2. Maxim
TWO
MAXIM
O n the way here, Luca filled me in. Sophia had to be sedated longer than planned after her surgery. He said she was in critical condition when he found her—shot twice, once in the abdomen and once in her left leg. The blood loss was severe, and he had to make a life-or-death decision. He couldn’t wait for me. Instead, he took her to the nearest hospital, lying his way into becoming responsible for her care. Once she was stabilized, the doctors he hired orchestrated a switch, pretending they were transferring her to a hospital closer to home. He left his wife to stay with her while they transported her back to Miami, and he waited to meet me. On top of the gunshot wounds, Sophia had knife cuts on her chest, scraped knees and palms, and lacerations on the bottoms of her feet from running barefoot. Luca claimed the doctors were amazed she survived.
But something about his story doesn’t sit right with me. It’s too neat, too rehearsed. He has an answer for everything, which only makes me more suspicious. That’s why I messaged my tech guy to pull footage from around where Luca said he rescued her from, around the hospital he said he took her first, and around here. Soon, I’ll know for sure if Luca’s being honest with me. Until then, I’ll play nice.
Looking up at the sky, I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for what awaits inside this mansion Luca is renting. I’ve faced countless dangerous situations without hesitation, but right now, fear has a chokehold on me. I’m terrified of what I’ll find when I step through those doors. I silently beg for whoever might be listening to help her, to give her the strength I know she’ll need. Her recovery is going to be brutal, and my gut tells me they did more to her than the injuries we can see. Men like that—scum at the very bottom of the food chain—don’t kidnap a woman like Sophia without taking everything they can.
She’ll be okay. She has to be.
She’s the strongest, most stubborn person I’ve ever met, but even so, what she has endured won’t be easy to overcome. I don’t know what’s next for us—if there’s even an “us” anymore—but I swear, I’ll be by her side every step of the way. I owe her that much. She’s in this mess because of me.
“Maxim, are you coming inside, or is being a statue your new job?”
Luca’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I roll my eyes. Of course, he has to make a joke. Squaring my shoulders, I muster the strength to face what’s ahead. Without a word to him, I walk past and step inside.
The soles of my shoes squeak on the shiny marble floor as I make my way down a long corridor, following the sound of Andrei’s voice. The walls are lined with stunning artwork—whoever owns this place has impeccable taste—but I barely notice. My focus is on the voices ahead.
When I reach the living room, Andrei sits on a sleek black leather couch, deep in conversation with a young woman. She’s wearing a white sleeveless dress that falls below her knees, her dark hair swept up into a messy bun.
The way she carries herself—poised, unwavering, with an air of no-nonsense authority—tells me without a doubt this is Cecilia.
I cough lightly to announce myself. Both heads turn. Andrei gives me a small smile, but the brunette crosses her arms over her chest, her gaze raking up and down. A frown settles on her face.
“So you must be Maxim Volkov,” she says coolly, her tone laced with irritation. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Her annoyance is obvious, and the feeling is mutual. I wouldn’t be here ifSophia wasn’t fighting for her life somewhere in this house.
I step further into the living room. “You have an advantage. I know nothing about you,” I say through pursed lips, trying—but failing—to hide my annoyance.
She narrows her eyes, squares her shoulders, and opens her mouth to say something, but Luca quickly walks in and silences her with a look. Her narrowed gaze shifts to him.
“Cecilia, whatever you’re about to say, don’t. He’s already having a bad day. Let’s not rub lemon juice on his wounds.”
She looks up at him with soft, concerned eyes that don’t match her sharp tone, as though she doesn’t want to show strangers her emotions.. “Luca, who will I have the pleasure of killing today?”
“Your loyalty is both terrifying and endearing, sole mio.” He slips an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Luca,” she says, her voice sharpening as her eyes scan him. “What the hell happened? You look like you tried to arm wrestle a baby—and lost.” I can see her fighting a laugh and trying not to look my way. God, they’re made for each other.
“Not a baby,” he replies, straight-faced. “More like a very upset chimpanzee.”
Her brows shot up, but her lips twitched. “A chimpanzee? Seriously? If you’re going to get your ass kicked, at least aim higher on the food chain. What’s next? A flamingo?”
“A flamingo’s legs are weapons, Cecilia. You don’t mess with those,” he deadpans.
They both laugh, and I roll my eyes so hard, I might’ve pulled a muscle. Their cutesy banter is grating enough without the squeak of my shoes on the floor adding insult to injury as I shuffle over to stand next to Andrei.
