by Lana Sky
I watch him warily. Is he telling the truth? I can’t tell.
“Maxim didn’t know any of this, of course,” he adds, before the suspicion could even sneak into my thoughts. “He is very thorough in his hiring process, but my methods are a tad more unorthodox. So believe me when I say that I can get you the answer you want—and relatively soon. But as in Jacob’s case, it may not lead to a pretty ending. Nonetheless, I will still insist upon my favor by the end, no matter the outcome.”
“What favor?”
He stands abruptly and bows at his waist. “This was a marvelous, marvelous conversation. Better than I could have ever hoped. So much, so much better!” He claps gleefully. “But I must bid you adieu. Oh, and before I go, remember! You cannot repeat a word of what we discussed to dear Maxim, remember? That’s the rule.”
He scampers away, passing Tomas and another guard on his way out.
“Goodbye, Francesca!” he calls back from the end of the hall. “For now…”
Chapter Nineteen
The second Dima leaves, Maxim appears by my side. “Come,” he demands from behind me. By the time I stand and face his direction, he’s already lumbering toward his private room, his steps slow and deliberate. As I cross the threshold in his wake, he keeps going until he’s forced to brace his hands against the far wall, his back still to me.
“I know he told you lies,” he hisses before I can say anything. “I know he fed you twisted ideas. But if I let his claims go unchallenged, I only have myself to blame. So here—” He points to the bed. On it is a silver folder, and the sight of it unnerves me almost as much as his rasping tone does. “Open it.”
I approach the bed cautiously and stoop for the file. It’s surprisingly heavy, and my heart skips as I peruse the documents within. I have no fucking clue what it might contain. Another contract? The deed to the house? Or something far more puzzling…
A frown tugs on my mouth as I scan the printed documents. They’re phrased in legal terms, and considering I have yet to finish one semester of college, I can barely make sense of them. Some kind of declaration? It isn’t until I read the last few lines that I finally register one crucial detail that makes my knees buckle in alarm.
His name.
It’s printed wrong. A single X denotes his last name on every single page instead of Koslov, and I rub at my eyes, refusing to believe it.
Maxim X.
“I don’t understand,” I start to say. But then it clicks, and a wave of shock knocks me off balance. I sway, grasping at the mattress, my throat unbearably tight. My head swivels toward him so quickly my neck throbs in response. “You… You changed your name.”
I struggle to say it. Given his feelings on being a Koslov, I can’t believe it, either. Not until I see him. Still hunched against the wall, he stands with his spine bowed, exposed to any reaction I might have.
“You gave up your name for me?” I whisper.
“You were right.” His accent sounds so heavy, as if each word is being ripped from the pit of his chest. “That name isn’t fitting for a family. Admittedly, this one is just temporary. But I am willing to take on any one you want to claim what I am owed.”
Me.
“W-Why?” I ask hoarsely. “I thought—”
“Do you refuse it?”
“No!” I lurch to my feet and stagger toward him. My fingers claw at his forearm until he pivots. Our eyes meet, and the emotion in his takes my breath away. They’re wide, so dark they’re fucking fathomless. I greedily hunt down whatever emotions they might reveal, but he turns away, averting his gaze.
“Don’t…” I’m begging. I’m too desperate to care. “Look at me. Please.”
Sighing, he stiffens, and I take his jaw between my fingers, making him face me.
“Dima said the name Koslov was a creed,” he admits, fisting his fingers through my hair, holding me captive in return. “And he was right. If I gave you that name, you would never be safe—and not from Anatoli or his fucking bastard pawns. But from me. You would never be safe from me. If I lost control, I could always blame it on that fucking creed. I have already, haven’t I?”
He stares down at his hands in remembrance of the damage they can inflict on a whim.
“By hiding behind that name, I could lie to you and claim that it was all I knew.” The line of his jaw tightens as he captures my waist, dragging me against him. Near my ear, he confesses, “Even before I saw you in that dress… I knew what needed to be done. What I needed to sacrifice to keep you. I’ve done it.”
