Page 12 of Beneath the Light of the Moon

The nickname made Mikko’s teeth grit together. “Last time I checked, you’re taped to a chairIgave you when I leased the place. You’re in a roomIdesigned and built. You may think you own this building and everything in it, but I do.” A sharp grin spread across Mikko’s face.“And I ownyou.”

“Otvali.” Fuck off.

Cristiano stepped back, already sensing the direction of thisconversation.

“Since you claim my father did such an outstanding job on running his business, you’ll already know how he handled situations like this,” Mikko drawled, stalking closer.

The light above him cast severe shadows on his body, showing every plane of hard muscle through his crisp button down. Mikko had spent hours honing his physique for moments like this. It’d become obsessive the way he routinely worked out.

And Ivan knew that, realization settling into his eyes. “I-I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Honestly, I think it’s overdue. My father did worse for far less. As his son, I would know.”

Silence.

“I wish I could say I’m surprised, but you always did run back to your master when times got tough.” Mikko enjoyed the way Ivan’s throat worked nervously. “And whoisyour master, Ivan?”

“You?” the man hurriedly muttered, hoping more ass kissing would save him.

“No,” Mikko tsked, “although, it should be, but that can be…corrected.”

“W-what do you mean? Then–who?”

“A dead man. One who left the stains of his sins all over this disgusting city. One who didn’t care about men like you despite his sweet words, so why stand by him now? Why stand by Alek who isn’t even here to see your weak submission?”

“He-he’s all I know.”

And for a second, Mikko could relate.

Hands clapped down on Ivan’s shoulders, the motion nearly knocking the wind out of him. Mikko’s clean skin clutched the soiled fabric of the man’s shirt, emotions spilling from his actions despite his hatred for such displays of sentiment.

“It’s sad that the man you chose to cling to couldn’t even remember which one of my hands he’dburned.”

His rough hold slipped away, wrinkles left in the fabric of Ivan’s shirt.

Straightening, Mikko stifled his inner emotions as he focused on the task before him. Inwardly, he longed to wipe the grime off his hands, but he suppressed that. “Last chance, Ivan. Care to wire a hundred thousand dollars to my account while also paying off those you attracted the attention of?”

Although Mikko expected it, it was still disappointing to be proven right when Ivan remained soundless. He had a faraway look in his eyes, his begging long since flushed out of his system.

Good, that makes this easier,Mikko thought darkly.

“No?” A cracking of Mikko’s knuckles. “Well, it’ll be a pleasure doingbusinesswith you, then.”

“Always hiding behind your men,” Ivan spat as Mikko signaled to those standing in shadow. “Can’t stand to torture me yourself? Hands too soft and pretty to—”

Thwack!

A fist cut off Ivan’s taunts, the interruption welcomed by Mikko as he slipped into a spot next to Cristiano standing along the edge of the small room. As the rest of Mikko’s employees descended upon Ivan’s prone form, the words spoken pricked at his toughened exterior. He’d never live up to his father’s legacy—infamy or otherwise. Mikko wouldn’t want it any other way, but it still irked him.

Smack!

Another punch landed on the man’s jaw, the force of the motion almost sending him flying backward if not for another man already there, holding him in place. Caught by his collar, Ivan was helpless to the onslaught of punches. The metal chair scraped below him from the assault, its legs struggling to stay upright. It was a gory orchestra,the men working in flawless tandem to deliver the retribution Mikko had grown to live by.

He might let people think what they want, but at the end of the day, they obeyed him whether they liked it or not. The weight was ineffable, but there was no turning back now. The horrid smacking of skin upon skin and wet splattering proved that.

As Ivan’s teeth clacked together audibly, Mikko found his solitude in the show of violence. Deep down, he knew it was a terrible act of justice, but it was better than the alternative.

Doing the punishments myself.