The Fixer: A Dark Bratva Billionaire Romance (Chicago Bratva Book 2)

by Renee Rose

  I didn’t believe it. I thought he chose Maxim to humiliate and punish me. But now that the danger’s pressed in close, my view’s shifting. Maybe my father foresaw murder, power plays and chaos ensuing after his death. Sending me out of the country was smart.

  So long as he didn’t send me into the arms of a killer.

  But he wouldn’t knowingly do that. And despite having sent Maxim away, he still trusted him. And Maxim still respected his pakhan enough to accept his dying request. Either that, or he just wanted my money.

  If only I knew for sure…

  Maxim

  Only Kayla can meet us for brunch, but she seemed like Sasha’s closest friend, anyway. We meet her at a beachfront cafe in Santa Monica. I’m itchy with all the people around, but I have a piece tucked in the back of my waistband, with my shirt untucked to cover it. I still don’t expect trouble—not yet, anyway—but you never know.

  There’s something off about Vladimir’s death. The fact that the killer didn’t just outright announce himself and say he was taking over seems strange to me. I need to know what’s going on there to stay on top of any threat that may come Sasha’s way.

  Kayla shows up still as cute and chipper as she was last night. She throws her arms around Sasha and then me like we’re old friends. I kiss her cheek and hold both their chairs like the perfect gentleman.

  “Oh my God, I may have just found an agent,” Kayla gushes the moment we sit down. “She specializes in commercials, but whatever. I’ll start anywhere.”

  Sasha grabs her hand across the table. “OMG, tell me everything. How did you find her? What’s the deal?”

  I half-listen as the women dive deep into the story of a chance meeting at her hairdressers that netted a callback this morning.

  We’re interrupted by the waitress, and we order food. I ask for Mimosas with their best champagne and the women light up.

  “So if this works out, I’ll have you to thank, really.” Kayla beams at Sasha after the waitress leaves.

  “How is that?” I ask.

  Kayla turns her wide blue eyes on me. She’s got that Buffy the Vampire Slayer look going—a cute little dynamo in the All-American way. “Sasha’s the one who got me going to Monique, our hairdresser. She’s way out of my budget, but Sasha sniffed out the best in L.A., and that studio is where things happen. I mean, I felt like Monique practically acted as my agent with the agent. You know? Like she made the introduction while we were both sitting next to each other with foils in our hair.”

  Sasha shifts in her chair and looks at her manicure. “Well, I’m happy for you, but also—I’m so jealous, bitch.”

  Something twists in my chest. Sasha had dreams. Maybe I hoped she hadn’t—that her theatre degree was just some fluffy thing to do while she enjoyed college. Sasha could probably buy that agent’s agency, she could fund her own movies, but I doubted that would be as exciting as the achievement of the Hollywood dream. Getting discovered. Auditioning. Nailing the part. Making it big. Those experiences couldn’t be bought.

  But no problem can’t be fixed. That’s my motto, and it’s never failed me. So I’ll have to figure something out. Something that lights my bride up back in Chicago.

  Our drinks arrive, and I lift my champagne flute in Kayla’s direction. “To new opportunities.”

  “For all of us,” Kayla counters, and we clink glasses.

  Sasha steals a look at me. She’s been doing that since we checked out of the hotel, and I hired a driver for the day. He’s sitting in his car somewhere nearby with our belongings safely stowed.

  I reach for her hand under the table and squeeze it, and she meets my gaze with a surprisingly vulnerable look. Like part of her wants to slam the door in my face, and the other part wants everything from me—more than she believes I’ll give.

  It unsettles me. Not because I wouldn’t give her everything she needed. I mean, I hadn’t thought about it, but I probably would. I’m unnerved because I recognize that chaotic sense of falling. It mirrors my own.

  I hadn’t felt it with her until this moment because falling wasn’t in question. She was an obligation. A duty. A job. I didn’t make myself vulnerable when I married her. I made myself rich. My heart was never in play.

