Unholy Tsar: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ruthless Dynasty Book 4)

Chapter 25

An hour later, I emerge from a luxurious bath, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. I quickly change out of my sleep-rumpled clothes and make my way to the beautiful living area. As expected, Maksim is already there, looking strikingly handsome and polished after his shower. He glances up from his phone as I enter.

“You could’ve joined me,” I tease, running a hand through his damp hair. “I could’ve scrubbed your back for you.”

He catches my wrist before I can dishevel his hair and smirks, “You would’ve done more than that. We both know how you act in showers.”

“How I act? What about you?”

“Guilty as charged. Now come on, we don’t want to be late for dinner.”

“Is my dress here?”

“Let’s find out.”

Maksim leads me into the elevator, and we ride it to the fourteenth floor. The floor just below ours. When the doors open, I’m hit with the sight of a majestic foyer… a foyer filled to the brim with people and racks upon racks of clothes. Hell, there are so many racks I can’t count them all. It’s like stepping into a fashion wonderland.

“Maksim…What is this?”

“You need a dress, don’t you?”

“This is too much, it—”

“Nonsense.” He dismisses my concern with an impertinent wave. Before I can argue further, a woman separates herself from the group and steps toward us.

“Good evening, sir. Ma’am,” she greets us with a tentative smile. “My name is Alena, and I will be your assistant today.”

Maksim wastes no time in stating his expectations. “I want to see each outfit she tries on,” he says, and Alena nods. I roll my eyes but follow her as she leads me into the chaos.

“There are several garments for you to try, but after reading the brief about your event tonight, I took the liberty of selecting three dresses I think would be perfect. I hope I did not overstep?”

I smile politely. “No, no, that’s perfect, thank you.”

To be honest, it would be too overwhelming to have to go through all the clothes here by myself. Hell, I’d probably miss dinner. Maksim sure knows how to go the extra mile.

I steal a glance at him when Alena leaves to fetch the dresses. He’s found a seat in a high-back armchair.

He’s focused on his phone, typing away, but fuck, he still looks so incredibly hot with that little furrow between his brows. I can’t wait to kiss him again.

“Are you ready?”

I glance back to see that Alena has rolled a rack with three gorgeous outfits toward me.

“Yes. I think so.”

She takes one dress off and hands it to me. I can’t make out much of it except that it’s a beautiful shade of red and made of silk. She points to a door and asks me to go change there.

It’s a bedroom, and someone’s already set up a full-length mirror inside, which is perfect.

Quickly shedding my jeans and blouse, I slip into the dress. It’s a sleeveless number with ruffles at the bust. It hugs my body down to my waist, then flares out into a pleated skirt that stops just above my ankles.

I grin at my reflection and twirl. “Very nice.”

Alena applauds when I walk out, and I give her a dramatic bow before making my way to Maksim. “What do you think?”

He tilts his head with a slight frown, then twirls his index finger at me. I mutter under my breath as I turn around for him, but I secretly love it. I love it so much that even his grumpiness can’t dim my excitement.

“Very cute,” he finally says when I’m facing him again. “But it’s not the one.”

“As if you know anything about women”s fashion.” Still, I’m curious about the other dresses, so, I head back to Alena.

She’s waiting for me with a light pink dress, and I eagerly retreat into the bedroom to try it on.

This one features a delicate strap made from a flowery material that complements the square neckline beautifully. Like the previous dress, it’s firm down to my waist and flares out in a graceful pleat, but this time the skirt stops just below the knee. It screams elegance and class.

Maksim steeples his fingers as I walk toward him. From his growing frown, I already know it isn’t the one. But for the fun of it, I still put on a little show for him, doing my best twirl.

“Well?”

“You’re beautiful as always, dushen’ka.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll go try the next one.”

“I saved the best for the last,” Alena promises as she hands me the shimmery dress. Instantly, I’m in love with it. I can’t make out the shape yet, but damn, the material alone is gorgeous. I caress it lovingly as I walk into the bedroom one final time.

Getting into this dress is trickier than the others, and I have to call Alena to help me tie the small ropes on the back. When I finally check my reflection in the mirror, I inhale sharply.

“Wow.”

The elegant midnight blue A-line corset dress clings to my curves and flows down, forming a small train behind me. Its neckline is square, but there’s a subtle V-dip in the middle that shows a little cleavage.

One mini strap graces my shoulder, while the other rests on the upper arm of the same side, leaving my opposite arm sleeveless. And to top it off, there’s a daring slit that climbs up all the way up to my upper thigh. Alena hands me a pair of sheer lace gloves in the same midnight blue color, and they reach up to my elbows. That seals the deal.

As I move, the dress shimmers under the lights, and fuck, if Maksim doesn’t approve of this, I’m getting it anyway. This is the dress.

I walk out of the room feeling like Cinderella, and when Maksim sees me, his reaction is priceless.

I’ve never seen his eyes go so wide. His lips part in awe as I approach. When I come to a stop in front of him, he rises to his feet and slowly circles me, his gaze taking in every inch of me.

His finger traces down my spine, and I melt into him. Then, he presses a tender kiss against the shell of my ear and murmurs something in Russian.