“Take me to Sophia.” I order, cutting through their banter. Luca glances at me, and I see a flicker of sadness in his eyes before he turns, gesturing for me to follow. I take a deep breath and follow him down a narrow hallway.
My heart rate spikes as we reach the door at the end of the corridor. My palms are sweaty, my breath shallow. I’ve killed dozens of men, tortured even more, and done things most would never even imagined, all without a second thought. But standing here, about to face Sophia, I’m terrified. My selfish obsession put her in this position. If I had cut ties with her weeks ago like I should’ve, she wouldn’t be in this mess. How fucking stupid am I?
I remember thinking she was going to cause problems in my life. It’s funny how life works—look who caused the problems.
Will she ever forgive me?
“Here we are,” Luca says, stopping in front of a white door. I can hear the beeping of the machines inside. I reach for the door handle, but my hand feels like it’s moving in slowly. I stand there for what feels like hours before finally gathering the courage to turn the knob and step inside.
When I see her, my heart shatters into a million pieces. My legs give out, and I drop to my knees. A sob rises from my chest, agonizing and uncontrollable. Tears fall freely. My head hangs low as a hand lands on my shoulder, and I immediately shrug it off. I don’t need his pity.
“Leave me alone,” I manage to rasp through my sobs. I’ve only cried once before in my life—when I found out that bastard killed my mother. But nothing compares to seeing Sophia like this—hooked up to IVs, machines beeping in the background.
Guilt weighs heavily on my chest. I’ve been part of this life since I was born. Most of my years have been spent with blood on my hands—some of it my own doing, some indirect—but I’ve never felt this before. I’ve never cared enough to. But her? She changed everything.
Before Sophia, I was an empty shell of a man, living without purpose. The only time I felt alive was when I watched the life drain from an enemy’s eyes. She made me whole. With her smile, words, touch, and love, she filled the darkest parts of me. She is my lifeline. I am nothing without her. If she dies, I will follow her to the afterlife.
People love to call me a heartless monster, a cruel bastard. They have no idea how much worse I can be. They’ll tell ghost stories about me when I’m done. If I have to, I’ll level this entire city to find the bastard who did this to her. I’ll tear him apart, piece by piece, and keep his head as a reminder for anyone who dares cross me. Whoever did this to her will learn that lesson before they meet their maker.
A dark smile flickers across my face as I imagine someone tied to the trunk of my car as I drive down a gravel road, vengeance burning through my veins. The thought pushes me to my feet, the fire of retribution fueling my steps as I approach Sophia.
She looks so pale, like a ghost of herself, her usual radiance swallowed by shadows that cling to her like a second skin. As I step closer, the bruises come into sharper focus—angry splotches of purple, black, and sickly yellow mottling her arms, her delicate face, her legs. They’re the kind of bruises that tell stories of impact, of violence that left its fingerprints behind. Her left leg is wrapped tightly in a bandage, the white fabric already tinged with faint streaks of crimson, a cruel reminder of the gunshot wound beneath. It makes her look fragile, breakable—but I know better. She’s more iron than glass.
What I feel now is darker, colder, more dangerous than I’ve ever felt before. It’s as if a dam inside me has cracked, releasing the darkest parts of myself.
“The bullet in her abdomen missed the major organs, but it didn’t go straight through. They had to surgically remove it,” Luca says from the doorway. My poor printsessa.
I trail my index finger down her face. This is my fault. I couldn’t find her in time. I couldn’t keep her safe.
Resting my forehead against hers, I let my tears fall, one by one, onto her face. I wipe them away with my thumb, a shaky chuckle escaping me. She would murder me if she knew I thought of her as fragile.
Darkness looms, threatening to swallow me whole, but I refuse to let it consume me now. What if she wakes up? I don’t want her to see me like this.
I close my eyes, replaying the day she told me she loved me. It felt like the sun finally rising after years of living in darkness. How foolish I was to think my sins wouldn’t touch her, that my world wouldn’t destroy her.
I lean in, whispering softly, hoping she can hear me.
“Prostite menya.” Forgive me. I softly kiss her cheek, taking a few seconds to study her, remembering every cut and bruise that marr her body before I turn to face Luca.
“Who the fuck did this to her?” I growl, letting the darkness swallow me whole. Ready to seek vengeance, to become the judge, jury, and executioner.
