THe MAFIA'S HIDDEN DAUGHTER

CHAPTER ONE

MIKA 

"Get down on the floor!"

A hand grabbed the back of my shirt, forcing me to duck under a table just as a gunshot rang out.

I crouched beneath the table in one of Moscow's Michelin-starred restaurants, my palms pressed against broken glass and spilled vodka. My heart pounded so hard that I could barely hear anything beyond the ringing in my ears. I stared at my trembling hands, trying to understand what was happening.

Then I turned and found Dante beside me, reloading his gun. Of all my father's bodyguards, Dante was my least favorite. He was rude, impatient, and seemed to have a personal problem with my existence. Right now, however, he was the only person standing between me and whoever was shooting at me.

"What's happening?" I whispered, my chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Someone's shooting at you. That's what's happening. Now shut up and crawl."

I stared at him.

Was he seriously telling me to shut up?

Another gunshot rang out before I could respond. The sound was so loud that I flinched, nearly hitting my head against the table. That was enough to convince me to keep my mouth shut.

I began crawling across the restaurant floor in a four-thousand-dollar dress, my knees scraping against broken glass. The smell of spilled alcohol filled my nostrils, mixing with the sharp scent of gunpowder.

A second shot cracked through what was left of the window and buried itself in the wall exactly where my head had been a moment earlier.

I froze.

Holy shit.

Someone had actually tried to blow my head off. I had barely turned eighteen two months ago. I'd spent most of my life hidden away from the world, and now someone was trying to end it before I'd even had the chance to live it.

What the hell had I done to deserve this?

By the time the shooting stopped, I had crawled all the way into the kitchen. Through the swinging doors, I glimpsed a waiter slumped against the bar, clutching his bleeding arm while someone shouted for a medic.

My gown had caught on a broken piece of glass, tearing the fabric and leaving painful cuts on my knees.

I barely noticed. I pulled my legs against my chest and wrapped my arms around them, trying to control my breathing.

Nobody was supposed to know I existed. That was the whole point.

Ever since I was born, my father had kept me out of sight, raising me in a foster home to keep his enemies from discovering he had a daughter. He was one of the most dangerous Mafia bosses in Moscow, and apparently, having a child was a weakness he couldn't afford to expose.

So he hid me. For years, I had watched other children go home to their families while I remained behind, wondering what I had done wrong to deserve being abandoned. I used to think that becoming an adult would change things. Two months ago, I had turned eighteen, and my father had finally decided to acknowledge my existence publicly.

I was no longer a secret.

And now, someone wanted me dead.

A bitter laugh escaped my throat.

Wonderful.

I'd spent eighteen years practically living in hiding, only to have someone try to kill me two months after my existence became public knowledge. What a lovely way to start my life.

"The shooter escaped!" someone shouted from outside.

I lifted my head.

Escaped?

How could someone shoot at me in the middle of a crowded restaurant and simply run away?

"Make sure you don't let him get far," Dante ordered. "I want updates the moment you find anything."

His voice carried from somewhere outside the kitchen. He sounded as calm as if he were discussing the weather rather than a man who had just attempted to murder me.

I hated how normal this seemed to him.

A minute later, footsteps approached, and Dante appeared in the doorway.

"Your father is on the phone."

He held out the device. I stared at it for a moment before reaching for it. My fingers were still trembling, and I had to grip the phone with both hands to keep it steady.

"Hello, Dad."

"Hey. Did you get hurt?"

Relief washed over me at the sound of his voice.

For a moment, I forgot about the broken glass, the blood on my knees, and the terrifying sound of bullets tearing through the restaurant.

He had called. At least that meant he cared enough to check on me.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Why am I being targeted? Who was that? Why would someone—"

"I can't talk on the phone right now. Dante will drive you home. I'm sending extra security."

"Wait, Dad—"

The call ended.

I stared at the screen.

He had hung up. Just like that.

I lowered the phone slowly, struggling to process what had happened.

Was that it?

No explanation. No reassurance. Not even a promise that he would find the person responsible. Just a few words before he disappeared again.

Dante snatched the phone from my hands and tucked it into his breast pocket.

"Come on."

I looked up at him, blinking rapidly as I fought the tears threatening to fall. I'd been ambushed while treating myself to a decent meal, something I had rarely been able to enjoy growing up in a foster home. And instead of asking how I was feeling or assuring me that everything would be okay, my father had barely spoken to me before hanging up.

I knew he was a busy man. I knew his life was dangerous. But I was his daughter.

Was it too much to expect him to act like it?

"Are you going to keep hugging yourself like a petrified toddler, or are you coming with me?" Dante asked, his voice full of frustration and impatience.

I slowly raised my head.

"Do you ever get tired of being an asshole?"

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Do you ever get tired of asking stupid questions?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

God, I hated him. I pushed myself to my feet, wincing as pain shot through my knees. After grabbing my jacket from the floor, I followed him out of the kitchen.

Dante raised his walkie-talkie to his mouth.

"Get the car ready. Secure the perimeter. I'm coming out with Mika."

The drive home was a blur of tall buildings, bright sunlight, and Dante's irritating voice as he spoke to my father over the phone.

I sat in the back seat, staring out the window with my arms folded across my chest. My knees hurt, my dress was ruined, and I couldn't stop thinking about the man who had tried to kill me.

Who was he?

Why had he targeted me?

And how had he known where I would be?

I wanted answers, but judging by the way Dante kept his conversations short whenever I tried to listen, I wasn't going to get any from him.

By the time we arrived at the mansion, I could barely feel my face from how tightly I'd been clenching my jaw.