“But what about your grandfather?” I ask as my brain restarts, running through every potential danger his name change might enhance. Anatoli. Dima. The future. There are so fucking many. “What about—”
“I can’t think about him.” He grips my chin, guiding me to look up at him. Dark and hollow, his eyes bore into mine, going deeper than ever before. In some ways, it feels like he’s ripping me open more intimately than he could with a whip or during sex.
“And I don’t need Dima to come to my rescue either,” he snaps. “Whatever happens, I will face it... But I will need you to do one last thing for me.”
“Anything.” My brain is still struggling to process the gravity of what he’s done. I’m numb with shock, barely aware of what I’m saying. “I’ll do anything.”
His nostrils flare at the intensity of the promise. I’ve never seen him so fucking charged. Raw power emanates from him, putting any previous authority he commanded to shame.
“Anything?” I tremble in anticipation at the hunger thickening his tone. He’ll put that word to the test later, I’m sure. But now? He smooths his fingers along my jaw, tracing every divot and curve in my skin. “I need you to play in one last game for me.”
“What?”
“I want you to pick another dress.” He runs his fingers along my spine, and cups my lower back, snatching me to his chest. I grasp his shoulders, forced to stand on tiptoe. The added height brings my forehead near his mouth, and his lips find my temple. “Not as yourself, or even for me—but as the kitten who dug her claws into me. Wearing it, I want you to stand by my side, no matter the outcome. Can you do that?”
I don’t have to ask him for clarification this time. An ominous thrill shoots through my entire body as I grip him tighter in agreement.
We both know the final round that awaits at the end of this game.
The one in which he’ll finally declare checkmate.
Or submit to utter defeat.
We spend the night in the club, sharing the bed that feels more broken-in than those in any of his other dwellings. In some moments, a sliver of space separates us. Other times, I regain consciousness in his arms, cocooned by his scent. By the time morning comes, I stir to find Maxim already dressed, pacing at the foot of the bed, a cell phone held to his ear.
“I’m ready,” he murmurs into the receiver. “With or without him… Only way. Be ready when I call.”
He hangs up and spots me from over his shoulder, his expression obscured by shadow. “Tomas will take you to the suite,” he tells me. “I’ll meet you there. There is one thing I have to do first.”
He doesn’t say what. In silence, he picks up my discarded dress instead and helps me into it. When he leads me through the club, it’s empty, bathed in darkness. Tomas is already waiting at the entrance, a car parked in the driveway behind him.
Before I leave, Maxim takes my hand, drawing me close. His lips find my temple, lingering for a second before he pulls away.
I watch him reenter the club alone, curious as to what task might be on his mind now.
A part of me warns that I’ll soon find out.
For better or for worse.
Chapter Twenty
The first time I came to this place in Maxim’s shadow, I wore the clothing of a doll—the twin to the black velvet ensemble he originally intended for me to wear to this meeting. The simple dress had obscured my shape, its primary purpose being to convey the ownership of the man b
eside me.
Nothing less, nothing more.
Now, a swath of red silk boldly displays the shape of my body while leaving little to the imagination. Cut dangerously short, it’s something the old Francesca might have pined over from the window of a boutique she could only dream of shopping in. The kind of outfit I would have assumed was far too good for me back then. Too classy. Too bold.
Maxim wanted me to choose a dress fit for his kitten. For whatever reason, this ensemble fits that bill.
In approval, Maxim’s fingers trace my lower back, exploring every contour exposed by the tight fabric. Even he looks different as we exit the car, flanked by his security. Instead of a suit, he wears a loose-fitting white shirt and black slacks that enhance his bulk more than a jacket and tie ever could. It’s a stark contrast to the professional attire of his guards as they draw up behind him.
To my surprise, he waves them off. “Stay here.”
Tomas and his partner share a questioning look but remain near the car rather than follow. “As you wish, sir. His guards weren’t expecting us,” Tomas adds, glancing at a security booth guarding the entrance to the property. “If you wanted to come unannounced, I would assume you have a minute or two before they alert him. They knew better than to deny you entrance outright, at least.”
