CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bound by duty.
Maxsim
The tires crunch over the gravel as the car slows to a stop, the engine purring into silence. The estate stands before us—stone and glass rising from the earth like it was carved into existence, not built.
Every line, every corner is deliberate. Unyielding. Like me.
I move without hesitation, stepping into the cool air and circling the car to open her door. Ari doesn’t move at first. Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, drift slowly over the house. The towering windows. The iron balconies. The immaculate gardens designed to impress. To intimidate.
I watch her closely, searching for any crack in that carefully built facade of hers.
Nothing.
Come,” I say, extending my hand. She doesn’t take it.
Instead, she steps out on her own, her heels clicking sharply against the stone driveway. A sound too loud in the stillness.
Her eyes sweep the estate again, lingering on the dark windows like they’re watching her back.
“So this is my new prison,” she says, voice flat.
I breathe in slowly. Not unexpected, but it lands harder than I want to admit. “It’s a home.”
“For who?” She doesn’t look at me.
The air between us tightens, but I refuse to show it. I straighten, motioning toward the entrance. “Come inside.”
She doesn’t move right away. Then, with a flick of her hair, she falls into step beside me—but not close enough to touch. The space between us mirrors the chasm I created this morning with my note. My overprotectiveness.
I shake off the uncomfortable truth that’s been niggling me relentlessly. What the fuck was I supposed to do?
When I woke up and saw her hands folded beneath her cheek, I almost lost it. She looked so sweet and angelic. Men who want to see me break would easily use her to do it, and that’s not something I will allow.
So yeah, rules. Security protocols. An iron fist of control. Whatever it takes to keep her alive.
We walk beneath the arched entrance as it gives way to the central courtyard. Lanterns flicker among the sculpted hedges, casting warm pools of light across the polished stone paths. The reflecting pool glimmers like black glass, breaking the hard edges of the architecture.
Our new home is a fortress disguised in luxury. “This isn’t just walls and stone,” I say, guiding her forward. My hand hovers near the small of her back, close but not touching. “The estate is secure. No one will get in unless I allow it.”
Ari tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. “And what if I want to leave?”
The question is a blade disguised as curiosity. I let it slide past me. “Let me show you the rest.”
We step through the grand double doors, the weight of them muffling the world behind us. The foyer opens wide—a vaulted ceiling with intricate moldings, polished marble stretching out beneath us, the distant glow of chandeliers. Every surface gleams. Every line is sharp.
The staff waits in formation, exactly as I instructed. Pasha stands at the head, imposing in his stillness. The others—housekeeper, chef, gardener—remain perfectly composed. Silent. Efficient.
“This is Pasha.” My voice is steady. “He’s in charge of security here.”
Pasha offers a single nod. Ari’s gaze flicks over him, unimpressed.
“Charming,” she murmurs, barely audible.
I ignore the comment. “The staff will handle anything you need.”
Her eyes scan them with faint amusement. “Do they come with names or just job titles?”
A flicker of irritation rises, but I bury it. “They know their place.”
Her mouth twitches—halfway to a smirk. “I’m sure they do.”
I move on.
Room by room, I guide her through the estate. The formal dining room with its long oak table and panoramic windows. The study, its shelves lined with rare books and old weapons. The drawing room, where the grand piano sits untouched in the corner.
I speak deliberately. Each word chosen to impress upon her the purpose of this place. But she drifts through the rooms like a ghost, her fingertips brushing against the polished surfaces with idle detachment. No comments. No questions.
The silence gnaws at me.
We reach the terrace. The gardens stretch beyond us, perfectly manicured, the distant hills soft against the horizon. The table is set for lunch. Crystal glasses catch the light. The breeze carries the faint scent of lavender.
Will this disarm her? Soften the edges.
It doesn’t.
She sits, carefully folding her hands in her lap, and stares out over the gardens.
I signal to the housekeeper. Dishes appear in perfect sequence. Salad, then soup. Plates of delicate, meaningless food.
She doesn’t touch a bite.
“If the food isn’t to your liking—”
“It’s not the food.” She doesn’t look at me.
“What is it then?”
“Everything.”
The word hangs between us, heavier than the silence.
I lean back, studying her. The Ari I know is fire and venom. This stillness unsettles me more than her anger ever could.
I reach for the last card I have. “Come with me.”
She hesitates but stands.
I lead her to a secluded wing of the house. Far from the cold grandeur of the other rooms. I push open the door.
