Chapter 14 - Alyssa
Meeting your boyfriend’s family is terrifying enough without them all being members of the Russian mafia.
I smooth down my dress for the hundredth time as Maksim parks in front of what can only be described as a palace. The estate makes Ravenshollow look quaint by comparison.
“Nervous?” Maksim asks, though the question sounds rhetorical given how I’m practically vibrating in the passenger seat.
I draw in a long breath and ask, “Should I be?”
“They’re going to love you.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
He reaches over and takes my hand. The gesture should comfort me, but instead, it reminds me of last night and this morning and all the reasons I should be running instead of walking voluntarily into the lion’s den.
“They’re just people, Alyssa. Family people who happen to be very good at what they do.”
“What they do being organized crime.”
“They also offer protection, loyalty, and take care of their own.”
The front door opens before we even reach the steps, and I’m greeted by the sight of Aleksei’s imposing shoulders filling the doorway. Behind him, voices and laughter spill out, contradicting everything I’ve ever learned about gangsters..
“Maksim, Alyssa.” He nods to each of us in turn. “Welcome.”
The formality in his tone makes me want to curtsy, but before I can make a fool of myself, a woman appears beside him.
“Ignore him,” she insists with a smile that transforms her entire face.
“Aleksei thinks he’s intimidating, but we all know I’m the one who really runs things around here. I’m Bianca.”
“Alyssa.” I accept her offered hand.
“Finally. Maksim’s been keeping you all to himself, and we were starting to think you were imaginary.”
I giggle and respond, “Some days I wonder about that myself.”
She laughs, a rich sound that immediately puts me at ease. “Oh, I like you already. Come on, everyone’s dying to meet you.”
“Alyssa!” A petite woman with honey-brow hair rushes toward us as soon as we step inside. Her face is bright with authentic excitement. “I’m Cecily, Dmitri’s wife. We’ve heard so much about you.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“Mostly,” another woman interjects with a grin as she joins our little circle. “I’m Seraphina, Grigor’s better half and Cecily’s sister. And this troublemaker is Diane, Aleksei’s cousin.”
Diane waves with paint-stained fingers. “Sorry, I was working in the studio. Couldn’t miss meeting the woman who’s got Maksim walking into walls.”
“I don’t walk into walls,” Maksim protests from behind me.
“You walked into a door frame the other day,” Akim calls out as he approaches with drinks. “I saw it happen.”
“That door frame came out of nowhere.”
The easy banter between them catches me off guard. I expected formality, maybe some veiled threats disguised as pleasantries. Instead, I’m witnessing the kind of family dynamic I’ve only seen in movies—teasing and laughter and real affection.
“Don’t let them fool you,” Bianca whispers. “They’re all terrified you’re going to break his heart.”
“Why would I break his heart?” I ask, scrunching my nose.
“Because you’re the first woman he’s ever brought home who wasn’t paid to be here.”
The crude joke should offend me, but instead, it makes me bust out laughing. These women have accepted me with a warmth I haven’t experienced since college, and I realize how much I’ve missed having female friends.
“Dinner won’t be ready for another hour,” Cecily announces. “Want the grand tour?”
The next sixty minutes pass in a blur of rooms and stories and laughter as the women—my temporary guides—share embarrassing stories about their husbands.
I learn that Grigor once got so drunk he serenaded a lamp post, that Dmitri collects vintage postcards, and that Aleksei has a secret weakness for reality television.
“What about Maksim?” I ask as we pause in a sunroom overlooking perfectly manicured gardens.
“Maksim’s the mysterious one,” Seraphina muses. “Always has been. He observes everything, says little, but when he cares about something…”
“He becomes absolutely ruthless about protecting it,” Diane finishes. “In the best possible way.”
“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
“Honey,” Bianca begins, “in our world, having someone willing to be ruthless for you is the highest form of love.”
The comment should disturb me, but instead, it sends warmth spreading through my chest. I think about Maksim jumping into that pool when he thought I was drowning and how he tackled me to the ground when the shooting started.
“He’s different with you,” Cecily observes. “Softer somehow.”
“Maksim? Soft?”
“You should see how he watches you when you’re not looking. Like you might disappear if he blinks too long.”
The observation makes my heart skip. Through the sunroom windows, I can make out the men gathered on a terrace. Their conversation is animated, but Maksim stands slightly apart from his brothers, listening more than talking.
“He’s always been the quiet one,” Diane explains, following my line of sight. “But watch how he interacts with the kids.”
As if summoned by her words, three small children come barreling around the corner of the terrace. Maksim’s face brightens in the blink of an eye, and he crouches down to their level as they fling themselves into his arms.
“Uncle Maksim!” Their voices carry through the glass, high and delighted.