“Be ready,” Maxim warns as he cranes his neck, observing our destination. Before us looms a sprawling mansion in Black Briar Hills—a part of the city reserved for politicians, or those with enough money to buy them. It towers above, casting a shadow that diminishes even the sun fighting through a layer of morning cloud cover.
And I can’t lie and pretend that I’m not fucking trembling inside, fighting back the memories of my first visit. This is the place where I experienced the cruelty of Maxim’s family firsthand—and my first introduction to his uncle Sevastyn.
“Are you ready?” Maxim wonders as if reading my mind. He captures my hand, lacing our fingers together.
Am I? Something won’t let me answer. Instead, I feed off the strength in his touch and shift my focus to him. The more I take in the rigid set of his jaw, the more I suspect the question wasn’t directed at me. Is he ready?
The determined tilt of his head gives me a clue. So does the cold, hard intensity of his gaze. Gone is that unnerving distance.
He’s more than ready.
“Come.” He pulls me forward, and this time, we don’t wait for a timid maid to open the door. He barges inside and heads to the heart of the house, every step bold and assured. It’s as dark within as I remember, adorned with a chilling décor devoid of any warmth.
But Anatoli isn’t in his study today.
Instead—as if smelling him out like a predator—Maxim drags me past that room and into another, wider space. A long dining table dominates the center of it. At its head sits an older man with white-blond hair. In one hand, he brandishes a knife while a maid sets a plate of steaming food before him.
Spotting Maxim, the woman jumps spilling food onto the table’s polished surface. “M-Mr. Koslov—”
“Leave,” Maxim tells her as he advances. To his grandfather, he inclines his head. “You’ve summoned me, so here I am.”
“Maximov?” Red spots appear over Anatoli’s cheeks as he snaps his fingers. At the silent command, his maid struggles to scrape up the fallen bits of egg and bacon with her bare hands. She fails, and after another pointed look from Maxim, she scurries from the room, leaving the mess behind.
Anatoli scowls, barely noticing her absence. “You dare come here unannounced—”
“I’m not here on your behalf,” Maxim says over him. To my shock, he bows his head in reverence, and the air sticks in my lungs. I back up instinctively, ripping my hand from his. It was a trap all along, Dima’s disembodied voice taunts me. Did you really believe he would choose you?
But as Maxim draws himself back to his full height, his gaze is honed, radiating the intensity of a creature who is anything but a pawn. Snippets of his past still strangle his expression like shackles, but I can sense the effort it takes for him to resist their pull.
And he does.
“I am here for your blessing,” he says. “As well as to offer my condolences on the loss of Sevastyn.”
“Loss?” His grandfather echoes, his black eyes emotionless. Watching him, I realize that he has no clue as to the fate of his son. “Explain.”
“I apologize for not making myself clearer to you before,” Maxim adds. “But now, there can be no mistake…” He reaches into his pocket and tosses a small, metal object onto the table. It bounces over the polished wood, nearly landing onto Anatoli’s plate.
Frowning, the older man snatches it in his fist, holding it to the light. Slowly, recognition dawns over his features, and shock rapidly displaces the disgust.
“It is Sevastyn’s, yes,” Maxim confirms, and I finally recognize the object for what it is. A ring. Silver and ornate, he must have taken it from his uncle’s body. If I squint, I swear I can see remnants of scarlet dried over the gleaming surface. “I return it to you, along with a warning. I am no longer yours to command.”
“And if I don’t grant you such a foolish request?” Anatoli counters.
Something cold and cruel slips into Maxim’s gaze. My breathing stalls. Thoughts sputter into incoherence. There is nothing more beautiful than anger on him. And nothing more fucking terrifying.
“I do not think you want a war, Grandfather,” he warns.