“English please,” I whisper.

“You’re breathtaking.” He nuzzles my neck, his arms circling my waist to pull me into his chest so I can feel his hard cock against my ass. “Ravishing. I can’t wait to show you off… and then come back here to unwrap you.”

My eyes flutter close, my core clenching desperately as he whispers all the things he plans to do to me after dinner.

Abruptly, he releases me with what sounds like a curse in Russian. “Fuck, we don’t have time for this,” he says, his chest heaving, his pupils dilated. “You need to finish getting ready, and I have to go get dressed, too.”

Before I can ask what he means, he addresses someone behind me. “Whatever you do, leave her hair down.”

Shit, I forgot we had an audience.

My cheeks flush so hot, I know I must be as red as a tomato. Maksim chuckles at my reaction and gently rubs his knuckles down my cheek before leaving.

The heat doesn’t fade until I’m settled into my makeup chair. Alena and her girls are professionals, and they doll me up as I daydream, feeling like a real princess. When they’re done, and I get my final look, I can’t help but gasp.

My usually straight hair is now cascading in soft, luscious waves. The left side is clipped behind my ear, with one short strand kissing the top of my collarbone. On the right side, my hair covers my ear but falls down my back in the same soft curls.

And my face.

It looks flawless. The makeup is so expertly done, it looks completely natural, except for my perfectly shaped brows, of course.

“Wow,” is the only thing I can say as I stare at myself in the mirror, mesmerized.

I’m stepping into a pair of glittery black stilettos when the elevator doors open and Maksim strolls in. I almost swallow my tongue. Oh my.

He looks like he just walked right out of a GQ cover.

He’s in a black three-piece tux that hugs his body like it’s custom-made—which I’m sure it is—and a bow tie in the same midnight blue as my dress. His salt-and-pepper hair is parted at the sides and slicked back.

His cufflinks gleam like they’re made from real gold, and his wristwatch glimmers like the most extravagant jewelry.

When he sees me, he does a double take. We both stop in our tracks, absolutely in disbelief of each other.

“There won’t be a man there tonight who isn’t kicking themselves with jealousy,” Maksim says thickly, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I detect a hint of an accent in his words. “Because of the gorgeous queen in my arms.”

I blush for the umpteenth time as I meet him halfway and fuss unnecessarily with his tie just for something to do with my hands. “You look so dashing,” I tell him, gazing up into his eyes. Because of my heels, I don’t have to tilt my head as far as I usually do.

“Shall we, dushen’ka?” He crooks his arm at me, and I take it with a wide smile.

“We shall.”

Mikhail’s palace is so massive it’s hard to comprehend, and its ostentatious decor makes it seem almost fake, like a showcase. Everything looks so expensive that I make sure to stick close to Maksim’s side, just to avoid accidentally bumping into something that might cost more than my entire life.

My eyes wander and latch onto something gleaming. Whoa, is that real gold? I try not to gape at a bust of Mikhail perched on a tall table in the foyer.

“Relax, dushen’ka. I promise you belong here.”

Mikhail’s butler leads us past an indoor fountain and through a series of hallways before finally opening the door of what seems to be a grand ballroom. It’s clearly been redecorated for this special dinner, but its size is still mind-boggling, easily twice the size of our giant penthouse suite at the hotel, with steps leading down to the main room, a room that’s already bustling with plenty of important-looking people.

Someone standing next to the doorway announces us—well, he announces Maksim—like we’re in some medieval movie or something.

I clutch Maksim’s hand as we walk down the steps. Even though I’m looking the best I ever have, I feel so out of my depth.

Mikhail Ivanov, our host, walks up to us with an older woman who’s decked out in jewels. “Maksim! I’m so glad you could make it.” Mikhail shakes Maksim’s hand, then grins at me, “And you look so beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“Maksim, this is my wife Katerina. Katerina, you know Maksim, of course. The Tsar of America.”

Maksim doesn’t physically react, but because I’m holding his hand so tightly, I feel his slight flinch. I frown up at him, wondering what’s up with that. Is it the title?

“And this is his Tsarina?” Katerina asks in broken English. It might be because of her accent, but I swear there’s an almost mocking quality to her tone.

“Yes,” Maksim answers succinctly, and that’s that.

The Ivanovs lead us further into the ballroom. Introductions are made. Pleasantries are shared. People quickly lose interest in me, focusing instead on speaking to Maksim in a mix of English and Russian that makes the conversation nearly impossible to follow.

Dinner itself is a torturous affair. Who eats an eight-course meal, for goodness” sake? Russian oligarchs do, it seems.

The food, though, is absolutely delicious, but unfortunately, the company is lacking. The men seem misogynistic, dismissing me as just another young trophy, while their dates look down their noses at me. Oh, they don’t make it so obvious, but there’s a cattiness to their tone when they deem fit to address me.

Meanwhile, Maksim doesn’t appear to notice, and I don’t draw his attention to it. He’s already busy enough, dividing his attention between me and the numerous men who want to engage him in conversation.