  But after cracking her shell—after things got real—it’s impossible not to care about her. She gave herself to me today. Not just the sex. I don’t believe a woman’s virginity is some huge momentous gift. I don’t think it’s something Sasha should’ve been required to save for her husband. But the fact is, she did. And I had the privilege of taking it.

  “Look at you two, making googly eyes at each other,” Kayla says.

  Sasha pulls her hand from mine and picks up her champagne flute. “Yeah, he might not be that bad, as far as husbands go.” She says it lightly, and Kayla laughs but something kindles inside me.

  I wink at her. Maybe we’ll become more than an arranged marriage.

  Kayla points at me and makes her face stern. “You’d better be good to her,” she warns.

  My lips twist with amusement. “Or?”

  “Or I’ll kick your ass.”

  I nod and cross my heart with my finger. “She’s safe with me. I promise.”

  Sasha

  Maxim is damn sweet with Kayla. I haven’t had a boyfriend before, but Kayla, Sheri, and Ashley have, and I know from experience that a guy hanging around patiently for girl talk is unusual.

  Maxim’s on his best behavior, though, charming Kayla without being flirty. Treating brunch like a continuation of last night’s party, with the champagne and orange juice. He lets us linger for two hours before he finally tosses cash on the table and stands.

  I’m certain he’s going to say we have to go straight to the airport, but after we say goodbye to Kayla, he laces fingers with me. “Want to walk on the beach?”

  I swallow and nod, stealing a glance at his handsome face.

  Gospodi, I do not want to fall in love with this man.

  I can’t be crushed again. And worse—he may want me dead although I don’t think so.

  “Boardwalk or sand?”

  “Sand,” I breathe. Living near the beach was one of the best parts of living in L.A. The weather, the ocean, the culture are all so different from Moscow. When I was here, I pretended I was something else. A native Californian, consumed only with my looks, my health and acting.

  We walk down to the sand and take our shoes off. Maxim cuffs his slacks. His shirt sleeves are already rolled up his forearms, giving everyone at brunch a view of his heavily corded forearms and the colorless tattoos that crawl up them.

  Maxim takes both pairs of our shoes in one hand and with his other intertwines his fingers with mine. The beach is noisy, teeming with perfect bodies and families with children.

  “I loved living here,” I admit out loud. I don’t know why I’m sharing. Why I think Maxim would even care.

  He glances down at me. “I can tell.”

  My breath catches at those simple words. Like he’s been paying attention. What if he did actually care? Or come to care? The thought of it makes my heart race, and my hands grow clammy, like I’m still a teenager.

  “I wish I’d come to visit you then.”

  I look up. The wind ruffles his sandy hair. He fits in here with his broad shoulders and well-kept body. The expensive button-down shirt open at the collar. He just needs a tan and for his hair to pick up some highlights to look like Californian royalty. “Really? Why?”

  One corner of his lips lifts for a moment then quickly fades. “I’ll bet you were something to see.”

  I hip-bump him, interrupting our casual pace when he has to side step to recover. “What does that mean?” I demand with a laugh. I’m fishing now—I can’t help it. I’ve always been starved for attention, and here, I’m finally getting some.

  “I liked seeing you with your friends.” He lifts our joined hands to his lips and kisses my fingers. “I got to see the real you.”

  I’m embarrassed at how
clammy my hand gets. How hard my pathetic heart starts pounding.

  “I don’t even know the real me,” I find myself saying. It’s the truth although I don’t know where it came from.

  “That was the real you,” Maxim says, like he knows for sure. Like he’s seen into my broken soul that quickly. That easily.

  “What was?”

  “Fun. Lively. The life of the party. But also generous. You’re a good friend—I can tell. You guys support each other. You want the best for each other.”

  I think of my jealousy over Kayla’s career and feel a pang of guilt.

  As if Maxim reads my mind, he says, “You wish you were still here. Living with them.”

