Mile High Daddy: Chapter 10

Mornings at the estate are always the same—calm, orderly, suffocating. I sit at the head of the long dining table, my coffee untouched as I read through a report on my phone. The staff move in and out of the room, but I barely notice them.

I haven’t seen Lila this morning, and I doubt I will. She’s made it painfully clear she wants nothing to do with me, her pointed silences and quick exits speaking louder than any words ever could.

And maybe she’s right. Maybe staying away from her is the best thing I can do—for both of us.

“You’ve been avoiding her.” My mother steps in, as composed as always, her gaze sweeping over the room before landing on me.

She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. She never does.

“Good morning to you too, Mother,” I say, leaning back in my chair and giving her a dry look.

She doesn’t smile. “I’m not here for idle chatter.”

“I thought you were here for breakfast, like me,” I shoot back.

She takes her seat at the far end of the table and pours herself a cup of tea, before gesturing at one of the staff to start serving her.

“Lila won’t be joining us today?”

“I don’t know,” I say, looking down at my phone.

“Fighting with your bride already, Mikhail? That’s not like you.”

I arch a brow. “You’re imagining things.” I lean back in my chair. “Is there a point to this conversation?” I ask, though I already know where it’s going.

“You know exactly why I’m here,” she says, her tone as cold as the marble floors beneath our feet. “You’ve been married for days, and yet…there’s been nothing. No consummation. No acknowledgment of the union. Are you trying to create problems for yourself?”

I grind my teeth but keep my expression neutral. “You don’t need to concern yourself with that.”

“Oh, but I do,” she says, setting her teacup down with a soft clink. “This isn’t just about you, Mikhail. It’s about the family. About our legacy. Or have you forgotten that?”

I take a slow breath, willing myself to stay calm. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Then why haven’t you consummated the marriage?” she asks bluntly, her eyes narrowing. “Why haven’t you presented the blood of the virgin bride?”

Her words are like a slap across the face. I feel a surge of anger rise in me, sharp and hot.

“I don’t believe in archaic rituals,” I say.

She arches a brow, her expression cool and unimpressed. “Your beliefs are irrelevant, Mikhail. What matters is the message it sends. To your men. To her father. To everyone watching.”

I lean forward, my hands braced on the table. “And what message do you think it sends when I treat my wife like some medieval trophy?”

Her lips tighten into a thin line, and for a moment, we just stare at each other, the tension crackling in the air.

“You’re playing with fire,” she says finally, her voice calm but cutting. “You’ve already brought her into this world. If you don’t solidify her place⁠—”

“I know the risks,” I snap, cutting her off. “And I’ll handle them.”

She studies me, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “See that you do. Because if you don’t, you’ll have more than just her father to answer to. He’s still a threat.” She rises gracefully, her presence still commanding even as she moves to leave.

At the doorway, she pauses, glancing back at me. “Remember, Mikhail. You chose this path. Now walk it.”

I rake a hand through my hair, frustration and guilt gnawing at me. She’s right, in her way. Lila is already a target, already caught in the cross fire of this life. And every moment I keep my distance, I make her more vulnerable.

But the thought of forcing her into something she doesn’t want, something she hates me for, twists something deep in my gut.

I stare down at my untouched coffee, her voice echoing in my head.

I’ll hate you forever for this.

I’ll protect her. No matter what it takes. Even if it means protecting her from me.

The hum of the car engine fills the silence as Torres and I head toward Staten Island. The sprawling skyline of New York disappears in the rearview mirror, replaced by the industrial sprawl that has become all too familiar over the years.

Torres is in the passenger seat, his bulk filling the space as he flips through a tablet, reviewing reports from our men. His face is set in a grim line, the faint scar running along his jaw catching the light.

“Alexei’s been busy,” he says, breaking the silence.

I glance at him briefly before returning my focus to the road. “How bad is it?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead pulling up a video feed and handing me the tablet. The footage shows a dockyard—our dockyard—teeming with activity. Men I don’t recognize. Trucks being loaded with containers that don’t belong to us.

“Bold,” I say, my voice calm but cold. “He’s moving on our territory now.”

“Not just moving,” Torres says, his tone sharp. “He’s sending a message. The dock manager said they were bragging about it. ‘Alexei sends his regards.’”

My grip on the steering wheel tightens, the leather creaking under the pressure. Alexei has been a thorn in my side for years, but this? This is a declaration of war.

The warehouse looms ahead, a hulking structure of concrete and steel tucked away in the industrial maze of Staten Island. It’s one of our oldest properties, inherited from my grandfather’s time. I park the car, and Torres steps out immediately, his hand resting on the Glock at his hip as he scans the area.

Inside, the warehouse is alive with activity. Men move between rows of crates. The smell of oil and steel lingers in the air. Anton, one of my lieutenants, approaches quickly. His jaw clenches as he nods in greeting.