 Dante led me straight to my father's study.

My father sat behind his desk, a cigarette between his fingers. Dante placed the CCTV footage on the desk, exchanged a few words with him, and left without so much as glancing in my direction. I remained by the door, waiting for my father to acknowledge me.

He didn't. He continued watching the footage on his screen, his expression unreadable.

Something inside me snapped.

"Why am I getting shot at while trying to eat in a restaurant for the first time in my life?"

My father finally looked up.

"Isn't being the daughter of the most dangerous Mafia boss in Moscow torture enough?" I continued, biting the inside of my cheek as I tried to keep my voice steady. "Or do I have to start carrying a gun everywhere I go just to enjoy a meal?"

He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray.

"I suspected this might happen."

For a moment, I thought I'd heard him wrong.

"You what?"

"I suspected there might be an attack."

I stared at him. He couldn't be serious.

"You knew someone might try to kill me, and you still let me go out?"

"I only suspected it would happen, Mika. I didn't know for certain."

"And that makes it okay?"

"Try not to raise your voice at me. I'm your father, and I've kept you safe since the day you came into this world. I wouldn't want you dead now."

I let out a humorless laugh.

"Really? Because your actions suggest otherwise."

His expression hardened.

I took a step closer to his desk.

"If you didn't want me dead, you could have warned me. You could have told me to stay home. You could have done something other than send me to a restaurant where someone could put a bullet in my head!"

"I only suspected there might be an attack," he repeated, his voice low and controlled. "Besides, would you have believed me if I'd told you that someone might try to kill you and that you needed to stay home?"

I swallowed hard, my hands curling into fists.

"Yes! Maybe I would have! Or perhaps you could have given me a choice instead of letting me walk into a fucking ambush!"

Silence settled between us.

For a brief moment, I thought I had finally gotten through to him.

Then he looked away.

"You should go and get changed. You look like a mess."

He picked up the iPad Dante had left on his desk, his attention already returning to the screen.

Just like that, our conversation was over.

I stood there, staring at him. He hadn't even apologized.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to march across the room and tell him exactly what I thought of him and his ridiculous idea of fatherhood.

But I knew better than to push him any further. I could rant and yell all I wanted, but what would it change?

He would still be the same man who had kept me hidden for eighteen years. The same man who had sent me away to protect his reputation and his empire. The same man who could barely spare a few minutes to comfort his daughter after someone had tried to kill her.

So I turned and walked out of his study. I was angry. I was hurt.

And I had absolutely no idea who had just tried to kill me.

---

The following morning, I woke to the sound of cars revving in and out of the mansion's parking lot.

At first, I buried my face in my pillow and tried to ignore the noise.

It didn't work.

Another engine roared outside, followed by the sound of men shouting orders.

I groaned and threw the covers aside.

What the hell was going on now?

After washing up and changing into a simple outfit, I headed downstairs for breakfast, hoping to find some peace and quiet.

Instead, I found my father sitting on the couch with a woman I'd never seen before.

Her hair was pulled into a sleek bun, and her posture was so straight that she looked as if she'd been trained to stand that way. She wore a fitted black suit, and her expression was calm as she listened to my father speak.

I slowed down.

Who was she?

I looked between them, trying to make sense of the situation.

Does Dad have a mistress?

I almost laughed at the thought.

Not that I'd blame him. God knew Phave hadn't exactly been a loss worth mourning.

My lips twitched, but I quickly stopped myself.

Laughing alone in a room with my father had never ended well.

Besides, the woman didn't look like the kind of person who would willingly get involved with a man like him.

She looked more like someone who could break a man's arm without changing her expression.

Interesting.

I continued down the stairs, and my father finally noticed me.

A sly smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

That was when I realized something was up his sleeve.

Great.

What had he done now?

"Morning, Dad."

I reached the bottom of the stairs, my eyes never leaving the woman.

She looked me over from head to toe, her gaze lingering on my clothes before returning to my face.

There was no warmth in her expression. No smile. Not even the slightest hint of curiosity.

She assessed me like an object for sale, deciding my worth without bothering to ask my name.

I immediately disliked her.

"Mika," my father greeted.

Nothing more.

Not even a good morning.

Apparently, basic pleasantries were too much to ask from the man who had brought me into the world.

I crossed my arms and squared my shoulders.

"Who is she, Dad? And can you please tell your men to stop driving in and out of the mansion? This isn't a parking lot. I couldn't even close my eyes for five minutes without hearing another engine."

My father finally turned his full attention toward me.

The way he held my gaze was almost unsettling. He looked pleased with himself, as though he'd been waiting all morning for me to ask that exact question.

I narrowed my eyes.

"What?"

He leaned back against the couch.

"Mika, meet Elsa Jean." My father smiled. “Your new bodyguard.”

I blinked and glanced at the woman. Then I looked at him. And at her again. 

Elsa didn't move. She simply sat there, watching me with the same unreadable expression.

"My what?"

"Your new bodyguard," he repeated, as though I were a little slow.

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not."

I turned toward Elsa, who still hadn't said a word.

She looked far too calm for someone who had just been assigned to protect a Mafia boss's daughter. Either she was exceptionally good at her job, or she had absolutely no idea what she was getting herself into.

The memory of the gunshots returned without warning. I could almost feel the cold restaurant floor beneath my palms and hear the bullets tearing thr

ough the air.

I looked at Elsa again. She met my gaze without flinching.

I hated the idea of having someone follow me everywhere. I hated the thought of losing what little freedom I had finally gained after eighteen years of being hidden away.

But most of all, I hated that my father had made the decision without asking me.