5. Maxim

FIVE

MAXIM

M y heart feels like it has been ripped from my chest and stomped into the ground. My head spins, and it feels like I can’t breathe. This is the second time in my life I’ve stood paralyzed in a room, unable to do anything. Helpless. Lost. Broken. Confused. Like a blind man groping for light in the darkness.

I couldn’t get to her in time. I don’t know how I’m going to help her when she clearly doesn’t want me near her.

She hates you.

She hates you.

She hates you.

She hates you.

The words echo in my mind on a constant loop, engraving themselves into the very fiber of my soul. She blames me for what happened to her—and she’s right. This is all my fault. She should hate me. She was taken because I wasn’t careful enough. She’s in this state because I failed to protect her the way I should have.

My eyes fixate on the nurse reattaching the IV to her arm. I study her battered, bruised body, my chest heavy with grief, my throat tight. Scenarios play out in my mind like a nightmare I can’t escape, torturing me with images of what those bastards could have done to her. I wish it was me lying there instead of her, hooked up to all those machines. I wish I could take away every ounce of pain she’s feeling and make it my own—leaving only happiness in its place.

She doesn’t want me near her, and I understand why. I will respect her wishes. I will stay away from her. But I won’t abandon her. I refuse to leave her alone while she deals with this. It won’t be easy for her, and I know that. I’ll support her from the shadows, even if she never knows I’m there.

I close my eyes, sucking in a breath, trying to contain the storm of emotions swirling inside me. Rage coats me in red-hot fury. I may not know how to help Sophia, but one thing I do know is how to make them pay.

They’ll all pay, every single one of those bastards.

I give Sophia one last glance. Her beautiful body is marred by bruises and cuts. My blood boils. They’re going to regret the day they touched her.

I storm out of the room, my fists clenched.

Her bruises. Her cuts. Her perfect skin is now permanently scarred. I can’t stop the tears that fall as my anger surges. Those marks on her will forever serve as a reminder of what they did. She’ll never look at them without being pulled back into that nightmare. My chest tightens painfully. It feels like the oxygen has been knocked out of me, making it hard to breathe.

I place my hands on the wall, the guilt threatening to suffocate me.

“Fuck!” I shout, my voice raw as I punch the wall. The pain in my hand doesn’t even register. It’s the only thing that distracts me from the ache in my chest, the one threatening to crush me.

I hit the wall again and again until my fist goes numb. I need to release this rage, this agony. I rest my forehead against the cold wall, hands pressed beside my head, breath coming in shallow gasps. Blood drips down my hand, staining my shirt and the wall.

How could I have been so careless with her safety? I should have stayed. I should have protected her. Instead, I got cocky, thinking no one would ever dare to break into my home. How wrong I was. If I had stayed with her instead of pretending to be a hero…

The truth is, I’m not a fucking hero. I’m not a good person. So why the hell was I trying to be one? I only have a heart for her. I’m a monster who will burn the world down for her. I’ll sacrifice anything and anyone just to see her smile again, to be with her. People may have forgotten the monster I can be—but it’s time I remind them.

With new determination and a surge of adrenaline, I push myself off the wall. I’m not going to wait around. Screw the long game. I’m coming for you, Marcos.

My veins hum with adrenaline as I watch the blood drip from the jagged wound in Marcos Antonelli’s chest, pooling in thick, dark streaks on the floor beneath him. It took days to flush him out of hiding, but I finally cornered him. He went underground after what I did to Donny. He knew I was coming for him, and he hid like a filthy rat. But desperation makes men careless.

I played my part perfectly—a few sweet lies and a couple million dollars dangled like bait on a hook. At first, he didn’t bite. Marcos is paranoid, suspicious by nature, but greed and desperation are powerful motivators. When I painted him a picture of an alliance he couldn’t afford to refuse, he finally swallowed the lie whole. A broke man like him, drowning in debt and betrayal, was easy to reel in.

Now, here he is, hoisted like livestock, his body dangling from the ceiling. Two metal hooks pierce through his shoulders, his arms pulled wide, wrists shackled in chains that bite deep into his flesh, leaving his skin raw and bloody.

A wicked grin spreads across my face as I step closer, drinking in the sight of his broken, pathetic form. The once-proud Marcos Antonelli reduced to this—a bleeding, helpless husk. The predator has become the prey, and I intend to savor every moment of it.

A primal satisfaction pulses through me, seeing him like this—like a piece of meat. For years, he has been a thorn in my side: sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, stealing business, killing my men, talking shit about my family, always trying to outshine me. I’ve always ignored him—he wasn’t worth my time. But fuck with the love of my life? I won’t let that slide.

“You piece of shit,” he croaks.

“Save the sweet talk for our second date, honey.” My voice drips with amusement as I wink at him, hoping to get under his skin. If he’s angry, the words will come easier.

“Why did you kidnap, Sophia?”

He spits at my feet, and I move behind him, out of his sight. In a swift motion, I slice his left ear off with my rusty knife. His scream fills the room—a beautiful symphony of agony. I savor it until his insufferable pleading ruins the moment.

“What did you have to gain from kidnapping her?” I demand, my voice rising to match his frantic shouts, cutting through the chaos of his screams. I need to know why he kidnapped Sophia. I need to know who is behind this. We know Marcos is not who orchestrated the kidnapping. He may have been able to in his prime, but not now. He has lost his touch, the respect he once had, the manpower and the funds to make all this happen.

“Listen up.” I walk back around and scowl at him. “Let’s end this little dance, Marcos. You can either die painfully or quickly. Your choice.” I press the blade to his carotid artery just enough to make him feel it. “This is the last time I ask.” I lean in so close, I can smell the iron in his blood. “Why did you kidnap Sophia?”

