Mile High Daddy: Chapter 18

The memory plays on an endless loop, a curse I can’t shake no matter how much time passes.

Gunfire.

The smell of the car tires burning. Torres slumped over in the front seat.

And then—her.

Lila.

Wide eyes. Trembling lips. That split second where she hesitated—just before she made the choice that still haunts me.

She didn’t run toward me.

She ran away.

The sharp sting of betrayal coils in my chest, as fresh as the day it happened.

I press my fingers against my ribs, feeling the dull ache of the scar she left me with. The bullet wound has healed, but the damage? That’s permanent.

She left me bleeding.

Left me vulnerable.

And I let her go.

The anger festers, deep and unrelenting, like an infection in my veins. I have never been a man who forgives easily. In my world, betrayal is met with swift, brutal consequences. Yet, months have passed, and Lila is still out there.

Hidden.

Safe.

While I spend every waking moment hunting a ghost.

I take a slow sip of whiskey, the burn of the liquor doing little to dull the edge of my thoughts. The room around me is dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn to keep the outside world at bay. My office is filled with the scent of cigar smoke and aged wood, the fire casting long shadows across the walls.

Across from me, my mother sits, perfectly composed, her cold, regal presence as suffocating as ever.

Ekaterina Ivanova is not a woman who forgives.

She taps her manicured fingers against the armrest of her chair, watching me closely, as if measuring just how far I’ve fallen.

“You look tired, Mikhail,” she says smoothly, her Russian accent thick and sharp. “Still mourning the little traitor?”

I don’t respond immediately. Instead, I roll the glass between my fingers, watching the way the amber liquid catches the light.

She takes my silence as confirmation and scoffs, shaking her head. “I raised you better than this. A woman betrays you, and you allow her to simply disappear?”

My jaw clenches. “She didn’t disappear. She was taken from me.”

My mother arches a delicate brow. “Was she? Or did she run the moment you were weak?”

A muscle ticks in my jaw.

Because we both know the truth.

Lila ran.

She saw her opportunity and she took it.

And the worst part? I don’t know if it was fear that made her leave—or something worse.

Regret.

Disgust.

Maybe she never wanted me at all.

The thought turns my blood to ice. I exhale through my nose, setting the glass down with a soft clink on the mahogany desk. “I will find her.”

My mother studies me, her lips curving into something like amusement. “And then what? Welcome her back with open arms? Let her crawl into your bed like nothing happened?”

The heat of my anger surges.

“No,” I say, voice like steel.

The room falls silent.

I don’t have to elaborate. She understands.

When I find Lila, she won’t get a choice this time.

She will never be able to run from me again.

My mother leans forward, her expression darkening. “Then do what needs to be done, synok.”

My throat tightens at the old term.

She only calls me that when she’s trying to remind me of who I am. Of what I am.

She stands gracefully, smoothing down the folds of her deep emerald dress, always impeccable, always in control. “I would have had her killed the moment she ran,” she says casually, as if she’s discussing the weather. “You know that, don’t you?”

My hands tighten into fists. “I won’t kill her,” I say flatly.

My mother scoffs, unimpressed. “Shame. A dead wife is far less humiliating than a runaway one.”

I breathe through my rage, keeping my expression blank. Ekaterina Ivanova has never believed in second chances. In her world, disloyalty is a death sentence.

I am not as merciful as my mother likes to think. Lila will suffer for what she did, but not in the way my mother envisions.

I won’t kill her.

I will own her.

When I finally have her back in my grasp, she will pay for every sleepless night, every second of agony she’s put me through.

The old woman forgets that humiliation isn’t what fuels me.

It’s possession.

Lila isn’t something I can lose.

She’s something that belongs to me.

And yet, months have passed, and she’s still beyond my reach.

That fact burns in my gut like acid, a slow, torturous rage that refuses to subside. I have men scouring the country, tracing every possible lead…

“You’re too soft, Mikhail.” My mother turns, her ice-blue eyes pinning me with disappointment. “You let that little American girl humiliate you, and now you do nothing.”

