16. Maxim
SIXTEEN
MAXIM
L aughter—joyous, carefree laughter—echoes through the air as the beautiful woman who consumed my dark heart breaks through the water, rising from the slide. She had woken up to a call from her therapist’s assistant, which led to a video consultation. The moment she hung up, I could see it: a small weight lifting off her shoulders. The darkness still lingers in her eyes, but it’s lighter now. I can tell she’s making progress.
She’ll be seeing him twice a week once we’re back. And if she has a bad day, he promised to be just a call away. As much as I want to be the one she leans on, I know I can’t be everything. Still, I can’t help but feel this creeping jealousy over Bobby. He may be her therapist and an old friend, but the way he drops everything for her, the way he’s always there—it rubs me the wrong way.
For now, though, all that matters is that she’s enjoying herself. She’s laughing and smiling, has been all morning, moving from the pool to the ocean, sunbathing, taking the slide into the water. Watching her let go like this brings me a sense of peace I didn’t realize I needed.
I try to focus on the work Andrei sent me—bank statements from the Antonellis. There wasa large deposit into his account just before Sophia was kidnapped, and I’m trying to trace any connections. So far, I’ve found that this account has sent him money four times this year—on the day Andrei was shot, the day the warehouse burned, and the day Sophia was taken. The last transaction, though, has no clear match.
I’ve passed the information along to my tech guy, Jerry. He’s supposed to dig into the numbers and track down the source. He also gave me access to Marcos’ email account, which I’m planning to sift through next. I can feel the answers are just beyond my reach. Everything’s there. I can almost taste it, but I can’t seem to get close enough to pull back the curtain.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The sound of water hitting my computer pulls me from my thoughts. I look up to find Sophia hovering above me, her eyes—those deep, soulful eyes—locked on mine. Her wet hair drips onto the table, and for a moment, I just watch her, appreciating her presence. She’s wearing a full-body swimsuit that covers her scars on her stomach and the leg. She told me earlier how hard it was for her to see the marks on her body. I was an idiot for only packing two-piece swimsuits, the ones she used to wear, but I had one of my men buy her a couple of one-pieces so she could enjoy herself without hesitation.
“Are you planning on working all day?” Her voice is flirtatious, teasing, pulling me away from the darkness swirling in my head. She grabs my laptop and places it on the round table. I raise an eyebrow, surprised by the tone of her words.
I lean forward, placing my hands on the arms of the chair, and close the space between us. Our foreheads almost touch. “Guess not,” I murmur with a chuckle, a wicked smile playing on my lips. I know exactly where this is heading.
I shouldn’t follow her. I should shut this down and tell her now isn’t the right time. But I’m weak when it comes to her—weak to the way she looks at me, weak to the way she makes me feel.
“What should I do instead?” My voice is thick with desire.
She pushes me back into the chair, her movements deliberate but cautious, straddling me as her arms slide around my neck. There’s a flicker of mischief in her eyes, but beneath it, there’s something deeper—uncertainty, maybe even fear. My heart pounds, each beat loud enough to drown out the world.
“Sophia…” My voice comes out low, hesitant, but I don’t pull away. My hands hover at her waist, unsure whether to hold her steady or to keep myself in check.
“What?” she whispers, her lips curling into a soft, teasing smile. “You’re acting like this is something we’ve never done before.”
Her tone is light, but I can hear the strain behind it. She’s trying to bridge the gap, trying to find her way back to us, and my chest aches at the effort. “This isn’t about me,” I murmur, my eyes searching hers. “I need to know you’re ready.”
She pauses, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel ready,” she admits, her voice wavering. “But I can’t keep letting fear control me. I can’t let him take more from me than he already has.”
Her words gut me. I reach for her waist, my hands steadying her, grounding her. “Sophia, this isn’t something you have to force. You don’t owe me anything.”
She leans closer, her forehead brushing against mine. Her voice drops to a whisper. “I’m not doing this for you, Maxim. I’m doing it for me.” She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, her expression raw and unguarded.
“Sophia, I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I murmur, my voice breaking the silence between us. My hands rest on her hips, steadying her even as my chest tightens. “I can’t take this step—not when your body says yes but your eyes… They’re hesitant. They’re telling me something else.”
Her breath hitches, and for a moment, she looks away, her lips pressing together as if to hold back whatever she’s feeling. Then, she looks back at me, her gaze steady but questioning. “What do you suggest we do, Maxim?”
I force myself to meet her eyes, letting her see the sincerity in mine. “We can talk,” I offer, my voice low.
Her expression tightens, frustration flickering there. “Talk?” she repeats, her hands moving to my shoulders. “Then tell me the truth. No more vague answers, no more trying to protect me. I need to know what’s happening—with the business, who took me. All of it.”
I let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of her words. “It’s not much,” I admit, my voice rough around the edges. “Luca’s men and I…we’ve been hitting nothing but dead ends. The place where you were held? It was scrubbed clean. No evidence, no fingerprints—just…nothing.”
Her jaw tightens, and I catch the flicker of fear she tries so hard to suppress. It guts me to see her like this, but I force myself to go on. “The bodies we’ve found—every single one of them—doesn’t lead back to any gang or organization. They’re just…random people, hired for a job.”
Her voice is quieter now, tinged with unease. “And your business? What about that?”
“There’s more,” I continue, my hands sliding up to frame her waist, grounding both of us. “The attacks…they’re calculated. Coordinated. Whoever’s behind them knows what they’re doing. They’re not leaving mistakes, not giving us anything to work with.” My jaw tightens, and my voice drops to a near whisper. “But I’ll find them, Sophia. I swear, I’ll find them.”
She studies me, her lips parting slightly as if she’s about to argue, but then she exhales shakily. “And what about you, Maxim?”