Her breath catches.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves cradle countless books. A plush reading nook sits beneath a wide window overlooking the reflecting pool. The soft glow of lamplight spills over velvet chairs and a table set with delicate china. It’s quiet. Warm. Private.
For her.
“A library,” she says flatly.
“You always have that Kindle with you.” I pause. “I thought this might be better.”
She steps inside slowly, trailing her hand along the spines of the books. For a moment, just a flicker, I see her soften. The tension in her shoulders eases.
But it’s gone in a blink.
“And what am I supposed to do? Thank you for building me a prettier cage?”
Her words hit sharper than I expect.
“It’s a gift.”
She turns, arms crossing. “No. It’s leverage.”
I study her for a long moment. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
That gives her pause. Briefly.
“Why would you do this?” she asks, voice quieter now.
I hesitate. Because I want you to stay. Because I want you to look at me the way you look at these books. But I say none of that.
“Because I want you to feel at home.”
Her expression is unreadable. “You know, Maxsim…the only thing that would make your behavior this morning acceptable was if it was born or fear.”
“Fear?” I spit the unfamiliar words out. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Think about it.” She looks out the window. “A man only tightens his hold when he fears something will slip away.”
I step back without responding and let the door drift halfway closed behind me. “Take your time.”
Walking away, the silence presses heavier than before. My wife is right, of course. But it will be a cold day in hell before I admit it.
The sunlight cuts across the stone floors as I stride down the hall, blinding me for a second. Ari’s statement lingers…did I build this fortress to keep others out—or to trap myself inside with her?
The answer is not one I’m ready to face.
Ari
The soft click of the library door echoes as Maxsim leaves me alone in the space he curated for me. Should I be grateful and say thank you like the perfect wife I’m supposed to be?
Turning in a circle, I take in the walls of carefully chosen books wrapped around me. There is no doubt this is a gesture of thoughtfulness, but what does it matter if all I feel is the suffocating weight of silence.
I run my fingers along the spines of the books—first editions, leather-bound classics, titles I’ve loved, and others I’ve never touched. How strange that he would take the time to curate this library. It doesn’t align with the cold and calculated personality he often shows me and the world.
I sink into the window seat, tucking my legs beneath me. Outside, the gardens sprawl in perfect, calculated order, trimmed hedges and manicured trees standing like obedient soldiers. Not a branch out of place. I wonder how long it would take for this place to fall into chaos if left unattended.
Would it unravel like we surely will?
The argument replays in my mind, sharp and vivid. His orders, my defiance. Neither of us backed down, and now there’s this... space between us. Wide and cold.
He likely won’t address it and believes that problems solve themselves if you tighten your grip hard enough.
But I’m not something he can choke into submission.
My gaze drifts back to the garden. Will he always keep me at arm’s length?
Don’t be a fool. Of course he will.
Because in his mind, I’m not an ally. I’m a liability.
I press my palm against the window, allowing the cool glass to ground me. One option is to stay in this room, flip through books, sip tea, and pretend I’m safe. The other is to make him see me.
Not as a pawn. Or some delicate piece on his chessboard.
But as the queen. The piece that can move anywhere, strike from any angle.
I close my eyes, letting the thought settle.
Maxsim is ruled by strategy. By control. But even he must know that alliances crumble when built on silence. I can force the door open if he won’t let me in.
But I must be smart. Calculated.
Storming into his world demanding answers won’t work. That much is clear. But inserting myself where he thinks I don’t belong? Proving I can see the game and play it just as ruthlessly?
That will get his attention.
I think of Franco. Of André. Of the Famiglia and how fragile this alliance truly is. If Sal is testing the waters, probing for weaknesses, then Maxsim’s silence is more dangerous than my involvement.
My fingers tap against the windowpane in thought. Maybe it starts small. A carefully worded conversation with Carolina. She knows everything now that she’s the family’s cyber security star.
A quiet knock pulls me from my thoughts, and I open the door. Pasha. Maxsim’s shadow, always looming.
“Mrs. Volkov,” he says with that polite stiffness. “Dinner will be served shortly.”
“Thank you, Pasha.”
He pauses, studying me with sharp, unreadable eyes. “He doesn’t show it, but he notices. More than you think.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Notices what?”
Pasha shrugs, turning to leave. “If you’re happy here.”
The soft click of the door closing feels louder than it should.
Since when does anyone in the Bratva care if I’m happy?