Blue Eyed Devil

‎Mikhail’s POV

‎Dawn crept over the city like a thief, gray light bleeding through the skyline. I hadn’t slept—Ingrid’s visit last night was a fleeting escape, but that fiery waitress from the club still haunted me. Her face, her nerve, the way she’d flung that drink like I was just some prick in her way. No one dared that. No one. I was sprawled in my penthouse office, silk robe loose, sipping espresso when my phone buzzed. Dmitri’s name flashed. Answers about the warehouse theft, finally. I answered, voice sharp. “Talk.”

‎“Got the report, boss,” Dmitri said, tense but on point. “Three punks, early 20s. Small-time idiots, probably thought they could flip our goods. Names, photos, locations sent. First two live alone. Third one, Elias, stays with his older sister, Nora, in a rundown spot.”

‎Nora. The name hit like a spark. Where had I heard it? My mind flashed to the club—her manager calling out “Nora” as she dragged the spitfire away. Could it be the same one? My pulse ticked up, not just from rage at the theft but from a twisted curiosity. A girl with that kind of fire, tied to a thief? This was getting interesting.

‎“Grab the first two, bring them to the base,” I ordered. “Aleksei and I will handle Elias. I want to see this one myself.”

‎Dmitri paused. “You sure, boss? We can haul all three.”

‎“Do I sound like I’m asking?” I snapped. “Move.”

‎I hung up, calling Aleksei. He picked up, groggy. “Mikhail, it’s dawn. What’s the deal?”

‎“Thieves ID’d. One’s Elias, lives with a sister named Nora. Sound familiar?”

‎Aleksei groaned. “The drink-throwing waitress? Shit, you’re hooked already. Why not let the men handle it?”

‎“Because I’m curious,” I said, grin sharp. “Get your ass downstairs.”

‎He muttered curses but complied. I dressed fast—black leather coat, tailored pants, boots that clicked with purpose. The Romanov Empire demanded presence, and I was its face. I was in my element. Aleksei met me at the SUV, bleary-eyed, grumbling about my “damn curiosity” ruining his morning. I flipped him off, laughing. “Keep up, old man.” Our men piled into another car, armed and silent. Dmitri texted the address—a crumbling apartment in a forgotten corner of the city. As we drove, the city stirring awake, my mind churned. Nora. If she was the same girl, this visit just got a lot more entertaining.

‎We pulled up to a decrepit building, the kind where hope went to die. My men flanked me, ski masks on, machine guns ready—overkill, but intimidation was half the game. Aleksei shot me a look, half-annoyed, half-amused. I strode to the door, my cologne cutting through the stale air. I knocked, hard, the sound a warning. No answer. I pounded again, patience thinning. Whoever this Elias was, he’d learn what it meant to cross me. And if his sister was my firecracker? Well, that was a bonus I’d savor.

‎

‎Nora’s POV

‎The club had drained me dry. After a brutal shift at Luxe Meridian, my bones ached from hours of balancing trays and dodging the egos of rich snobs. Their fake smiles and overpriced drinks made my skin crawl, but tips kept the lights on. It was 3 a.m. when I dragged myself through the apartment door, collapsing onto the couch. The quiet was a balm, a rare pause after a night of chaos. That jerk from the club—Mikhail Romanov, the owner—flashed in my mind. Throwing wine in his face had felt good, but my stomach twisted at the fallout. My temper was a curse, and now my job was probably toast.

‎The house was too quiet. No TV, no Elias clattering in the kitchen. My heart skipped. I bolted to his room, panic rising, but there he was—sprawled on his bed, headphones blasting indie rock, fast asleep. Relief hit hard.

‎I headed to my room, craving sleep, when a heavy knock shook the door. I froze, muttering a curse. Janys, our landlady, probably sniffing for rent. She had a sixth sense for when I got home. The knocking grew louder, aggressive, not her usual tap. Irritation flared—my feet hurt, my head throbbed, and I just wanted peace. I stormed to the door, ready to snap, and swung it open.

‎My words died. Three men loomed, dressed in black, ski masks hiding their faces, machine guns slung like props from a war film. My heart slammed against my ribs as I backed away, mind racing for a plan—grab a knife, scream, anything. Then two more figures strolled in, and my breath caught. The first was tall, dark-haired, grim. The second? Blonde hair glinting in the dim light, sharp blue eyes piercing through me, handsome as the devil himself. Mikhail Romanov. His leather coat screamed wealth, his cologne—rich, suffocating—filled the room. That smug smirk spread as his eyes landed on me.

‎“Ah, no wonder I said your name sounded familiar,” he said, voice smooth as venom. “We meet again, Фурия.”

‎My blood froze. The club. The drink. And now he was here, in my home, with armed goons. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, voice steady despite the fear clawing my chest.

‎His smirk widened, eyes glinting. “Your brother, Elias. He stole from me. Big mistake.”

‎My stomach dropped. Elias? Stole? I didn’t know what he was talking about, but the guns, the men, the way Mikhail’s gaze pinned me—it was real. And I was in deep.

‎

‎Mikhail’s POV

‎Her face was a storm of shock and fury, those same fiery eyes from the club now wide with confusion. Nora. So it was her. The coincidence was delicious, fate’s twisted sense of humor at play. She stood in a cramped apartment that screamed struggle, hands clenched, ready to fight despite the odds. That fire again. It stirred something in me—part intrigue, part hunger, all dangerous.

‎Aleksei shifted beside me, his disapproval practically a grunt. He’d warned me this was a bad call, coming ourselves, but I didn’t care. I wanted to see her, to feel that spark up close. “Where’s Elias?” I asked, keeping my tone light, teasing, though the threat was clear.

‎Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t answer. Smart, but not enough. I nodded to my men, who moved toward the hallway. She stepped forward, blocking them, voice low and fierce. “Stay out of his room.”

‎I raised a brow, amused despite the situation. “Bold, Фурия. But your brother crossed me. That’s not something I forgive.”

‎Her eyes flashed, fear mixing with defiance. She didn’t know what he’d done—interesting. I stepped closer, my presence filling the space. “Let’s talk. Unless you want this to get uglier.”

‎

‎Nora’s POV

‎My heart pounded so hard I thought it’d break my ribs. Mikhail Romanov, in my apartment, with armed thugs who looked ready to start a war. Elias stole from him? My brother, always screwing things up, but this? I had no clue what he’d done, but the guns weren’t props, and Mikhail’s smirk wasn’t a game. His cologne, his arrogance, those piercing blue eyes—it all made my blood boil, but fear kept me rooted. I was out of my depth, and he knew it.

‎“What do you want?” I asked, voice steady despite the chaos in my head.

‎He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Your brother. And maybe... a conversation with you.”

‎My stomach twisted. This wasn’t just about Elias. Those eyes, that tone—they were locked on me. And I had no idea how to fight what was coming.

‎

‎