  The words are unexpected, and they bring up buried emotion. My eyes get hot and wet. I blink rapidly, tossing my hair in the breeze and pretending a little sand got in them. “Staying here was never an option.” My voice only chokes a little. “I knew I was on borrowed time the entire four years I was here. I was lucky Igor let me come at all.”

  “He loved you,” Maxim says simply.

  This time the unexpected hot tears come as a flood. Two streak down my face before I can catch them. “Gospodi,” I mutter, swiping at them with the back of my free hand. “I don’t know about that.”

  “He did. He was a shitty father in many ways, but you were his only child, and he did love you very much.”

  “His form of love sucked, then,” I say bitterly, but guilt fills my chest. It’s not entirely true. I have memories of him swooping me up into his arms as a little girl. Tossing me into the air. Making me laugh. Bringing over presents and sweets. I used to look forward to his visits like he was freaking Santa Claus. But that’s fucked up. He should have been my dad, not some magical godfather who showed up when he wanted and bought my love. I lived for his attention because I didn’t have it often enough.

  Maxim shrugs. “I’m sure it could’ve been better. Could’ve been worse, too. He was who he was. My mother was a lying cunt who tricked me into waiting for her for years. She should’ve done better, but she didn’t. Igor gave me more in comparison. So he had my loyalty.”

  I’m awash in cold at Maxim’s words. Honored that he shared this sliver of his true self with me. His broken self. I knew there had to be a story about why he served my father so loyally. Everyone seemed to have one.

  “Your mother tricked you?” I ask softly.

  Maxim looks past me to the ocean as he takes easy steps, our feet sinking into the softer sand. “When she brought me to the orphanage, she told me she’d be back. To be good. And so I waited. I waited for years. Until I finally got smart enough to figure out she’d suckered me. Ruined by women’s lies seems to be a theme with me.” He throws me a meaningful glance, and my insides tumble. My body goes hot and cold wishing I’d never ruined his life the way I did.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t.” He cuts me off with the harsh syllable. Like he just showed me too much and regrets it.

  I don’t dare speak even though my breath hangs in my chest, suspended. Needing to come out in a rush.

  After an excruciating moment, Maxim saves me by going on. “I ran away from the orphanage at fourteen and tried to make it on my own. I did all right. Learned to pickpocket and slept in an empty building I broke into.

  “Igor saw me on the streets. He had a habit of recruiting down-on-their-luck boys from the street. The bratva headquarters had warm beds and food. Plenty of cash to go around if we proved ourselves. Every member needed an errand boy. Hell, they loved training us up in their own images. Violent and ruthless but with rules.”

  “Were you my father’s errand boy?”

  Maxim nods. “I learned from the best.” His smile is sad, like he doesn’t love the man he was. Or perhaps still is. “I paid attention. I listened and watched. Igor figured out I was smart when I started fixing the problems some of the other brigadiers got into. That’s how I got my title as fixer. I was too young for leadership, so he kept me by his side as strategist. Sent me out when problems arose to fix them.”

  “You’re grateful to him.”

  Maxim nods. “I will forever be grateful. The life he gave me was so much better than the one I had. I was nothing, and he made me into a powerful man.”

  “And I ruined that.”

  “No.” Maxim stops and looks out at the ocean. “I thought so at the time—but no.” He turns to look at me, and it takes all my courage not to flinch away. “You did me a favor. My life is ten times better here than it was in Russia. Ravil has Chicago at his feet, and he shares the wealth generously. I’m happy here.”

  I work to swallow, but I can’t. I want to ask if he forgives me, but the words get clogged in my throat.

  “Did you know? That he knew it wasn’t true?”

  “No.” Maxim removes his hand from mine, and I register the loss for a second until I realize it was to brush my hair out of my face. My belly flutters when his knuckles make the whisper contact. “But I wondered. It explains why I’m alive. I figured he wasn’t sure, and that’s why he hedged by sending me out of the country.” He loops a hand around my throat, his thumb lightly stroking the column of my neck. “But he knew for sure. Which I guess is proof of his love for you.”

  I scrunch up my forehead. “How, exactly?”