“Just get this over with, Maxim,” he says with a dumber defeated tone. “I’m a dead man either way.” He coughs blood. “The moment you took me, I became a target. They’re always watching.” Who is always watching? Who the fuck is he working for?

“Who are they?”

“I…I don’t know who they are.”

“When did they first contact you?”

“A couple of months ago…then again the night you took—” He pauses, taking a deep breath as if the words he is about to say will tear him apart. “The day you took my precious child from me.”

I roll my eyes, unimpressed. “Don’t pretend you cared about your daughter. What you cared about was the money you were going to get for her.”

His eyes widen, caught off guard. “You thought I didn’t know?” I laugh dryly. “You thought you were actually being secretive.”

I stab his leg for fun, another scream splitting the air. “I know everything, Marcos, just like I know you’re lying about when this man first contacted you.”

When I was working on the contract for Elena, I remember looking at his phone records. The only people he spoke to were his son, Elena, and the one bodyguard he managed to keep. Pathetic . But before confronting him today, I checked again. A new number had called him, a number that had never reached out before.

I stab him twice more, this time in the other leg. His tan skin starts to pale. “Don’t make yourself seem interesting. You weren’t on anyone’s radar until that night.”

“This is all your goddamn fault,” he growls, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he tries—and fails—to intimidate me. “Everything that happened, and everything that’s about to happen, is on you. If you hadn’t been so stubborn, if you’d just listened and accepted my offer to join forces, none of this would’ve gone down. I wouldn’t have been desperate, and that—” He stops, his lips curling into a mocking sneer as he pretends to search for the name we both know is seared into his mind. “That little whore, Sophia, you’ve been playing house with…she wouldn’t have been the one to pay the price for your stupidity.”

Silence. His words echo in my skull, each syllable hammering against the walls of my mind. Whore . He dared to call her that. My vision darkens, tunneling on him, the rest of the world falling away. Something primal, something far beyond rage, claws its way to the surface.

Before I realize it, I’m on him, my hand clamping down on his jaw, forcing his mouth open. He struggles, but it’s useless. “You dared to call her a whore with this filthy mouth of yours?” I hiss, my voice low, trembling with fury. “How dare you even speak her name?”

I grab the tongs, their cold metal a perfect contrast to the fire burning in my chest. Without hesitation, I shove them into his mouth and, with one savage motion, slice his tongue clean off. Blood spills, gushing onto the floor, and his muffled screams fill the air, but I don’t stop.

Leaning in, I whisper, my voice steady and venomous. “Her name is sacred, too perfect to be tainted by a worthless piece of shit like you. Don’t worry, though—now you’ll never speak it again.”

The scream that follows is deafening, metal on metal as he thrashes, desperate for freedom, but I’m done.

“You’re useless to me,” I growl through clenched teeth, plunging the knife into his eye before turning and walking toward the door.

I hear him screaming behind me, his misery echoing through the walls.

“He can join his son in hell.”

I stop at the door and turn to my soldiers. “I’m done with him. Let him suffer for a couple of hours before finishing him off,” I say, not even bothering to glance back. Marcos doesn’t have anything left for me. The person pulling the strings didn’t trust him, or they knew he couldn’t handle the job.

“What did you get out of him?” Andrei asks, stepping in line with me.

“He was contacted by a middleman. Never met in person—just phone calls.”

“That’s it?” His surprise is evident.

I glare at him, frustration mounting. Marcos had nothing else to offer. He was a puppet—only useful for confirming what I already knew. Why waste more time with someone who didn’t know anything?

Wait…

The conversation with Marcos replays in my head. He baited me, switched the subject to get me angry. He knew mentioning Sophia and Elena would distract me, and he used my anger to his gain. He wanted to die.

“Yes, that’s all I got,” I snap. Andrei’s brow furrows in confusion. He opens his mouth to speak, but I stop him.

“Are you done questioning me?”

“Did the big, bad Maxim Volkov lose his touch?” he jokes, lifting my mood just a little, helping me shake off that strange feeling in my chest. I shouldn’t feel bad; Marcos made his bed.

“I can’t be perfect all the time, my dear brother,” I reply with a lighter tone, and he laughs. “He didn’t know anything. If the person pulling the strings told him something, it means they’re either stupider than Marcos, or they were lying to him to make him think he was in on it.”

I sigh, my heart aching. I'm in way over my head. The interrogation with Marcos only pushed me ten steps backward. I don’t know what to do next. I want to help Sophia, but I’m lost.

Andrei’s phone buzzes, and when he looks at it, his eyes widen. He mutters something about needing to leave, rushing off. I take my opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

I grab the doorknob and step outside, the bright sunlight forcing me to squint. With my hands shoved in my pockets, I pull out my car keys, their weight somehow grounding me for a second.

The moment I slam the car door, I scream, a raw, guttural scream that rips from my chest. I scream until my throat feels like sandpaper, until the air burns my lungs. I scream until I’m too weak to keep going, my eyes squeezing shut as my head falls back against the headrest.

I feel trapped, helpless—as if I’m sinking into quicksand, each movement only pulling me deeper. My body aches, every muscle and bone screaming at me to stop fighting. The thought lingers: what’s the point of continuing if she’s not here with me?

A tear slips down my cheek, the saltiness stinging my skin. I catch it with my tongue, the bitter taste of my own sorrow.

The memory of finding my mother’s head in a box floods my mind. I remember the anger, the sadness, the fire in my chest. Back then, I swore vengeance, a plan already taking shape in my mind. But now…now, all I feel is this overwhelming doubt. No matter what I do, no matter how much blood I spill, Sophia will hate me. Even if I get my revenge, it’ll never be enough.

What’s done is done.

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