I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the firelight. I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say.

She steps closer, her heels clicking against the polished floors, her presence suffocating. “Do you have any idea what people are saying?” she continues, voice laced with disdain. “That the mighty Mikhail Ivanov was played by a girl. That your wife—the woman meant to solidify your position—ran and you have yet to make an example of her.”

My jaw clenches.

I know what they’re saying. I’ve heard the whispers, seen the amused glances in the eyes of men who wouldn’t dare speak their thoughts aloud.

They think I’ve been defanged.

That I’ve let Lila Evans make a fool of me.

My mother steps even closer, resting a delicate hand on the back of my chair. “You’ve searched long enough,” she murmurs. “You won’t find her like this. And if you refuse to take action, then I will.”

I set my glass down, slow and controlled. “Meaning?”

Her lips curl into a thin, cruel smile. “She has a mother, doesn’t she?”

A cold, sharp silence stretches between us.

I already know where this is going.

“She’s the only loose thread,” my mother continues smoothly. “If Lila is still alive, that woman knows where she is. She’s her mother—a woman like her will always find a way to keep in touch. Even in hiding.”

I exhale slowly, my fingers pressing into the armrest of my chair. “You think I don’t already know that?”

“Then why haven’t you used it?” she snaps, her patience wearing thin. “Drag the woman in. Hurt her. Dangle her life in front of her daughter, and watch how quickly Lila crawls out of whatever hole she’s buried herself in.”

I tilt my head, studying her.

Ekaterina Ivanova is not a woman who bluffs.

She doesn’t speak in hypotheticals. If I don’t handle this, she will.

And my mother does not believe in mercy.

I lean back in my chair, exhaling through my nose. “You would kill her mother?”

She arches a delicate brow. “Wouldn’t you?”

I don’t answer.

Not because I’m unsure—because I am.

I don’t hesitate when it comes to eliminating threats. I don’t hesitate when it comes to punishing betrayal. But Lila’s mother isn’t a threat. She’s leverage.

I tap my fingers against the glass, considering. “And if she doesn’t know where Lila is?”

My mother scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Then make her suffer until she does. People will tell you anything when you take away what they love.”

A long silence stretches between us.

I meet her gaze. “And if I say no?”

She doesn’t blink. “Then I will do it myself.”

The words settle in the air between us, thick with warning.

She’s not bluffing.

If I don’t handle this my way, my mother will handle it hers.

And I already know what that looks like.

Ekaterina Ivanova will not leave Lila’s mother breathing.

She would kill her and have her body dumped in the street, a brutal message to anyone who dares cross our family. A warning written in blood.

The music thrums through the club, low and pulsing, the bass vibrating in my chest like a heartbeat.

One of my clubs. One of many.

The club is packed—bodies moving, voices overlapping, the scent of expensive perfume mingling with whiskey and sweat.

But none of it touches me.

I sit in the VIP section, my fingers curled around a glass of vodka, staring at nothing as the world moves around me.

A girl drapes herself over my side, pressing her hands against my chest, her lips close to my ear. “Mikhail,” she purrs, her breath warm, cloying. “You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

I barely glance at her.

Because I don’t care.

She’s not Lila.

And that means she’s nothing to me.

Without a word, I shift slightly, and she gets the message. She huffs in annoyance before slinking away, disappearing into the crowd.

Good.

I exhale through my nose, tilting my glass, letting the liquor burn down my throat.

Across the room, Evans is sprawled out on the couch, two women draped over him like expensive accessories. He looks comfortable, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, a cigar resting between his fingers.

“Mikhail,” he greets as I drop into the seat across from him. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

I lean back against the couch, my fingers drumming against the glass in my hand. “I’ve been busy.”

Evans lets out a low chuckle. “So I’ve heard.” And he’s heard right. “You’re making a mess of New York, Ivanov,” he muses. “I almost feel sorry for the poor bastards who got in your way.”

I don’t respond.

I’ve been cleaning house.

New York has been on fire for months.