His attentiveness to me, and his constant checking in to make sure I’m fine, is the only reason I make it through the long as hell dinner.

When the dessert is finally being cleared, I tap Maksim’s arm to get his attention. “I need to use the restroom.”

“I’ll come with you.” He starts to get up, but I quickly tug him down.

“What?” I ask, horrified. I refuse to give these people another reason to look down on me, and I can just imagine what they’ll think if Maksim follows me to the bathroom. “No, stay. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Be quick about it, dushen’ka.”

He kisses the back of my hand when I stand up. I can feel his gaze on my back as I walk away, but I don’t look back. He’s probably a little worried since I was so quiet throughout the entire meal.

Once I’m in the clear, I ask one of the waiters where the restroom is, and he points to a closed door. I thank him and make my way inside. There are three stalls, all of them empty. Good. I blow out a relieved breath and walk into the very last one, closing the door behind me.

I don’t actually need to use the toilet or anything; I just want a quiet moment to myself. I close the toilet seat and sit down, suddenly wishing I had brought my purse with me. Then, I could at least text with Bree or something while I get myself together.

Bree. It seems like I haven’t heard from her in forever. I wonder why? Though, I guess I haven’t exactly reached out either.

Suddenly, the main door bursts open, and I hear the click-clack of heels walking in. My entire body tenses. Shit. So much for peace and quiet… I’m about to stand up and walk out when I hear them talking, and for some reason, I pause—and it’s a good thing I did.

“Did you see her? Thinking a designer dress and some makeup will turn her into a princess,” someone scoffs in a thick Russian accent.

“Right? And Mikhail didn’t help matters, telling everyone she’s Smolov”s Tsarina,” a second voice adds in relatively clear English.

Are they talking about me?

“It’s true what they say about rich men slumming it. If I didn’t witness it myself, I would find it hard to believe that the great Maksim Smolov is dating a poor Italian girl.”

“Exactly She’s so beneath him… and way too young for such an exquisite man. There’s no way he’s satisfied with such a doe.”

A lump forms in my throat and without thinking it through, I press the flush button on the toilet. The girls go quiet as they realize someone else is in the bathroom.

I inhale deeply, steeling my nerves. Then, I push the door open and walk out with my head held high. When they see me, their expressions shift from casual amusement to a startled mix of guilt and wide-eyed surprise. I offer them my sweetest smile, though my heart is pounding fiercely in my chest. “If you have any questions, you can ask me directly. Come on. Ask away. Like say, how did a poor Italian girl like me get Maksim Smolov to go slumming?”

They mumble incoherent apologies before scurrying out of the restroom. I follow them to the door and lock it behind them. Then I make my way to the sink to wash my hands, the sound of running water a welcome distraction from the turmoil within me. My eyes sting badly, and I sniff loudly, trying to hold back the tears. They fall anyway.

Those girls are right, of course. I’m a nobody. Under normal circumstances—if I hadn’t become friends with Bree—there’s no way someone like me would’ve even crossed paths with someone as great as Maksim, let alone dated him, if that’s even what this is.

Fucking hell. What am I even doing here?

I stare at my reflection. I appear composed and put together, gorgeous. But the tears streaming down my cheeks give away my distress.

Just as I’m trying to pull myself together, the door’s handle jiggles, and I frantically grab some tissues and dab my tears away, careful not to ruin my makeup too much.

“Cecilia? Are you in there?”

I freeze, shocked to hear Maksim’s voice.

“I… you…” What is he doing here? “You can’t come in here,” I finally force out, my voice thick from crying. I clear my throat, hoping he doesn’t notice. But who am I kidding?

There’s a beat of tense silence, and then Maksim starts pounding on the door. “Open the door right this instant, dushen’ka, or I’m going to break it down.”

I laugh a little at his threat, then sniff, wiping off the rest of my tears before I slowly make my way to the door. When I open it, he’s scowling, but that scowl immediately changes to something far more dangerous.

“Who did this to you?” he growls, pushing past me into the bathroom.

I close the door with a sigh, “Nobody did anything, I–I just—”

“You just what?”

“I just realized how out of my depth I am. I don’t belong here, Maksim.”

After a moment of confusion, his hard face softens. He walks up to me, tenderly cupping my face between his hands, “Neither do I, dushen’ka.”

I can’t help but sink into his warmth. For a little while, he just caresses my face, then his hand drops, and he takes my hand, intertwining our fingers.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“But the dinner isn’t over yet,” I protest weakly.

“Fuck this dinner. We’re done.”

He starts walking, and I’m left with two choices: either walk out with him or be dragged out. I choose the former.

Still, I don’t wait until we’re actually outside to ask the obvious. “Where are we going?”

“I want to show you something,” he answers, opening the passenger door for me. Before I can ask any follow-up questions, he clicks it shut. I watch as he discusses something with his men, then quickly gets into the driver’s side.

“You’re driving?” I ask in surprise. “What about the others?”

“They’re going back to the hotel. We’re going on a little excursion.” Confusion must be written all over my face because he gives me a small smile as he starts the car. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“We”re taking a trip to the past.”

“Who’s past?”

“Mine.”