Shadows of Control

Milo’s POV

The meeting room was a den of wolves, each man at the table cloaked in ambition and deceit. The air hung heavy with cigar smoke, the acrid scent mingling with the faint metallic tang of tension. I sat at the head, my posture relaxed but my eyes sharp, scanning the faces of Russia’s most ruthless bosses. They spoke of territories, shipments, and profits, their voices a low rumble of greed, but my mind was elsewhere, back on that balcony, where Emilie’s trembling voice had declared her loyalty to me, even as her eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt. 

“I’m your wife. That’s where my loyalty lies.” 

The words should have anchored me, but they didn’t. They stirred a restlessness I hadn’t felt since the early days of building my empire, when every shadow held a knife.

Dimitri’s voice sliced through my thoughts, his tone dripping with mockery. 

“Petrov, you’re awfully quiet tonight. Is it the new wife keeping you distracted?” The scar across his cheek twitched as he smirked, his eyes glinting with malice. “Or is it the boy, your son, causing trouble over her?”

The room stilled, the other bosses leaning forward, their curiosity a palpable weight. My fingers tightened around the armrest of my chair, the leather creaking under my grip. 

Dimitri was testing me, probing for weaknesses, and I’d be damned if I let him find one. 

“My family is my business,” I said, my voice low, each word a shard of ice. “You’d do well to remember that, Dimitri.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his gold rings catching the dim light. 

“Bad blood, Milo. A girl tied to your son, now wearing your ring? That’s a crack in your armor. Empires fall when the heart gets involved.”

My hand itched for the blade strapped beneath my jacket, but I kept it still, my face a mask of cold indifference. I’d built my empire on control, on blood, fear, and unrelenting will. No one, not even Dimitri, would see me falter. 

“Cross that line, and you’ll find out how solid my armor is,” I said, my tone carrying the promise of violence. “My house is in order. Can yours say the same?”

The room held its breath, the tension thick enough to choke on. Dimitri’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes narrowed, calculating. He raised his glass in a mock toast, the amber liquid swirling.

“Just a friendly warning, Petrov. A pretty face can bring down a king.”

The other bosses shifted, some murmuring, others avoiding my gaze. I let the silence stretch, my stare pinning Dimitri until he looked away. 

The conversation resumed, but his words lingered like poison in my veins. Emilie was a risk, a variable I hadn’t accounted for when I’d taken her to settle her father’s debts. Her defiance, her softness, the way her eyes held mine, it was unraveling me, piece by piece, and I couldn’t afford that. Not now, when enemies were circling, waiting for a misstep.

The meeting dragged on, a blur of negotiations and veiled threats, but my thoughts kept drifting to her. To the way she’d stood her ground at the gala, deflecting the barbs of mafia wives with a grace that belied her nineteen years. To the way her breath had hitched when I’d touched her cheek, her skin warm under my fingers. She was a paradox, fragile yet unbreakable, a pawn who played like a queen. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want her, not just as a possession, but as something more. Something I hadn’t dared want in years.

When the meeting finally ended, the sky outside was a bruised purple, heavy with the promise of rain. I dismissed my men and drove back to the penthouse alone, the city’s neon lights blurring into streaks of color through the tinted windows. The solitude was a rare luxury, a chance to clear my head, but Emilie’s face kept intruding, her wide eyes, her trembling lips, the guilt she couldn’t hide when Andrew confronted her. My son. My blood. 

His jealousy was a fire I’d seen coming, but I hadn’t anticipated how it would burn me too.

The penthouse was a fortress of silence when I stepped inside, the air cool and scented with polished wood and the faint trace of Emilie’s perfume, jasmine and delicate, out of place in my world of blood and steel. 

She stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, her silhouette a stark contrast against the city’s restless glow. Her silk robe clung to her curves, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like a cascade of midnight. She didn’t turn as I approached, but her shoulders tensed, sensing my presence.

“You did well tonight,” I said, my voice cutting through the quiet as I shrugged off my coat and draped it over a chair. “The families saw you as mine. That’s what I wanted.”

She turned, her eyes catching the dim light, shadowed with a mix of fear and defiance. 

“They saw what you made them see,” she said, her voice soft but edged with steel.

 “A trophy. A possession. But what do you see, Milo? Why did you really marry me?”

The question hit like a blade, it was sharp and unexpected. I crossed the room, stopping just close enough to feel the heat radiating from her, to catch the faint tremor in her breath. Her eyes held mine, searching, demanding answers I wasn’t sure 

I could give. “Because I couldn’t let you go,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them, raw and unfiltered. “Because you’re mine, Emilie, in ways I didn’t expect.”

Her lips parted, a sign of vulnerability crossing her face. “What does that mean? Am I just another asset in your empire? Another deal to close?”

I reached out, my fingers grazing her jaw, tilting her face up to meet my gaze. Her skin was soft, warm, and the contact sent a jolt through me, a reminder of how dangerous she was to my carefully constructed world. 

“You’re more than that,” I said, my voice low, rough with truths I’d buried deep. “You’re a fire I didn’t see coming, and I’m not sure if I want to tame it or let it burn.”

Her eyes widened, a storm of emotions swirling within them, full of fear, confusion, and something else, something that mirrored the heat in my own blood. 

“Will you hurt me?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if the question itself was a betrayal.

The words cut deeper than I expected, and I hesitated, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. “I’ll try not to,” I said, the honesty burning in my throat. “But this world, it doesn’t forgive weakness, Emilie. It doesn’t let you stay soft.”

She swallowed, her gaze dropping to the floor, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. “What if I can’t do this?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What if I want out, Milo? What if I can’t live like this, always waiting for the next threat, the next betrayal?”

My hand tightened on her jaw, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her look at me again. “There is no way out,” I said, my voice hard, final, though it cost me to say it. “You chose this when you took my name. You belong to me now, and I protect what’s mine.”

A quiet sob escaped her, and the sound cracked something inside me, a fracture in the walls I’d built around my heart. I released her, stepping back before I could do something reckless, like pull her into my arms and promise a safety I couldn’t guarantee. 

“Get some rest,” I said, turning toward my study. “Tomorrow, we face the world again.”

Her sob echoed as I closed the door behind me, shutting out her pain, her presence. I poured a whiskey, the amber liquid glinting in the firelight, but it did nothing to dull the turmoil inside me. 

Emilie was unraveling me, and I couldn’t afford that, not when men like Dimitri were watching, waiting for a chance to strike.

A soft knock broke my reverie. Lydia, the maid, stood in the doorway, her face was pale, her hands clutching a small, unmarked envelope. “Sir, this was left at the gate,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s addressed to you.”

I took it, my eyes narrowing at the scrawled handwriting: Milo Petrov. Inside was a single sheet, the message short and chilling: “Victor’s debts run deeper than you know. A new player is watching. Keep your wife close, or lose everything.”

My blood ran cold. Victor, Emilie’s father, his debts were supposed to be settled, but this hinted at a larger game, a threat tied to the man who’d sold his daughter to me. 

Someone was using him to get to me, to exploit the cracks Dimitri had so gleefully pointed out. I crumpled the note, my mind racing. 

Emilie was no longer just a risk, she was a target, and whoever was behind this knew exactly how to hit me where it hurt.

I glanced toward the door, picturing her by the window, fragile yet defiant, a fire I couldn’t extinguish. I’d protect her, no matter the cost, but first, I’d find out who dared to challenge me. 

And when I did, they’d learn the price of crossing Milo Petrov.