Page 20 of Pregnant By the Russian Pakhan

Mikhail frowned. He hadn’t been able to find much on Dostoevsky’s daughter, because she’d always been out of the area from a very young age, schooling at some impossibly secret location. If she was back in town now, and getting engaged…

He looked at Mira, his thoughts in a whirl. Had Dostoevsky sent her to distract him so that he could be certain his daughter’s engagement would go off without a hitch?

“Why are you here? What do you want?” he asked her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Nikolai when we met? You said your name was Mikhail,” she persisted.

“I am Mikhail Nikolai,” he said silkily. “Who are you?”

“Mira Dostoevsky,” she returned.

Mikhail couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d gawked at anyone or anything, but in that moment, he came close. “Dostoevsky? You’re a Dostoevsky?”

She couldn’t be his sister; she was way too young. Cousin? Niece? Daughter? That last was impossible. The daughter’s engagement was this evening, so why would she be here? Unless she’d been sent as a decoy to keep him busy so that he’d be too engrossed with taking her captive to realize the real daughter was getting married.

That last explanation made sense, but before he could say a word, her words lashed out at him. “He’s my father,” she said simply. “Was,” she added more forcefully.

“More lies,” Mikhail said airily.

“It’s true,” she said, flicking open a locket at her throat, which he hadn’t even noticed until now. In it, a five-year-old who was unmistakably Mira was seated on the lap of a much younger Dostoevsky. He was kissing her cheek and holding a childish drawing that said Happy birthday, Daddy.

With a sigh, she flicked the heart-shaped locket closed once more, allowing it to look like a simple pendant nestled between her breasts.

What were the odds? He had banged his archenemy’s daughter, and he’d been hungry for more ever since. Go figure.

She was the greatest key to his revenge against Dostoevsky. All he had to do was kill her and he would effectively destroy Dostoevsky, because no matter how tough the other man tried to appear, Mikhail didn’t need a crystal ball to know the man’s daughter had to be his one weakness.

But he knew he couldn’t bring himself to harm a hair on her head or to use her so despicably all because he wanted revenge. Even now, knowing who she was, a part of him still felt as protective toward her as he had that night at the club.

Mikhail’s gaze scanned her bodice, where the soft swell of her breasts was visible beneath the soft cut of the dress she was wearing. His dick stirred with interest.

Whoever said the easiest way to kill a man was through a woman he wanted to fuck sure knew what they were talking about. Even now, knowing who Mira was, he still wanted her desperately. What the fuck was wrong with him?

His gaze bored into hers as he demanded, “Whatever possessed you to slap me in front of all those people?”

She shrugged. “You pretended to be an average Joe the night we met, and you fucked me without mentioning that I was fucking my father’s greatest enemy.”

He grabbed her arm and gave her a small shake. “This isn’t the first time you slapped me, Mira. You did that at the club and I let it slide. But this time, I can’t overlook this insult. You will have to pay dearly for it.”

She rolled her eyes at him, trying without much success to look unaffected by his words. “What are you going to do? Paddle my bottom?”

“I wish it were that simple, Mira. Those are my business associates as well as some of my most dangerous rivals out there. You know the cutthroat world of the mafia more than anyone else. If you go unpunished, they will think me weak, which means I’m wide open for an attack. The suitable punishment for what you’ve done is your death. Now. Today.”

Mira stared at him out of large round eyes, completely immobile. “What?” she croaked.

“But I’m not entirely a monster, Mira. So I’ll give you one other option,” he told her. “You have to marry me and help me convince everyone that this was a lovers’ tiff. It’s the only way I’ll save face and it’s the only way you get to keep that pretty little neck of yours.”

Chapter 13 - Mira

Mira couldn’t be sure what Mikhail was thinking. The man was hardly an open book. He was more difficult to read than anyone she’d ever met.

But then, what had she expected? One did not rise to be the head of a powerful Bratva by being an open book.

Mira had envisioned a lot of possibilities when she strode in to meet Nikolai this evening, but the one thing she had not anticipated was that Nikolai would turn out to be one and the same as Mikhail.

Her memories of Mikhail were of urgent passion, burning arousal, decadent pleasure, whispered encouragement, and skin rippling with intense sensations as they stroked and fucked each other in the leathery depths of his sinfully luxurious ride. But the man standing in front of her now was the dreaded and popular mafia boss Nikolai, as aloof and cold as the moon and as dangerous as a prowling tiger.

And he had asked her to marry him before she’d even had a chance to put forth her proposal for a partnership where she hid out in his home until they found a way to destroy her father together.

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