“That’s what we need to find out,” he says, his attention on his phone, as if our conversation doesn’t matter.
I feel the rush of irritation surge through me. Without thinking, I grab his phone and hurl it against the wall, shattering it.
My voice is low, dangerous. “We? There’s no fucking we, Luca.” I laugh, but it’s humorless as I pace the room. What does he think he can achieve by helping us? Sophia fucking hates him, and I’m no fan of his either.
“If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t be alive.” He says it in that smug tone that stops me in my tracks, like a physical blow. He’ll throw that in my face at every turn, won’t he?
“What do you get out of helping us, Luca?” I ask, my voice cold as I approach him, my posture challenging. “You almost fucking destroyed her years ago. She’s still healing from the scars you left her.”
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. If not for him, she would be dead. He saved her when I couldn’t. I owe him a debt, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to repay it.
His shoulders sag as his eyes drift to where Sophia lies. I see years of guilt and maybe a hint of something else—admiration? “That’s why I’m helping, Maxim.” His voice is soft, a confession.
He’s trying to atone for what he did to her. I get it. I have my own sins to answer for, but for now, I can’t think of that.
Sighing in defeat, I return to Sophia’s side. I have to accept that I’ll be working with him. He’s not going anywhere, and as part of the Italian mob, he has access to things I don’t. He can get us information, get us closer to finding out who did this.
“She looks so fragile.” Andrei’s voice is heavy with sorrow as he stands next to me, his hand resting on my shoulder.
“It’s all my fault.” The words catch in my throat, but I manage to speak them aloud, the guilt I’ve carried for so long threatening to swallow me whole. I take a few moments to gather myself before continuing. “She’s in this because of me.”
Luca hurt her years ago. He broke her heart, and she’s still putting the pieces back together. But me? I made her greatest fear come true. She was taken, hurt—because of me. If I had just listened to her, left her alone when she asked me to.
If she hates Luca for what he did, how will she feel about me? What if she doesn’t want anything to do with me? Can I even stay away if she asks?
I walk to the chair in the corner and slump down, burying my face in my hands. My mind feels like it’s shattering, and I don’t know how to put the pieces back together.
“She’s strong. She’ll make it through this,” Andrei says, his voice steady with a certainty I can’t share. I want to believe him, I do, but it’s not her strength that worries me.
I lift my head and turn my gaze back to Sophia. “She is strong. I know that with every part of me. She can overcome anything. But what I’m afraid of is what happens when she wakes up.”
I don’t say it for sympathy or encouragement. I say it because he’s my brother. He’s the only one who understands, the only person I want to confide in is lying in a hospital bed.
He pats my shoulder. “The situation’s hard. She might give you hell, but I see the way she looks at you, brother. She loves you. And you love her.” He pauses, turning his gaze to Sophia. “But you need patience. We don’t even know the extent of what they did to her. We only see the physical wounds. You have to do what’s best for her. If she needs space, you give it to her.”
He takes a deep breath. “It’s going to be hard, wanting to be with her every second, but suffocating her won’t help anyone.”
I glance at him, surprise flickering across my face. Since when did Andrei become the voice of reason? The Andrei I know charges through life like a bull, but now…there’s a measured calm in his words. Maybe fatherhood really does change a person. It’s strange seeing him this way—thoughtful, steady—but maybe it’s what we all need right now.
Her pain is hers to carry, hers to process. No matter how much I want to fix it, to push her toward healing, I know I can’t. Trauma doesn’t follow a timeline; it lingers, festers, and only fades when it’s ready. All I can do is be here for her—steady, patient, and willing to catch her when she stumbles.
He gives my shoulder one last squeeze before he walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the steady beep of the machines filling the silence.
I don’t know how much time passes. Minutes? Hours? I feel stuck in a moment that won’t end as I stare at Sophia, trying to make sense of the chaos that has unraveled.
One minute, we were happy, walking toward the secret garden where my mother used to grow roses—her favorite place, and mine after her death. It was the one place my father couldn’t reach me. The perfect place to ask Sophia to be my wife. I had everything planned—candles and rose petals scattered across the ground. But then she was gone, and now, she lies here, a shadow of the woman she was.
I pull the velvet box from my pocket and open it. The princess-cut diamond engagement ring stares back at me, a promise of everything I still have to fight for.
I’m coming for them. They won’t know what hit them until I’m standing over their ashes.