  “He didn’t call your bullshit. He respected you enough to get rid of me since you wanted me gone. And I may be mistaken, but I believe he was pretty fucking fond of me. I was his protégé. Made in his image and all that.”

  My face flushes. I’d wanted to hurt him, but I hadn’t actually wanted him gone. My father had kept me away from people and business most of the time, but when he took us on vacation the next year and Maxim wasn’t there, I’d felt the loss acutely.

  “I-I was stupid and spiteful. If he’d killed you, I never would have forgiven myself.”

  Maxim brushes my lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “Igor probably knew that, too.”

  “I think you give him more credit than he deserves.”

  Maxim shakes his head. “No. I learned at his side. He considered every angle before he made a move. He must’ve decided removing me was the best solution for both of us. Same as he decided unifying us now would complete the circle.”

  Something huge rocks inside me. I’m not sure I buy that Maxim and I were meant to be married. That our marriage is closure or a completion. I still suspect it was my father punishing me. But hearing the other possibility blows open the roof on my current thinking. Those thoughts are dangerous, though.

  Especially after my conversation with my mother.

  Maxim touches my nose seeming to read my mind with that uncanny ability of his. “Or maybe it’s all his sick sense of humor. He’s cackling from the grave right now at both of us.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “I fail to see how this situation is so awful for you.”

  The shoes drop to the sand, and he loops an arm around my waist and yanks me up to him.

  “No, you’re right,” he murmurs, bringing his lips right above mine. “At the moment, it doesn’t seem so bad for me.” He brushes his lips over mine. My breasts press against his ribs, and I stroke a hand under his shirt to feel those rock hard abs I saw earlier. “I have a hot, rich wife.” He squeezes my ass, pulling my hips up against him. “And she may be a handful, but punishing her is quite possibly the highlight of my life.”

  The highlight of his life.

  He can’t mean that.

  I mean… of course, he doesn’t. That’s ridiculous.

  “The highlight of your sex life?”

  Maxim smirks. “Definitely.” He nips my lower lip.

  I kiss him, my hand stroking under his shirt to his back. When I find the gun there, I flinch and retract my hand.

  Maxim cradles the back of my head and angles my face up for a real kiss. His tongue sweeps between my lips, and he pulls on them, repositions, kisses me again. My nipples get hard beneath my bra, and I lose my breath.

  Desp
ite how sore I am down there, I find myself craving more sex. I want to feel everything. All the positions, all the orgasms. The threats Maxim made about implements and bondage.

  “Too bad we checked out already,” I breathe when he breaks the kiss.

  His eyes are dark. “Da. But I already wore you out, no?” His smile is wicked. He stoops to pick up our shoes. “I’ll have to take you home for our next round.” He winks. “You have the whole plane ride to recover.”

  I gently push him away. “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

  He takes my hand and changes direction, walking back down the beach the way we came. “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll keep me working, caxapok. Docile isn’t in your nature, is it?”

  I smile, irrationally happy that he seems to be celebrating the very thing my father couldn’t stand about me. “Nope,” I confirm.

  “It’s all right. I can handle you.” The words are slightly offensive, but the warmth behind them keeps me floating.

  The real question is—can I handle him?

  And my most gnawing fear is that I can’t.

  That I’m in way, way over my head with this man.

  With my husband.

  Chapter 13

  Maxim

  I get us on an afternoon flight to Chicago, and it’s evening by the time we get out of the cab back to the Kremlin. I’m downright chipper—so far from the mood I was in when I got on the plane yesterday to chase down my runaway bride.

  I’m not foolish enough to believe her conquered, but she’s certainly getting tamer. Or maybe I’m fool enough to believe that just because I finally got my dick wet. I do know sex can turn men into idiots—Ravil is the prime example of that when he kidnapped his pregnant one night stand.

  We take the elevator to the penthouse where we find Oleg walking out the door, smelling of Nikolai’s cologne.

  “What’s this?” I ask. “Going to hear your girl play?”