“The triplets,” Bianca explains with obvious pride. “They worship him.”
I watch as Maksim hoists one child onto his shoulders while the other two cling to his legs. The transformation is remarkable—the dangerous man has completely disappeared, replaced by someone who’s clearly devoted to these little people.
“He’ll be a good father someday,” Seraphina comments.
The words make my stomach flutter with possibilities I shouldn’t be entertaining. Children, family, a future that extends beyond just surviving the next crisis—these are luxuries I’ve never allowed myself to want.
“Come on,” Cecily prompts before linking her arm through mine. “Let’s rescue the men from babysitting duty.”
Dinner displays the kind of family bond I’ve only dreamed about.
The dining room accommodates everyone easily, from Aleksei at the head of the table to the children in their high chairs.
Conversation vacillates between English and what I assume is Russian, punctuated by laughter and gentle arguments about everything from politics to the best pizza in the city.
I find myself relaxing despite every instinct screaming at me to stay guarded. These people have welcomed me without question, and they’re treating me like I belong at their table instead of like an outsider who stumbled into their world by accident.
“So, Alyssa,” Grigor starts during a lull in conversation, “Maksim tells us you’re in marketing.”
“Was in marketing. Recent career change due to circumstances beyond my control.”
“What kind of circumstances?” Nikolai asks.
“The kind that involve restraining orders and changing phone numbers,” I reply before I can stop myself.
The table goes quiet for exactly three seconds before Akim raises his glass. “Well, here’s to leaving the past behind and finding better company.”
“Here, here,” Dmitri agrees, and suddenly, everyone’s raising their glasses in a toast that feels more like a benediction.
“Anyone important to Maksim is important to us,” Akim announces.
I glance across the table at the man in question, who’s been unusually quiet throughout dinner. He catches my look and smiles, and the private expression makes my stomach flip.
After dinner, the children are herded off to bed while the adults settle into the living room with drinks. I excuse myself for a few minutes to use the bathroom, but really, I need a moment to process everything that’s happened tonight.
The house is massive, and I take a wrong turn somewhere between the powder room and the living room. The hallway I find myself in has family photos covering the walls—candid shots of holidays and birthdays and everyday moments that speak to genuine affection.
One door stands slightly ajar, and curiosity gets the better of me. I push it open, expecting to find another sitting room or maybe an office.
Instead, I find an arsenal.
Guns are hung on the walls in neat rows—handguns, rifles, things I don’t have names for but that look military in nature. Ammunition boxes are stacked, and a workbench in the corner holds cleaning supplies and spare parts.
The sight drags me back to a moment I’ve spent months trying to forget—my apartment, hours after I walked in on Troy and his friends.
The first time I told Troy there was nothing he could do to get me back.
Troy’s voice went cold and deadly in a way I’d never heard before, and his hand was steady and sure as he pointed that gun at my chest.
“You’re not leaving me, Alyssa. Not ever.”
The memory smashes into me with such force that I stumble backward, clutching the door frame for support. My chest constricts, making breathing impossible, and black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
“Alyssa?”
Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me away from the doorway and against a familiar chest. Maksim’s scent surrounds me—cologne and safety and something uniquely him that makes my racing heart begin to slow.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp against his shirt. “I didn’t mean to snoop. I got lost and—”
“Shh,” he murmurs as he strokes my hair. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
“I know. I just… seeing all those guns…”
He holds me out at arm’s length, watching me. “What aren’t you telling me about Troy?”
I consider deflecting, making light of the panic. But something about the way Maksim holds me—protective but not possessive, concerned but not demanding—makes the truth spill out.
“He had a gun,” I whisper against his chest. “The night I broke up with him. When I tried to leave, he… he pointed it at me.”
“He pointed a gun at you,” he repeats, his voice deadly quiet.
“I got away. Obviously. But for a minute there, I really thought he was going to…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”
“No. I managed to talk him down and convince him I just needed space to think. Then I ran the moment he put the gun away.”
“And you’ve been running ever since,” he finishes for me. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Maksim—”
“He pointed a gun at you, Alyssa. At you. There is no world in which that goes unanswered.”
The rage in his voice should terrify me. Instead, it awakens responses I have no business feeling. This is exactly what I was afraid of—this intense, overwhelming pull toward a man who solves problems with violence.
“Don’t,” I manage, though whether I’m telling him not to hurt Troy or not to look at me like I’m his entire world, I’m not sure.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make me want this. Don’t make me want you when I know better.”
“You already want me.”
“That’s the problem.”
Before he can respond, before I can do something truly stupid like kiss him in his brother’s gun room, I push away from his embrace and flee toward the safety of voices and laughter and normalcy.
But even as I rejoin his family, I can feel his eyes on me, burning with promises I’m not sure I’m strong enough to resist.