With me out of commission for weeks after the ambush, the city had begun to rot from the inside. My absence created a vacuum that lesser men were desperate to fill.

I crushed them all.

Now, I own this city again.

But it’s not enough.

Because Alexei—the man who orchestrated my downfall, who set fire to the balance of power—has vanished like a shadow in the wind.

No leads. No trace.

Like a fucking ghost.

Evans reads the tension in my face and tilts his head. “No luck finding him?”

I roll my jaw, my frustration barely contained. “It’s like he vanished.”

And I don’t like that.

Alexei doesn’t vanish. He schemes. He moves in the shadows. And if I can’t find him, it means he’s planning something. And with Lila still out there, still unprotected⁠—

He’s a problem I can’t afford to ignore.

Evans swirls the liquor in his glass, watching me carefully. “You really think Alexei has her?”

“No,” I admit.

If he had, he’d have made sure I knew.

But that doesn’t mean she’s safe.

Evans leans back, exhaling heavily. “I’ll do anything to find her.”

I arch a brow. “Will you?”

“She’s my daughter, Ivanov.”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. “You have an odd way of showing it.”

His face darkens. He knows he has no ground to stand on. He gave Lila nothing but his name and a childhood riddled with disappointment. She was a pawn to him, just like this marriage had been.

But I believe him.

Not because he suddenly gives a damn about Lila—because he cares about power.

And her disappearance makes him weak.

“I can bring her mother in,” I say, watching for his reaction.

Evans stiffens slightly, but he covers it well. “She won’t talk.”

“No, she won’t.” I take another sip of whiskey. “But she’s not as harmless as she looks.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle. “That’s the first true thing you’ve said all night.”

I tilt my head. “How long has it been since you spoke to her?”

His mouth presses into a thin line, his fingers tapping against the table. “Years. We don’t talk.”

A slow smirk pulls at my lips. “Because she hates you?”

Evans barks out a laugh. “Wouldn’t be the first woman to.”

That, I can believe.

“Tell me, Mikhail, do you really think you can find her without me?”

I watch him, expression unreadable.

It’s a bold move—offering himself as an asset.

But it’s also pathetic.

This is the man who sold his daughter into a marriage for power. The man who threw her to the wolves without hesitation. And now? Now, he wants to negotiate?

I let the silence stretch until the smirk begins to slip from his face.

“Do what you can,” I say finally, voice like steel.

His lips twitch. “That’s more like it.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “And if you fail?”

He scoffs. “Then you’ll kill me, I assume.”

I don’t blink. “Yes.”

His amusement falters for a second before he barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Goddamn. No wonder my daughter ran from you.”

Something cold slithers through my chest, but I keep my face impassive, tapping my fingers against the table.

“I can bring her mother in.” he says. “The woman may seem harmless but her family isn’t.”

I finally look up. “What about her family?”

“She’s an Orlov.”

I pause. I’ve heard that name before.

“When I was a kid, they were the most powerful thing in the city. I grew up in Chicago and that’s where I met their daughter—Lila’s mother. She got tired of the life I gave her, wanted to cut ties, burn bridges. And for what?” He sneers. “For a goddamn dream of an honest life. A life without this.” He gestures vaguely around us. “She was a fool to think she could escape it.”

I don’t correct him.

He’s right.

No one ever truly leaves this world.

“But here’s the problem,” he continues, rolling his whiskey glass between his fingers. “I couldn’t give it up. I tried, for her. For Lila. But you don’t just walk away from this life. I spent years balancing the two worlds, and in the end?” He shrugs. “She left. Took Lila with her.”

I absorb the information, my mind clicking pieces into place.

Her mother’s family.

If they’re as powerful as he’s suggesting, then maybe Lila had help escaping.

Lila’s father leans forward, leveling me with a look. “If you’re smart, you’ll keep that woman breathing. Because if anyone can lure my daughter out of hiding, it’s her.”

I tilt my head.

He’s right.

But he’s also wrong.

Because I don’t need to lure Lila out.

I just need to find her.

And when I do⁠—

She’ll have no choice but to come back where she belongs.