𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 • 11 || ❝𝐀𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞❞

>𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃

· ·•◦───────·✧·──────◦•· ·

𝐌 𝐈 𝐋 𝐀 • 𝐎 𝐑 𝐋 𝐎 𝐕

I stand straight next to the staircase as Kristian says goodbye to our guests, tonight was manic, I can't even remember the names of those who I've met, let alone tell anyone what they did as a job in their mafia families. I could easily see that Kristian was fond of the Irish men, he would let his guard down loosely, but once the Americans hovered near, his jaw was clenched and his knuckles were getting whiter ready for the burst of impact. He was almost waiting for the Americans to mess up just so he could throw them out. Kristian Petrov was easy to read in some ways, his aggression was, but his next moves weren't.

I sit on the stair and watch as Kristian unravels the tie and let's it hang either side of his chest, he's undone his top two buttons and looks at his surroundings, taking in the madness. "Did you have a good night?" He asks in a polite manner, I nod. Although it was busy, I did have a nice time, talking to the wives of those who submit themselves to their husbands, that is the kind of women I'd never become.

I say goodnight to Kristian and not long after, I find myself in the guest bed already in my soft clothes and getting comfy. My mind can't help but travel to the greying haired man I had bumped into, it was just as well Kristian wasn't around, he'd only get possessive, after all that's what mafia husbands are meant to look like isn't it? He just looked so familiar but I can't put my finger on who he may be.

𝐊 𝐑 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𝐈 𝐀 𝐍 • 𝐏 𝐄 𝐓 𝐑 𝐎 𝐕

Hours have past now, tonight couldn't have gone any better. Other than if the Americans weren't here, they were setting their eyes on the prize to see what Mila looked like. I'm not stupid, the Americans whether it's the Philadelphians, the New York mafia, or the Chicago outfit. At least one of them had a plan. And whatever they give, I'll take it and beat them back. It doesn't take me long to change into lose shorts and trainers, I refuse to put a top on and sweat all over it. There just is no point. I walk to the mansion gym and find the boxing bag already dangling for me, waiting for my punches to greet the red fabric.

I tape my hands up with my black hand wraps and tighten them up around my wrists. My body always pumps itself with dopamine as soon as the wraps go on, my mind prepares itself for the upcoming pleasure and euphoria. For some reason, punching the boxing bag was like a magnet, I'm drawn to hitting it when it comes to blowing off some steam, in mostly negative ways. But I don't feel negative, unless there was something that I was unsure about in my mind that made me feel this way. I continue to hit the boxing bag anyway, grunting with every forceful contact.

Not long passes until I release a forceful grunt and the swell of discomfort spreads across my arm. I look down and notice how my stitches that Mila had done has now split. I roll my eyes and take a seat on the bench putting pressure on the blood that is pouring from my arm. I walk over to the medical kit and open the green box, finding plasters, bandages, and a small sewing kit. With difficulty I tip the content out and gather the items I need and put them to one side. Needle, stitching material, big plaster, and a bandage. I wipe away the blood and put the material through the needle ready to thread through my skin, but a sudden cough from behind me creeps.

"What have you done now?" She looks at me with confusion, I release a small grin and try and hide the fact that I stupidly opened my stitches from the sniper attack. She's not long woken up, her eyes are squinting because of the light and her hair looks untamed. She comes closer and her eyes dart from the needle to the re-opened wound on my arm. I find her rolling her eyes at me with disappointment. "You can't do anything right, can you?" She sighs and forces me to stay seated on the bench.

"Clearly not." I mumble under my breath, watching with curious eyes, looking at what she's doing. She takes the needle from me along with the sewing material.

"It'll sting." She prewarns, I find myself biting my tongue and feeling the itch to growl and groan in discomfort once again. She stitches me up half way which only causes me to stare at her with eager eyes, staring at her every move, watching as her wrist flexes with the movement of sewing. "I'm surprised you can even stitch up a wound." I lighten up the mood and throw in a joke, but she sighs.

"Try not to be too surprised, I've stitched more than you think." I want to push harder, try, and gain more information about her, maybe then I'll know why she's really here. Her walls are built so high to the point if I'll climb them, I'll fall back down because she would have metal spirals with spikes on top.

"Like?" I decide to push, whether I should or shouldn't have is what I'm about to find out, she'll either answer, ignore or tell me to do one. And stupidly I have to accept her reply.

She stops sewing for a second and sighs, lifting her plain black top and shows me a scar smeared on stomach. It was around ten centimetres long and a pinkie nail thick. I stare at it with questions running through my mind. I suddenly feel the urge to bolt up, it looks like no accident, it was a perfect cut...Intentional.

I stood up still and looked into her eyes, I grab her wrist hard, probably harder than I thought and search for distress. "Who did this to you?"

"It doesn't matter." She covers the embarrassment with a small chuckle. Although she is like a closed book, she is also very expressive. So, when she suddenly isn't, it's easy to tell when she's in a mood. "Now sit-down you idiot." She slightly steps on her tip toes and places both of her palms against my shoulders, forcing me to take a seat on the bench.

A couple of minutes go by and I'm nearly fully stitched up, Mila hasn't spoken to me since I questioned her earlier. I'm sat here like a melon thinking of ways to break her down, but that's until the silence breaks and Mila's voice penetrates the air. "It was a stab and run." She finishes up the stitching and then continues, "Or something like that." Shock almost consumes me due to Mila opening up, but I don't talk, I listen.

