”
“We didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
My phone rings. Mikayla’s name on the screen. Perfect timing. I was wondering when she’d make her next move.
“Stefan.” Mikayla’s voice is smooth as ever when she answers. No hint of guilt or fear. “We should talk.”
“Should we?”
“Face to face. Like adults.”
Taras sits up straighter, mouthing It’s a trap! at me. I wave him off. “Come to the mansion,” I tell her.
“I’m already here.”
I move to the window. Sure enough, there she is, standing by the fountain in my driveway. Black dress, black coat. Phone pressed to her ear. Looking up at my office window like she knows exactly where I am.
“Front door’s open,” I say. “Got knocked down, actually.”
“I see that. Your security is lacking today.”
Click. She hangs up.
“This is stupid,” Taras says, already checking his gun. “She’s waltzing into your house after betraying you? She’s either suicidal or she thinks she’s untouchable.”
“Let’s find out which.”
We meet her in the foyer. She enters proudly, posture erect, blood-red lipstick perfect. No hesitation. No fear. Just Mikayla, cool and lethal as always.
“Hello, boys.”
“Mikayla.” I keep my voice level. “You look well for a dead woman.”
She laughs. “Do I? How flattering.”
“You want to do this here?” I gesture at the open space. “Or should we go somewhere more private?”
“Here’s fine. I won’t be long.”
Taras shifts behind me. I can feel his tension, his readiness to move. But Mikayla just stands there, hands empty, coat open. Casual.
“So,” I say. “You’re the mole.”
She sighs. “I prefer ‘opportunist.’”
“You’ve been feeding information to Iakov.”
“Among others.” She examines her nails. “You’re not the only game in town, Stefan. Haven’t been for a while.”
“So this is about Olivia?”
“Everything’s about Olivia these days, isn’t it?” She smiles. “She really did a number on you. The great Stefan Safonov, brought low by a woman with mommy issues and a failing business.”
She pulls out her phone and shows me a photo. Olivia in the back of that SUV, handcuffed, scared. “She’s fine, by the way. Comfortable. Confused, but comfortable.”
I close my eyes. She might as well have slugged me in the stomach. “Those weren’t real FBI agents.”
“Smart boy,” she says with a wink. “You’re starting to get it.”
My jaw clenches. “What do you want?”
“What I’ve always wanted. Security. Profit. A seat at the table when the dust settles.”
“And you think taking Olivia gives you that?”
“I think it gives me options.” She pockets the phone. “See, you have two choices here. You can play nice, step back, let Iakov take what he thinks he deserves. Or you can fight, and sweet little Olivia pays the price.”
“You’re assuming I care what happens to her.”
“Oh, Stefan.” Mikayla steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume. “We both know you care. You care so much it’s eating you alive. It’s why you spared Devon. Why you’ve been soft lately. Why you’re standing here chit-chatting instead of putting a bullet in my head.”
“Maybe I just want information first.”
“Sure, maybe.” She reaches up like she’s going to caress my face. “Or maybe you’re calculating how to get her back without starting a war you can’t win.”
Her hand never makes it to my cheek. I grab her wrist, spin her around, and slam her against the wall. My other hand finds the gun tucked under her coat and tosses it to Taras.
I pat her down, efficient and thorough. Another gun at her ankle. Knife in her boot. A second knife strapped to her thigh.
“Careful, big boy,” she gasps against the wall. “That’s harassment.”
“Sue me.”
I spin her back around, keep her pinned with my body. She’s breathing hard now, but still smiling. “This doesn’t change anything. Olivia’s still gone. You still don’t know where.”
“But you do.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m just the messenger.”
I lean in close, let her feel the weight of me. “You made a mistake coming here.”
“Did I?” She meets my eyes, unafraid. “Kill me and Olivia’s definitely dead. Hurt me and it’s the same result. Keep me here and Iakov will know something’s wrong. Face it, Stefan: For once in your life, you’re not in control.”
She’s right. And wrong. But mostly right, and that burns worse than everything else.
I let go of Mikayla and step back. She straightens her coat and pats down her hair, still smiling that infuriating smile.
“You know what your problem is, Stefan?” She moves away from the wall, casual as anything. “You just don’t know when you have a good thing going. You’re always looking for the next, the next, the next. It’s pathetic, really. A sad little boy wandering around, whimpering, ‘ Won’t somebody complete me?’”
“Is that what Iakov tells you?”
“Iakov doesn’t need to tell me anything. I have eyes.” She gestures around the foyer. “Look at you. The high and mighty Stefan Safonov, reduced to this. Pacing. Worrying. Caring about some nobody whore of a doctor.”
My hands curl into fists, but I keep them at my sides. “She’s not nobody.”
“No? Then what is she? Smart? There are thousands of smart women in Boston. Beautiful? Please. You could have models, actresses, anyone you wanted. Good in bed? I doubt she’s that special.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” Mikayla laughs, sharp and cruel. “You’ll defend her honor? How sweet. How utterly unlike you.”
She circles me now, predator playing with prey. Except she’s wrong about who’s who.
“You want to know what she really is?” Mikayla continues. “She’s convenient . A walking incubator with the right degrees and the right desperation. That’s all. And when this is over, when Iakov has what he wants and you’re scrambling to rebuild, you’ll see that, too.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Tell me, Stefan, what happens when you get her back? If you get her back, I mean. You think she’ll forgive you? After finding your little journal? After learning you planned to destroy everything she worked for?” She stops in front of me. “No. She won’t. She’ll take your money, maybe let you see the kid on weekends, and move on with her life. Find someone better. Someone who didn’t lie to her from day one.”
“That’s not—”
“And even if by some miracle she does forgive you, then what? You play house? You pretend to be normal?” She shakes her head. “Men like you don’t get happy endings, Stefan. You get betrayal or boredom. Sometimes, both.”
Taras shifts behind me, probably wondering why I’m letting her talk. But I need to hear this. Need to know exactly what kind of poison she’s been spreading.
“She’s already breaking you,” Mikayla continues. “Making you soft. Weak. How long before your enemies notice? How long before someone besides Iakov makes a move?”
“Are you done?”
“Almost.” She steps closer, drops her voice. “Here’s the truth: Even if you find her—and with the way things are looking right now, that’s a big, big if —it’ll be too late. She’ll have heard things. Seen things. The kind of things that change how a person looks at you forever.”
“Things like what?”
“Oh, Stefan.” Her smile is pitying now. “You really don’t know who has her, do you?”
Cold dread slithers through me. I grab her throat. “Tell me.”
Mikayla’s fingers tap against my wrist where I’m gripping her by the neck. Not panicked— patient . Like she’s waiting for the perfect moment.
“You sure you want to know?” Her voice comes out rough but amused. “Fine. But you’re not going to like it.”
“Quit stalling and answer the fucking question, Mikayla. If it’s not Iakov, then who?”
Her smile stretches wider. “Someone who knows you better than you know yourself. Someone who’s been watching you for years, waiting for the right moment.”
“Stop playing games, goddammit!” I roar.
Mikayla winks. “Your mother says hello.”
TO BE CONTINUED
Stefan and Olivia’s story continues in Book 2 of the Safonov Bratva duet, NINE MONTHS TO LOVE .