Page 46 of Gilded in Blood

And in less than an hour, I’ll be sitting across from Michael, listening to him plan how to use Milana.

The idea no longer sits right with me. The thought of handing her over, of letting Michael use her to hurt them… it makes my jaw clench so hard it aches.

That man makes my trigger finger itch every damn time I see his face. Every meeting with Michael feels like a test of restraint.

And today, it’s going to take everything I have to not finally pull that trigger.

The house is still dark when I slip out just past 5:00 a.m. I checked on Milana before leaving, she was curled up in bed, breathing softly, looking far too peaceful for the chaos I’ve dragged her into.

A part of me wanted to leave her a note. But I didn’t. I’m not sure what I would have written.

I’m sorry for everything I’m about to put you through?

Or—

If you knew who I really was, you’d never have let me touch you.

I get into the car and drive toward the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city where I meet Michael. The roads are nearly empty at this hour, allowing me to make the drive in record time.

I arrive at the warehouse and park. I stay in the car, waiting. Ten minutes pass before Michael’s SUV finally pulls in.

He steps out, looking every bit the entitled son of a fallen king. Tall and lean, with sharp, aristocratic features, pale eyes, and dark blond hair styled with meticulous precision.

He dresses like old money, tailored suits, silk shirts, expensive watch glinting on his wrist. But there’s a restless, unstable edge to him.

He’s like a bug. Small, irritating, and capable of spreading disease if left unchecked.

He inherited his father’s connections, along with access to high ranking people and resources. Unfortunately, he also inherited none of his father’s discipline.

I get out and slam the door harder than necessary.

“You know I hate being kept waiting,” I say coldly.

Michael spreads his hands, flashing an apologetic smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, I lost track of time. Traffic was⁠—”

“I don’t give a fuck about traffic,” I cut him off. “If you call a meeting, you show up on time. The last time you didn’t show, and now you’re keeping me waiting. This is the second time you’ve wasted my time. There won’t be a third. If you can’t honor our agreement, then we don’t have one.”

Michael’s expression falters for a second before he forces a laugh. “Come on, Kirill. It’s not that serious. What crawled up your ass, man?”

I take a step closer. “Say that again.”

The amusement drains from his face. “I’m sorry, alright? It won’t happen again.”

I stare at him, letting the silence stretch. He now looks uncomfortable as hell. “Are we good?”

I lean against my car, arms crossed, staring him down. “Why did you ask to see me?”

“How did the meeting with her brothers go? Were you able to get anything useful?”

I shrug, keeping a straight face. “Not much. They’re planning something against you, but I couldn’t get the details before we got attacked.”

Michael winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh crap,” he mutters. “I knew they should have waited a little longer before shooting.”

My blood runs cold. “The restaurant attack… that was you?”

Artyom and Mikhail suspected Michael was behind the attack at the restaurant.

I didn’t.