CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Honor in vengance.
Ari
Our first social event as a couple and it has to be a political fundraiser. Turning in front of the mirror, I decide the dress I’ve chosen is perfect for kissing political ass. The senator who keeps Bratva’s interest at the forefront of his mind is having a dinner party for all his top donors, and Maxsim has insisted that we make it our debut.
A way to show those in power that the Bratva and Cosa Nostra are twice as strong.
“I’m ready, Maxsim.”
No response.
This must be a first…I’m the one who’s ready first. I step into the bathroom and see my husband standing in front of the mirror. His movements are precise, methodical. The razor glides over his jaw, leaving smooth skin in its wake. Steam curls around him, clinging to the edges of the mirror, and the faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air—woodsy, sharp, undeniably him.
He doesn’t glance at me. Which I take as a blessing, given that I might be drooling. I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms as my gaze settles on his reflection. The towel slung low on his hips, the lean strength in his shoulders, the calm, unflinching way he shaves—everything about him is composed.
His eyes flick to mine in the mirror, sharp and unreadable, before he returns his attention to the razor. “We’re late,” he says, tone light. “And you’re distracting me.”
I bite back a smile as I take a step closer. “Distracting you?” I let the words hang in the steam-thick air, my lips curving. “How very inconvenient for you, husband.”
He sets the razor down, finally turning to face me, his gaze hot. “Yes,” he says simply, eyes dragging over me like a caress, “inconvenient.”
The heat in his tone makes me want to forget our social obligation. I push off the doorframe, taking a slow step forward. “You know,” I say, tilting my head as I study him, “We could forget about the dog and pony show and—”
“There is nothing I’d like more.” He takes my hand and pulls me close, dropping a quick kiss on my lips. “But we need to remind the senator of his commitments.”
I take the towel from his hand and dab a missed spot of shaving cream. “Your loss.”
“Not really.” He drops his head and lets his mouth rest close to my ear. “Because it means I will deliver twice the orgasms when we get home.”
My face flushes. “Can’t wait.” I blow him a kiss and return to our bedroom, praying that the party doesn’t drag on. Right now, all we have is a fragile thread keeping us tethered, and I want to do everything I can to ensure nothing breaks it.
***
The senator’s estate feels more like a gilded prison than a home. High vaulted ceilings stretch endlessly above a ballroom bathed in warm light, while marble floors gleam under the weight of a hundred footsteps. Crystal chandeliers dangle like threats, refracting light into a thousand tiny knives. Everything here screams excess, power, and ego—Senator Redford’s trifecta.
“Do you think his next campaign slogan will be Vote Redford: Narcissist for the People ?” I whisper to Maxsim as my eyes land on a particularly absurd oil painting. The senator stands front and center, shaking hands with a pope, his expression caught somewhere between smug and sanctimonious.
Maxsim’s lips quirk slightly, his version of a laugh. “If it works, who am I to judge?”
“How pragmatic of you.” I swirl my champagne, taking in the crowd with practiced disinterest. Every guest here is part of a careful puzzle—political donors, corporate magnates, and the occasional criminal with just enough polish to blend in.
Maxsim leans down, his voice low and deliberate. “Subtlety doesn’t win elections, Ari. Neither does honesty.”
His hand brushes the small of my back, a touch so brief I almost convince myself it didn’t happen. “You’re enjoying yourself,” he says.
“Hardly.” I tilt my glass toward another oversized portrait of Redford, this one depicting him in a heroic pose, gazing thoughtfully at an American flag. “But I do enjoy watching you pretend to care.”
His lips twitch, but his gaze sharpens as it sweeps across the room. “And what are you doing, wife? Other than making jokes at our host’s expense?”
“Observing.” I flash him a wicked grin. “Someone has to keep you from missing the important details.”
“Such as?”
I nod toward Redford, who’s holding court near the grand staircase. His laugh carries across the room, loud and hollow, as his guests fawn over him. “He’s too comfortable,” I murmur. “That’s a man who thinks he owns this room. Either you’ve given him leverage, or he’s holding something over you.”
Maxsim chuckles softly, though there’s an edge to the sound. “You’re dangerous when you pay attention.”
“And you’re dangerous when you underestimate me,” I counter, savoring the flicker of approval in his eyes.
Before he can reply, a waiter approaches with a tray. Maxsim takes a glass of champagne, his movements controlled, deliberate. But I see it—the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens when he glances back at Redford.
Maxsim sips his champagne, his eyes never leaving the senator. “Redford’s useful.”
“For now,” I say, watching Maxsim’s gaze harden.
“For as long as I need him to be.” His voice is soft, but the threat in it is unmistakable.
Redford chooses that moment to approach, his grin as wide and false as a salesman’s promise. “Maxsim,” he says warmly, extending a hand. “Good to see you again.”
“Senator,” Maxsim replies smoothly, shaking his hand.
Redford’s eyes flick to me, his smile growing even wider. “And you must be the lovely Mrs. Volkov.”
“Ari,” I correct, offering my hand. His grip is firm but unremarkable, his gaze lingering just long enough to feel calculated.
“Maxsim speaks highly of you,” he says, releasing my hand.
“Does he?” I shoot Maxsim a sidelong glance. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
Redford laughs, though it sounds more like a cough. “Well, you know how these men are. Hard to get a compliment out of them.”
“Not always,” I reply lightly. “You just have to know how to handle them.”
The senator chuckles again, but I catch the flicker of unease in his eyes. Good.
Maxsim’s hand returns to my back, his touch a silent but firm reminder to behave. “Senator,” he says, his tone as smooth as silk, “I think it’s time we discussed the matter we spoke of earlier. Shall we?”
Redford hesitates for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Of course.”
The two of them step aside, their voices dropping to a low murmur. I watch them for a moment, my curiosity simmering just beneath the surface, before turning back to the crowd.
And that’s when my phone buzzes.
I slip it out of my clutch, half-expecting a text from Franco or Gianna. But what I see makes my breath catch. Maxsim is hiding something from you. Are you sure you can trust him?
My pulse quickens, and for a moment, the room tilts. The words burn into my mind, sharp and deliberate. Anonymous, of course. Cowardly and calculated.
I glance toward Maxsim. He’s speaking to Redford, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. A thousand questions race through my mind. Who sent this? What do they know? And most importantly—how much is Maxsim keeping from me?
The phone buzzes again, jolting me back to the present. This time, it’s a simple warning: Careful who you trust.
I lock the screen, shoving the phone back into my clutch. My chest tightens, and I take a steadying breath, forcing a smile onto my face as I weave through the crowd.
The cool night air greets me as I step out onto the terrace. The city lights stretch out in the distance, their glow muted by a thin layer of fog. I lean against the railing, my fingers curling around the cold metal, and try to make sense of the message.
Maxsim joins me a moment later. “You disappeared,” he says, his voice low.
“Just needed some air,” I reply, forcing my tone to stay light.
His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t press. “We can go if you’re ready.”
“Let’s.”
We make our way back through the crowd, Maxsim’s hand resting on my back as we move toward the exit. The SUV is waiting at the curb, Pasha behind the wheel.
Maxsim’s phone buzzes as I slide in, and he immediately pulls it out, his eyes scanning the screen with a sharpness that sets my nerves on edge.
The silence in the car is deafening. My fingers curl around my clutch, the words from the text seared into my thoughts. Maxsim is hiding something from you.
I glance at him, his expression calm but distant. For a moment, I consider confronting him. But the words catch in my throat, and I turn my gaze to the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and white.
The tension between us feels heavier than ever, and I can’t shake the feeling that whoever sent that message knows exactly how to exploit it.