Page 53 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
He still doesn’t speak, and he blinks back at me as if the words don’t completely register. Instead, he holds his stuffed bear up, and his eyes look slightly less fearful.
Seeing it as his version of a peace offering, I offer him a small smile and try to keep him distracted while the shouting grows louder in the next room. Mikhail’s voice seems to lash out at whoever’s in there with him, and it’s somehow even more intimidating when I can’t understand him.
Something slams hard. A drawer maybe?
Straightening my back, I glance towards the room, but I still can’t see into the space.
A moment later, a muffledpopbreaks the shouting. Then, something heavy hits the floor—like a body collapsing.
Instinctively, I wince, but I don’t move. The boy pulls the bear closer to his chest and squeezes it.
Several more minutes pass, and the door opens just enough to let Mikhail out again. He wipes his mouth on his bare arm just beneath where his black button-down sleeves are rolled up, then sets his gaze on us.
He moves calmly and with his usual confidence, but without the bravado. The pistol is nowhere to be seen in his grasp while he approaches.
With ease, Mikhail crouches beside the boy and gives him a small, disarming smile. He says something else in Russian, using a smooth, almost soothing tone.
The words register this time, and to my surprise, the boy perks up and responds with similar words.
I can only stand there in near awe as Mikhail speaks with the small child, pulling short responses from him. He does it so effortlessly while presenting himself as a trustworthy person, acting as a sentinel for him.
When he says something else, it strikes a chord with the boy, and his eyes well up with tears before he gets up and clings to Mikhail. Not even a flicker of hesitation.
Frozen while I watch everything unfold, I can’t voice a single question gnawing at me.
Gently, he lifts the child and holds him against his chest. The boy wraps his arms around his neck and presses his cheek to Mikhail’s shoulder like he could never do anything wrong. In a way, it looks like he’s done this before.
Finally, Mikhail looks at me, and he subtly gestures for me to follow.
Wordlessly, I do exactly that.
Soon enough, we’re standing outside of the Range Rover while he secures the boy in the backseat, making sure he’s as safe as possible without a car seat. He closes the door, turning to face me while I nearly gawk at him.
I keep my arms crossed. “Mikhail, what the hell is happening?”
Well aware he can’t just say nothing, he sighs and leans back against the vehicle. “The boy’s name is Ilya. He’s the son of someone who used to work with my father in Russia when he was still around—someone I owed a favor to.”
My brows pinch together in question. “What’s he doing in America then?”
A look of anger moves through his features, but it isn’t aimed at me. “Ilya was abducted by his uncle Abram, the man I took care of in there. He was days away from selling the boy for quick cash to traffickers…after that, who knows where he would’ve ended up.”
My heart silently breaks for Ilya, and my stomach turns. “Jesus…”
“Contrary to what you may believe, I don’t kill for pleasure, Lily,” Mikhail says, keeping his gaze on mine, full of a serious yet vaguely caring edge. “Out of my brothers, I aim for peace, but I kill for good reasons. It might make me a monster, but I don’t regret putting that sick man down.”
Given the lack of remorse in his tone, I know he means it. Every word is cold and steady, yet I can’t ignore the protectiveness packed into each one.
I only look back at him for another moment, and then Mikhail puts a hand against my lower back and guides me towards the passenger door. He pulls it open for me and lets me get in before closing it again.
All the while, he walks back around and climbs in, I can’t get the image of him kneeling next to Ilya out of my head. How he spoke to him so gently, managing to connect with him over a shared language. How he carried him out like it was the most normal thing in the world to him.
Mikhail is intimidating and dangerous, capable of committing heinous crimes. And yet, he’s alsothis…kind and nurturing when the moment calls for it. Caring for a child who isn’t even related to him.
That messes with my head more than I care to admit.
On the way back to the city, the little boy falls asleep in the backseat, and the silence between us is somewhat heavy, knowing what just happened, and knowing the fate Mikhail just saved Ilya from.
I glance over at him a few times, watching how he keeps his eyes on the road, occasionally looking back at Ilya through the rearview. His jaw shifts as he thinks, clearly getting lost in thought.