“War?” Anatoli scoffs and leans back into his chair. “You sound like him. The failed mutt. Is he the one who put this idea in your head?” He bares his teeth, but a muscle in his jaw trembles. He sputters, and a series of heaving coughs render him gasping, gripping the arms of his seat for balance. “Did you come to mock me too?” he wonders breathlessly. “I’m sure he’s told you already. I don’t know how the little bastard learned of it—” Another cough rips from his chest that he struggles to smother into the sleeve of his tailored jacket. “He made sure to send his condolences. But Maximov, I never took you as one to gloat.”
Eyes narrowed, Maxim examines his grandfather, from the worn lines around his mouth, to his pale, papery skin, and the ragged sound of his breathing, audible from here. His upper lip quirks the more he assesses the man who tormented him for years, now barely able to sit upright unassisted.
“You’re dying,” he says finally. Awe colors his tone, mingled with disbelief. “Is that why you’ve been so desperate to bring me to heel? You truly have no one else—”
“And you would walk away?” Anatoli spits back. “No. I know you, boy. I saw it from the first fucking day you came to me, sniveling and weak. You crave the safety of power. You were always desperate for it. That is what set you apart from the rotten chaff. Am I to believe you’ll just walk away?” He chuckles, eyeing Maxim from head to toe with raw, open malice. “No. You were never that foolish. And if you did forsake your name, it would never be for the sake of some whore. The fact that you brought her proves my point.” He scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “Leave. When I send for you, you come. Alone—”
“Did you not hear me?” Maxim interjects, but his tone is softer. Something in his expression changes the longer he eyes the man across from him. The anger fades, and resignation sets in, hardening the set of his jaw. “I’m no longer yours to command. Keep your bounty if you want. None of your pawns have been able to claim it anyway—”
“And yet you bring her here,” Anatoli points out, his grin smug, his accent thick. “Why else if not to prove where your real loyalties lie? I could always call in another one of my men to deal with her, as Sevastyn did—”
“Why is she here?” Maxim echoes. He extends his hand toward me. I don’t hesitate to take it, moving to stand by his side. “Because I don’t fear you. Dima was right. You’ve lost your power. You’re merely afraid of losing more. The Koslov name was only ever a leash to you—and you no longer have a grip on it.”
His words eerily echo what Dima let slip
during our supposedly private conversation. Had Maxim been listening in? Standing here now, I have no trouble deciding on an answer. Of course, he did—though I doubt he heard everything, or he’d be raising hell about Dima’s revelation as the third X. No, like a true predator, he’d eavesdropped only long enough to glean what he felt like he needed to win.
Leverage.
“Is it money you want?” Anatoli chuckles. “You want to broaden your holdings? Fine. End this game, and you can have it.”
“No.” Maxim turns for the door, pulling me with him. “Send your peons after me again, and Dima’s little games will be nothing in comparison to the hell I will bring down on you. Oh, and I’ll ensure you receive your invitation to my wedding.”
He barrels into the hall, tightening his grip on me. As I cross the threshold, I look back to find Anatoli still watching him, his expression unreadable.
“You will come back,” he says. “A dog like you can’t survive off of his leash for very long…”
Maxim stiffens, his steps faltering. His fingers clamp down over mine, nearly crushing them. Right as the pain builds, he relaxes his grip. More than that—it’s like something drains from him all at once. Something dark and twisted that festered within him for so long. He sways, registering the loss of it, only to right his balance within the space of a heartbeat.
Slowly, his chin juts into the air as his posture straightens, stronger than ever. “Goodbye, Anatoli.” He strolls down the hall without looking back.
“You’ll come back,” Anatoli insists. “You will…”
As we exit the house, his laughter chases us, interspersed with hacking coughs.
I watch Maxim as he hustles me into the car, scanning his features for any reaction. Surprisingly he looks…calm. Too calm.
“Is it done?” he asks Tomas, closing the door behind us.
The other man nods. “Mr. Hood is already on the line. He’s managed to track down Danil’s associates, as well as the bank containing Anatoli’s American assets. All that’s left is for you to say the word.”