“What about me?” I ask, my voice barely above a murmur now.
Her hands move to my face, her thumbs brushing against my jaw with a tenderness that catches me off guard. “You’re doing all of this for me—for us—but who’s taking care of you? Who’s making sure you don’t fall apart in the process?”
Her words hit me like a physical blow, breaking through the walls I’ve carefully constructed. For a moment, I can’t answer her. I can’t even look at her, because everything she’s saying is true.
But then, she does something I don’t expect—she leans in and presses her lips to mine.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if she’s testing the waters. But then, it deepens, and I feel something shift. The gap between us—the one that has been growing wider and wider since the kidnapping—starts to close. Her touch pulls me back, grounding me in the moment, reminding me of what I’ve been fighting for.
I hesitate, my instincts screaming at me to pull away, to protect her from the intensity burning inside me. But then, she whispers against my lips, her voice trembling but resolute. “Kiss me, Maxim. Stop holding back.”
Her plea breaks something in me, shattering the last bit of restraint I’ve been clinging to. I look into her eyes, searching for even the slightest trace of hesitation, but all I see is desire—raw, unguarded, and unmistakable.
This time, I let go. My hands slide up her sides, pulling her closer as I crush my mouth to hers. It’s not just a kiss—it’s everything I’ve been holding back. It’s a promise, a claim, a desperate attempt to show her all the things I can’t put into words. That I’ll protect her, that I’ll fight for her, that no matter how lost I feel, she’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
Before I deepen the moment, a voice in my head cuts through the haze. Should you be doing this right now? As much as I crave her, as much as I want to claim her, I care too much about her well-being to be reckless. I don’t know what triggers her panic attacks, and the last thing I want is to cause her more pain.
So, I pull back slightly, my chest heaving with the conflict inside me. She’s not ready to lose herself in me—not like this—and I’m not ready to risk pushing her too far.
Sophia places her hands on my shoulders, tilting her head back so we’re eye to eye. “Maxim, I’m okay. This is okay. I can handle this.” Her voice is soft but firm, her confidence grounding me. She presses her lips to mine again, and I let go of the small amount of control I had managed to grasp, surrendering to her. The kiss deepens, her tongue slipping into my mouth, caressing mine, and all I can do is hold her tighter.
I wrap my arms around her hips, pulling her flush against me, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her body pressed so perfectly against mine. Fuck, she feels amazing. There was a time when I thought I’d never hold her again—never feel the warmth of her skin or the fire of her kiss. To have her here, in my arms, is nothing short of a blessing.
I squeeze her ass hard enough to bruise, pulling her closer, needing her. The intensity of it is overwhelming—an ache deep inside me, desperate for reassurance that she is safe, that she’s still here, still mine.
But then, it hits me. Flashbacks. Sophia lying unconscious on a hospital bed, bruised and battered, machines hooked to her fragile body. The sound of her screams during a nightmare, her body shaking in panic. The way she cried out that this was all my fault. The guilt crashes over me like a wave, choking the air from my lungs.
I pull away, jerking back from her, the kiss abruptly cut off. I can’t do this. Not now. Not with all the chaos still swirling around us. My mind races, drowning in the memories of her pain.
“Why did you stop?” she asks, her voice breathless, confused. She stands over me, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently.
I wish I knew the answer. The battle inside me is wearing me thin. I’m torn between wanting to tear her clothes off, to lose myself in her, and the gnawing fear that this is too soon. She’s still fragile, still healing, and I’m not sure if she wants this or if it’s a way for her to forget the pain for a moment.
I won’t risk it. One wrong move, one wrong touch, and I could lose her. I could drive her away. I won’t be that man. I can’t be.
“I love you,” I whisper, placing my hands gently on her face and gazing into her eyes. “I’m not going to take it further unless I know you’re really sure.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I stop her by placing my finger on her lips. “Don’t argue with me, Sophia. You had a panic attack yesterday when I dragged you.”
She gives me the “are you serious right now?” look, the one that makes me smile despite the tension. I know she’s thinking sex and being dragged are worlds apart, but I can’t let her disregard the truth.
“It’s the same thing,” I insist. “They’re both triggers, and I don’t want to cause you any harm.”
The tension in her face softens. The deep furrow in her brow fades, and her eyes lose some of the hardness.
“We have an infinite amount of time for that, krasavitsa.” I let the words hang in the air, trying to reassure her—and myself—that there’s no rush. We have all the time in the world.
She narrows her eyes, thoughts clearly racing behind her gaze. The V between her brows deepens for a moment, and I feel a tight knot in my chest. Did I make a mistake by saying no? Should I have given in, given her what she wants, taken the scraps she’s offering?
Before I can second-guess myself, I see it—the spark in her eyes. That fire. The one I thought the world had snuffed out of her. The one I feared was gone for good.
It’s still there.
My heart skips a beat, hope blooming in my chest. She’s still here. There’s still a chance.
“Come swimming with me?” she asks, her voice lighter now but the fire still flickering beneath her smile. It’s not the invitation I expected, but I see through her playful exterior. There’s anger in her eyes, anger she’s trying to hide—anger at me, at my rejection, but it’s there, burning bright.
I let it go. I choose to let it go. I choose to put it aside. She’s still here. She hasn’t walked away from me.
A smile tugs at my lips, and a rush of relief floods me. I didn’t ruin everything by saying no. I didn’t push her away. I’ve got her—right here, right now—and I won’t fuck this up.
“Swimming?” I repeat, my tone lighter now, the tension easing as I hum my approval. “Swimming sounds perfect.”
I lift her into my arms, bridal style, and before she can react, I take off toward the edge of the water, her laughter bubbling up and infecting me. I jump, my heart soaring as we plunge into the cool ocean together, her joy filling me, reminding me why we’re doing this, why we’re fighting.