Chapter 6 Six

Unknown POV

Dimitri Volkovich stood by the window of his penthouse, his lips clutching a parejo cigar, his right hand curled around a dark Makarov pistol. Through the window, he could see the world below him; the hustle and bustle of the streets of Russia. The crowd scurrying about for their daily bread, the policeman standing by the roadside, and the commercial buses. He could end all this peace in one snap of the finger, turn the country upside down. He had that much power, being the most influential mafia figure in the underground world, and a respectable politician on the surface.

But his muddled mind was on the market—the black market. The source of his wealth. It wasn't about the illegal dealings or the organized crimes anymore. His control over the cartel gave him the unquestionable respect among his peers. But now, everything was being threatened. Decades of hard work and perseverance going down the drain. Rhys Mikalihov. The devil from the shadows.

Suddenly the door burst open.

"Boss, there has been news."

Dimitri didn't turn around to look; rather, he took a long drag of the cigarette and blew the smoke on at the window, soiling the glass.

"Whatever news you have must be good." He said slowly. "Do You understand?"

"But sir..." His aide started to stutter, his lips quivering with discomfort.

"But what?" Dimitri snapped, finally turning to look at him. The man before him was covered in blood, a giant gash in the middle of his head, his nose broken and misshapen. The man looked like he'd just seen death itself, sweat bursting out of his forehead, his eyes roaming in their sockets as if he were still being chased.

"Rhys Mikalihov." He blurted. "It's him. He had his men intercept our vessel. Our merchandise was looted and overturned into the sea, all the men were massacred while the remaining two were kidnapped and taken away."

It was the enemy again.

"What have you heard about the kidnapped men?" Dimitri asked gently.

"One of them died on the way, while Rhys killed the surviving one, sending the butchered parts of his body to his family."

Dimitri froze. For a long moment, no sound came from him, not even breath. The smoke from his cigar curled in the air and vanished, just like the calm that had filled the room seconds ago.

His fingers tightened around the Makarov until his knuckles went white. A single muscle twitched at his jaw, then went still again.

“Rhys Mikalihov…” he repeated quietly, almost to himself. The name tasted like iron.

He turned toward the aide, his gaze so cold it could have slit skin. “And you came here alive to tell me that?”

"Boss, I'm sorry, but the man had us outnumbered. We weren't even expecting the attack. The attendants had assured us of a successful passage until their ship showed up."

The aide swallowed hard, his body trembling. Dimitri stepped closer, the weight of his fury pressing down on the air. Rhys Mikalihov was the devil aimed at his success. Just last month, he'd stormed his base in Manhattan and blown it to the ground, destroying millions worth of merchandise. And now, another of his middlemen was dead, another outlet of his empire destroyed. Slowly, power would slip out of his hands, and he would be reduced to nothing before he could even blink. Dimitri started to pace back and forth, fire coursing through his veins. His fingers twitched, brushing across the trigger of the pistol in his hand.

Then, without warning, he slammed the pistol against the desk — a short, violent crack that made the man flinch.

“Tell the others,” Dimitri said, voice low and even. “I want the sea to return what it swallowed. Hire divers, excavate the vessel and retrieve every item on board before it was sunk. If you fail to do this, you'll be the next tenant of the grave."

He crushed the cigar under his shoe and walked out. But his mind had turned upside down. Rhys Mikalihov was turning out to be his darkest nightmare and to think he could have put the little kid out 17 years ago. The attack had been successful, the entire Mikhailov family massacred by his very hand, including their patriarch. But the little boy?

Hell, Dimitri cursed under his breath. How could he have mistaken him for Rhys Mikalihov? And who the hell had he truly been? All this was a revenge plot, Rhys hadn't forgiven him, and the lad wouldn't stop until the Volkovich name was vanished off the earth. There was too much to be afraid of now. Rhys was already more powerful than he was; his political stance was stronger and more acceptable. But this could not be allowed to stand. The Mikhailov dynasty must be sent into extinction!

On getting into his study, he found another one of his aides standing beside his desk.

"Hello, boss." The aide greeted with a small bow.

Dimitri's stomach sank with irritation and he rolled his eyes.

"Why are you here?"

"I have come to deliver a message." He presented a brown envelope to him. "This came via post today."

"Oh really? Has it been scanned?"

"Yes sir. It contains a letter, nothing harmful."

"But who could send me a letter?"

Dimitri took the envelope and opened it. To his utter surprise, it was an invitation letter from none other than Rhys Mikalihov.

"To the sacred matrimony between Rhys Adriano Mikhailov and Georgia Eliza Carter."

"Georgia Carter?" He paused and furrowed his eyebrows. "Isn't that the pesky reporter who is always chasing news of the underworld and the made-men?"

"I am afraid it is sir," the aide answered.

"That girl has been onto us for a while now. What is Rhys doing? I don't understand."

"This also came as a shock to me." The aide answered. "This Georgia girl recently wrote an article exposing some of Rhys's secret dealings."

"Yes, I know of that."

"Yes sir. But the article gained momentum, thousands of reads and reprints. People began to question the truth behind Rhys's wealth. It was a very unnerving incident."

"But why would my distant cousin marry the scariest woman on the planet?" Dimitri asked aloud. "I mean, she is so undaunted, so bold, and so brave. If left to her devices Georgia Carter would bring the entire Mafioso to the ground."

"I wouldn't blame Rhys though." The aide answered with a cheeky, lustful smile. "The pictures don't do justice. Georgia Carter is such a ravishing, mesmerising beauty. One look at her and you would willingly part ways with your valuables."

"Are you sure of this?" Dimitri questioned, and the confusion in his eyes had turned to interest.

"Yes. My lips cannot even describe."

"Hmmm."

Dimitri turned around and continued to read the content of the invitation card. Of course, Rhys invited him to honour the Bratva brotherhood code. They were enemies nonetheless. But this girl. This innocent yet daring reporter. He'd heard of her; she was feisty, intelligent holding more secrets than he even forgot to keep. He had to have her!

Yes. She would be beside him, her beauty complementing his scarred face and frightening appearance. She would be the trophy of his years in bloodshed and strive. Then that body. Oh that youthful, poisonous allure, he closed his eyes to savour his lustful fantasy. She would do exploits in his bed, satisfying his wide sexual palate. And her career? He thought deeply about this. Reporters are insidious, observant yet vigilant and suspicious. They don't need fire or chaos to turn the world upside down.

But with him, Georgia would no longer be an enemy of the bratva or the mafioso. Instead, she would speak for him, get the public's affection on his side and help him to win the upcoming governorship elections.

He knew how Rhys always had the good things of life. It wouldn't hurt if he stole Georgia Carter away this once.

Excitedly, Dmitri turned to his aide, a smile plastered across his face.

"Contact the state airline and have them prepare my jet for travel. It is high time I paid my distant cousin a visit."

"But aren't you enemies?" The aide questioned, his eyes dilating with fear. "I mean, Rhys has been antagonising you for more than a year now."

"Of course he has," Dimitri answered gently. "But the invitation was given under the code of The Brotherhood. Therefore, I cannot disregard."

"Oh, okay then."

"Yes. Get it all together. The bride would need an expensive and valuable gift. I would also need my designer over. I need new suits for the occasion. I am so excited. Look, just get to it."

As the aide scurried out of the room, Dimitri collapsed onto the nearest sofa and began to bask in his sordid fantasies. He would seduce Georgia, wed her and get his fill of her appetising body. Then he would return to his mission; bringing Rhys Mikalihov to his knees.