"I was walking one night, got pulled to the side with a bag over my head. I couldn't see anything. Everything was dark, all I could hear was the heavy breathing of the stabber. He sliced my stomach so slowly it caused agonising pain." She releases a small breath. "And that's the day I began to cope with physical pain."

"Anyway, you're all done. Goodnight Kristian." She begins to turn but stops and looks back at me, "And don't split them again." She walks off leaving me with the familiarity of silence. I stay sat here for a while still unsure on what to do with myself.

· ·•◦───────·✧·──────◦•· ·

The morning was a drag, nothing but calls and emails to respond to.

I stand in the shower with my head against the tiles thinking about my conversation with Mila last night. Her being attacked. It causes me to clench my fists and use my everything in my mind not to force my fists against the white tiles. I lift my head up and soak my head and face with freezing cold water, attempting to wash away the aggression.

With no succession I walk out, Mila didn't tell me how long ago the injury was caused, but it looked maximum five years old. Working in a mafia enables me to spot how long a scar is. I'll find Mila's attacker, and when I do, they'll have their hands cut and a scar to match.

I wipe away the condensation on the mirror and stare at my reflection, my new scar in particular. Mila didn't have to stitch me up yesterday, but something inside of me makes me thankful. Even though she's been avoiding me all morning. My phone begins to vibrate against the bathroom counter, causing me to lose track of my thoughts. I pick it up and find Jace's name light up on my screen. Without a second, I answer the phone call.

"Kristian, it isn't anything serious if you're busy...But I was hoping I could speak to you in your office in a few hours if you're available?" I try and think of my schedule, other than a virtual phone call with Cian I haven't got much else going on, thankfully.

"Of course, be there soon."

I was already heading to my office; I need to catch up on emails while I wait for Jace's arrival. But one thing I really wanted to do, was find the guy who gutted their knife into Mila. The anger rose, traveling through my veins making me clench my fists.

"Kristian?" Jace's voice pulls me from my thoughts, my fists unclench.

"The Americans have sent another message; Maxim has been shot but it's nothing fatal." I nod, I'm aware what the Americans are trying, they want a war but I won't rise to it.

Jace and I speak a bit longer and then I dismiss our conversation, there wasn't an awful lot to talk about. But when I see Elias standing outside of Mila's door, I know she's still in there. Hiding. Mila has still been avoiding me, Elias has been keeping tabs.

"Elias." I greet.

"You're able to sit on the chair you know." He nods lightly, for someone who needs to sit down regularly, Elias really doesn't use it to his advantage.

"Can I ask a favour?" He nods and looks away from Mila's door to face me fully. "I want to find Mila's attacker; the scar is around five years old. Could you track police reports to see if there was any information about it? If so, can you spy on the person and let me know where I can find them." I didn't want to explain why, but with Elias it's easy, he doesn't ask any questions and does as his told.

"I'll get Dimitry to cover you so you can go and get sorted on that." He nods and I fire a quick message to Dimitry letting him know of the sudden change.

𝐌 𝐈 𝐋 𝐀 • 𝐎 𝐑 𝐋 𝐎 𝐕

I've been curled up in my duvet for hours, unmoving and unmotivated. I can't even be bothered to do some research on Kristian. Maybe I'm coming down with something. But I have been purposely avoiding Kristian. By admitting my stupid scar yesterday I've probably made things worse, he now knows more about me, I shouldn't have even stitched him back up. Yet I did.

I groan and face up at the ceiling my mind thumping with regret and fatigue. I begin to toss and turn until there is a light knock on my door. I allow them inside but stay sat in my bed. Polina comes inside with a small silver tray in her hands. "How are you feeling Miss Orlov? I haven't seen you all day." She looks at me with worry. Maybe I should get out of bed, it'll save everyone thinking I'm being suspicious.

She settles the tray on top of the dresser, turning to me before putting her hand on the door handle. "There is macaroni cheese and a glass of water, if you need anything else let me know." I thank her and then she leaves, leaving me and my thoughts alone once again.

But being here does really make me wonder what I do believe in. I scramble off my bed and get out my folder revealing all the information I have so far, from the meetings Kristian's father and my father had in the past, to men my father knew. But my father wasn't a part of the mafia world, that's one thing I don't understand. Unless I'm being the typical naive woman thinking her father is innocent. Because really, I know my father wasn't a great man, he was too strict to begin with when I was growing up and he was too restrictive. Not allowing me to go out unless I was with his bodyguard.

But, what kind of man with money wouldn't want his child to be safe?

I decide to put the folder away and stop analysing everything, my father was either a bad man or a good man. And instead of proving that Kristian's dad had something to do with my father's murder, maybe I need to prove he didn't. It's exactly what scientists do.

I think back to last night with Kristian in the gym and finally conclude that maybe I need to blow off some steam too. I quickly change into a thin stop and some tight leggings and tie my hair up into a high ponytail, taking a bottle of water with me and walking towards the gym.

Illuminating the room only brought memories back from last night, Kristian splitting his scar, me stitching it back up as well as my stupidity. I head towards the running machine and set it all up. But before I can press start a familiar face looks at me through the mirror on the other side of the wall. I turn and find the same guy who I bumped into last night. He's starting at me with familiarity and unease.

"Mila Orlov." He looks at me with disbelief. He knew who I was, but I didn't know who he was.