Signed To The Mafia King - Chapter 50: Chapter 50

ALINA
Mikhail was waiting at the door when I arrived at the club.
He was dressed in black, and had a gun at his waist.
He gave instructions to one of the men and when they had stepped back inside, he nodded and pushed the door open for me.
"It’s packed tonight."
I stepped inside the club, almost eager to see what it looked like.
Heat, perfume and sweat were mixed together in the air. The smell hit me like a physical force.
Mikhail stayed close as I walked deeper into the club. This was only my second time here.
My father had never liked me being around his business, and had always kept me away from certain parts of his world.
But now, the rules were different. He was gone, and this place was mine.
I stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down.
People were dancing downstairs against each other. Some were making out, kissing right in front of others.
But it was the pole dancers that held my attention.
I'd never seen anyone dancing on a pole and for a moment, I stopped where I was and watched the women dancing on the poles in the center of the room.
There were three women dancing. Each of them had their own poles painted the color of their dresses. Each woman was dressed scantily, a couple of them almost naked.
All three of them were, at that moment, hanging upside down. I gasped, intrigued. How were they doing that?
But one of the women had my attention locked on her. She was dressed more modestly but that was only because she was covered head to toe in feathers.
You couldn't see an inch of her skin, but you had the feeling that if she moved just the right way, her whole body would be on display. She had all the men on the edge of their chairs, waiting for that moment.
They fanned around her like wings as she turned on the pole. And she was good, even better than I would have expected. She looked confident. Fearless.
I tilted my head, watching.
"Bring her to me when she’s done," I said to Mikhail. I didn't know why I was so stuck on her, but I was. Maybe because she looked a tiny bit familiar even though I couldn't see her face too well.
His only response was a short nod before he disappeared into the crowd.
I turned and made my way toward the office. My father’s office.
No. I reminded myself; it was my office now.
The door was heavy, the kind that shut out the noise completely once it was closed. I pushed it open and stepped inside.
It was completely dark inside.
I didn’t turn on the lights.
The room still felt like my dad had just stepped out for a break.
The shelves were still lined with the same books he’d kept for years.
His whiskey bottle sat on the corner of the desk, still half full.
The chair, his chair, was pulled out slightly, like he would be back in any second.
But he wasn’t coming back.
I stood there, staring. Everything in this room reminded me of him. Every detail, every object, every scent of Cigar.
And for the first time since I walked in, I felt what I’d been avoiding all night.
I missed him.
Mikhail came back into the office, stopping in front of my desk like he was waiting for the next order.
I looked up, pushing myself to get on with what had brought me here. “Bring me the sketch you have of the man who's been asking for me.”
He nodded and left without a word. I had it in mind to look at the club's financial books. I hadn't done that yet since I'd taken over.
I thought to do that for the entire chain of clubs, or to get an auditor.
I leaned back, fingers tapping against the desk, thinking about the woman on the pole. My heart skipped a beat. If my suspicions were true, then there would be a lot to unravel.
How did she end up working for me and I had no idea?
Mikhail came back a minute later, setting the folded paper in front of me.
I opened it.
A strong jaw. Green eyes. I recognized the face at once.
I blinked. Then I laughed.
Mikhail frowned. “What?”
I tapped the paper. “This is Ethan.”
His frown deepened. “You know him?”
I looked at the sketch again, still amused. Of all people, it had to be him.
“The man who said he’d kill for me if I asked,” I said, shaking my head. “What the fuck is he doing asking my men about me?”
Mikhail was staring. “I don't understand.”
I lifted the paper, looking at it again. Ethan looked just as handsome and unserious as the last time I’d seen him.
I dropped the paper on the desk. “Anyway, this is good. I was thinking of finding a way to contact him.” I smiled. “Looks like I won’t have to.”
“You want me to find him?” Mikhail asked.
I looked at him. “No need. If he’s looking for me, I just have to wait. He'll find me.”
Mikhail didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue.
I sighed and leaned forward. “Bring the books too. I want to see how much profit the clubs have been making.”
He gave a short nod and left again. I picked up the sketch, staring at Ethan’s face.
Why was he suddenly looking for me?
The door opened again.
Mikhail walked in carrying a large register and a stack of thick books. He dropped them onto the desk and dust rose from them.
I groaned. “This is a lot.”
Mikhail didn’t say anything.
I pulled the register toward me, flipping it open. The pages were filled with handwritten numbers. My father’s system. Old-fashioned.
I sighed. “Why hasn’t this been transferred to a computer?”
Mikhail laughed. “Your father wanted everything on paper.”
I lifted a brow. “My father is dead. This should be in a database.”
Mikhail hesitated. Then he nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Good.” I flipped a page, scanning the numbers. Profits looked stable. No major losses. That was a relief.
Mikhail sat across from me, arms crossed. “The man asking about you,” he said, watching me carefully. “He’s in the club right now.”
I looked up. This was even better. I could deal with Ethan here at once. “Bring Ethan to me.”
Mikhail’s brows pulled together. “How do you know his name?”
I smiled. “I do my homework.”