“Boss,” he says.

“What’s the situation?” I ask.

“Alexei’s men hit the docks last night. We lost two shipments—cash and merchandise,” Anton says, hesitating before continuing. “And some of the girls.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. I’ve been working to steer the family away from human trafficking, phasing it out of our operations. But it’s not a simple fix, and Alexei knows that.

“Casualties?” Torres asks, his tone hard.

“Two dead. One survivor,” Anton replies.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“In the back office,” Anton says, gesturing toward the far corner.

I nod, and Torres follows me through the rows of crates to the small office. Inside, a young man sits hunched in a chair, his face pale and his hands trembling around a mug of coffee.

“Matvei,” I say, stepping into the room. “Tell me what happened.”

He looks up, his eyes wide with fear. “It happened so fast,” he stammers. “They came out of nowhere, masks on, guns drawn. But they didn’t hide who they were. They…they said Alexei wanted you to know it was him.”

The room goes quiet.

“You did well,” I say to Matvei. “Rest now. You’ve earned it.”

He nods shakily, and one of the guards steps in to escort him out.

As the door closes, Torres turns to me. “This isn’t just about territory. Alexei’s trying to send a message.”

“He’s making a play for everything,” I say, my voice cold.

“And what’s the response?” Torres asks.

I don’t answer right away, my gaze fixed on the footage still looping on the security feed. Alexei thinks he can make moves like this without consequence.

But in this world, every move demands a reply.

“We remind him what happens when you challenge the Ivanovs,” I say finally.

“Boss,” he says, breaking the silence. “If Alexei keeps pushing, it’s only a matter of time before we’re looking at full-scale war.”

I nod, my jaw tightening as I glance back at the security footage still looping on the screen. “We’re already there, Torres.”

Torres exhales, his fingers tapping against his belt. “What about Evans? High time we bring him and his men in? He’s been vying for blood.”

The name alone is enough to make my chest tighten.

Ethan Evans. Lila’s father. My…ally.

He’s a cunning man, a bastard son who clawed his way into power through sheer force of will. But he’s not pure blood—only half Russian. In this world, that matters. He doesn’t have the respect he craves, the standing he needs to truly solidify his place in the Bratva.

That’s where I come in.

The alliance between our families is as much about cementing his legacy as it is about protecting mine. On paper, it’s a perfect match—a blending of power and resources, a shield against the likes of Alexei.

But in practice?

“I don’t trust him completely,” I say.

Torres raises an eyebrow. “The alliance is one of the reasons for this,” he points out. “It was supposed to make both of us stronger.”

“And it has,” I reply. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll hand him the keys to our operations. Evans has his own motivations, and they don’t always align with ours.”

Torres doesn’t argue, but the tension in his stance is clear. “We can’t afford to fight this on two fronts, Mikhail. Alexei’s relentless. He’s targeting us incessantly, and now, after what happened to Oleg…”

I grit my teeth, the memory of Oleg’s death flashing through my mind. He was one of my best men, a trusted lieutenant, and Alexei took him out like it was nothing.

“It’s not just about territory anymore,” Torres continues. “Alexei’s making this personal.”

“It’s always been personal,” I say. Or at least Alexei has always been personal.

He came out of the shadows—out of nowhere. My sources say he’s a bastard, just like Ethan. And he has amassed such strength in a short period of time. I have a feeling he’s being backed by some of my powerful enemies, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous alone.

Torres falls silent, and I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for a decision I’m not ready to make. Because the truth is, as much as I hate to admit it, Torres is right.

But there’s another truth I can’t ignore.

This marriage—this alliance—wasn’t just about strategy for me.

It started that way, of course. Keeping track of enemies and their families is a necessity in this world. That’s how I first saw her—Lila Evans, her picture tucked away in a file alongside the usual intel on her father. I’d studied her the way I study every piece of information that crosses my desk. Coldly. Objectively.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

But the moment I saw her face, something shifted. She wasn’t just a name on a page anymore. She was real. Tangible. And for the first time in years, I wanted something for myself.

It’s dangerous, letting yourself want. In this life, it’s the surest way to lose everything.

But I couldn’t help it. And when the opportunity came to turn this alliance into something more permanent, I didn’t hesitate.

Not that she’d ever know. To her, this marriage is just a cage—something forced upon her. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I am a bastard for doing this to her.

But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ll protect her with everything I have.

Torres clears his throat, pulling me from my thoughts. “What’s the move, boss?”

I glance at him, my expression unreadable. “We stay the course,” I say finally. “Alexei will push, but we’ll push harder.”

“And Evans?”

I hesitate for a moment, then shake my head. “Not yet. Let’s see how far Alexei’s willing to go before we bring him into this.”

Torres nods, but I can see the question in his eyes. He doesn’t press, though. He knows better.