Chapter 15 - Maksim
The best way to make someone understand your world is to show them how it actually works, not just the violent parts that make headlines.
I watch Alyssa fidget with her coffee cup across the breakfast table. She hasn’t said much since she told me about Troy pointing a gun at her, but it’s been eating at me since the moment she told me. Still, I realize that right now, I need to focus on something more constructive than murder.
“Get dressed,” I announce as I push back from the table. “We’re going out.”
She looks up from her untouched eggs Benedict and asks, “Where?”
“You want to understand what I do for a living? I’m going to show you.”
“Maksim, I don’t think—”
“No more hiding behind assumptions and fear. If you’re going to judge my world, you should at least see what it actually looks like.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re driving through the industrial district toward the docks. The morning fog settles over the harbor, giving everything a dreamlike quality around the cranes and shipping containers that are scattered everywhere.
“This is one of our legitimate operations,” I explain as we pull through the gates of Barkov Maritime. “We handle cargo for dozens of companies; everything from electronics to textiles to automotive parts.”
“And the illegitimate stuff?”
“Mixed in with the legitimate aspects. Hidden in plain sight.”
The warehouse is filled to the brim with forklifts moving pallets, employees calling out instructions in three different languages, and the constant background racket of productivity.
I lead Alyssa through it all, pointing out the various processes and explaining how everything flows together as we go.
“How do you keep track of it all?” she asks as she watches a team of men load containers onto a truck.
“Computer systems mostly, but also relationships. Everyone here has worked for my family for years. They know what questions not to ask.”
“Doesn’t that make you nervous? Having so many people who could potentially betray you?”
“Loyalty is earned, not demanded. We pay well, treat our people fairly, and take care of their families. In return, they keep our secrets.”
A supervisor approaches us, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Barkov, we’ve got a problem with container seven-forty-three. The rigging is tangled up top, and the whole line is backed up.”
I follow his pointed finger to where a massive shipping container hangs suspended from a crane, swaying as the men below debate solutions. The loading dock has ground to a halt while everyone waits for the problem to be resolved.
“How long to get someone up there?” I ask.
“Hard to say. We have to bring in the safety equipment, get someone certified for heights…”
“That’s too long,” Alyssa interjects as she eyes the suspended container. “Someone could get hurt. What exactly is tangled?”
The supervisor blinks at her like he’s not sure whether to be offended or amused. “The guide ropes, miss. They’ve wound around the lifting cables, and the whole thing is locked up tight.”
“So someone just needs to climb up there and untangle them?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“I can do that.”
Both the supervisor and I turn to stare at her. She’s already pulling off her jacket and rolling up her sleeves like she’s preparing for manual labor.
“Absolutely not,” I state right away.
“Why not? I’ve done plenty of rock climbing, and this isn’t even that high. Besides, I’m probably lighter than whoever you’d normally send up there.”
“Alyssa, this isn’t a game. If you fall—”
“I won’t fall.” She’s already walking toward the container when she cuts me off. “Trust me.”
The supervisor looks at me with his eyes wide as saucers. “Sir, I really don’t think—”
“Let her try,” I hear myself saying, though every instinct I possess is screaming in protest.
What follows is the most nerve-wracking ten minutes of my life. Alyssa scales the side of the shipping container as if she were born to do it. When she reaches the top, she inspects the tangled rigging, tugging here and there.
“I can see the problem,” she calls down. “Give me two minutes.”
Those two minutes stretch into eternity. I watch her work—untangling knots, repositioning cables, solving the puzzle that had my experienced crew stumped. When the container finally settles into its proper position, a cheer goes up from the assembled workers.
“How’s she going to get down?” the supervisor asks, echoing my own growing concern.
Alyssa peers over the edge of the container, and I can see her figuring out distances and angles. The descent is always harder than the ascent, especially when adrenaline starts wearing off.
“Jump,” I call up to her. “I’ll catch you.”
She looks down at me like I’ve suggested she sprout wings and fly. “Are you insane?”
“Trust me. Just like you asked me to trust you.”
For a moment, she seems to debate with herself. Then she sits on the edge of the container, swings her legs over, and pushes off into space.
My heart stops as she careens toward me, but my body moves on instinct.
I position myself underneath her with my arms extended and somehow manage to catch her without either of us ending up in a heap on the concrete floor.
The impact knocks the breath out of both of us, but we’re standing, we’re intact, and she’s grinning like she just conquered Mount Everest.
“That was incredible,” she breathes. Her face is flushed with triumph and exertion.
“That was terrifying.”
“But it worked, didn’t it? Look.” She gestures toward the container, which is now being smoothly loaded onto its designated truck. “Problem solved.”
My employees around us nod their approval, and I catch more than one admiring glance directed at the woman in my arms. She’s earned their respect in a way that money and threats never could—through competence and courage.
“You’re amazing,” I tell her, meaning every word.
“I’m useful,” she corrects, but the pride in her voice is unmistakable.
The way she looks right now—hair mussed, cheeks pink, eyes bright with accomplishment—does things to my self-control that I’m not prepared to think too hard about. She’s beautiful on a normal day, but right now, she’s absolutely radiant.
“Come with me,” I say before taking her hand and leading her away from the crowd of onlookers.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere private.”
I guide her to a storage area behind the main warehouse, a quiet space filled with empty crates and shipping supplies. The moment we’re alone, I pin her against the nearest wall and capture her mouth with mine.
She tastes like coffee and adrenaline and something uniquely hers that makes my head spin. Her lips part, welcoming the invasion of my tongue, and the small sound she makes in the back of her throat nearly makes me lose it right here and now.
“Maksim,” she gasps against my mouth.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” I mumble as I trail kisses along her jaw. “Watching you up there, so fearless and capable…”
My hands roam her body, gliding over the curves I’ve memorized but can’t seem to get enough of. When I cup her breast through her shirt, she arches into my touch with a moan that goes straight to my cock.
“You’re incredible,” I tell her between kisses. “So fucking incredible.”
Her own hands aren’t idle—they tangle in my hair, cling to my shoulders, and explore the planes of my chest through my shirt. When she rocks her hips against mine, I groan and press her harder against the wall.
“I want you,” she whispers, and the words nearly shatter what’s left of my restraint.
“Alyssa…”
“Right here. Right now. I don’t care where we are.”
The desperation in her voice matches my own, but it also triggers a warning bell in the back of my mind. This morning, she told me last night was a mistake. This morning, she was ready to run rather than face what’s between us.
“No,” I reply, though it might be the hardest word I’ve ever spoken.
“No?” She blinks up at me as she slides her tongue over her lips, which are swollen from my kisses.
“Not like this. Not when you’re high on adrenaline and likely to regret it later.”
“I won’t regret it.”
“You said the same thing last night, and this morning you called it a mistake.”
The reminder brings her back to reality with almost visible force. Her hands drop from my hair, and she suddenly seems to realize where we are and what we were about to do.
“You’re right,” she admits. “I’m sorry, I got carried away.”
“Don’t apologize for wanting me. Just… be sure it’s really me you want, not just the excitement of the moment.”
She lets out a long, shaky breath. “You’re right. I need to figure out what I actually want instead of just reacting to whatever crisis we’re in the middle of.”
“Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
We walk back to the main warehouse in companionable silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
The crisis with the container has been resolved, and normal operations have resumed.
Several of my employees nod respectfully to Alyssa as we pass, clearly impressed by her earlier display of competence.
“They like you,” I observe.
“They respect that I was willing to get my hands dirty. Most people in expensive clothes wouldn’t have bothered.”
“Where did you learn to climb like that?”
“College rock climbing club. We used to spend weekends scaling cliff faces and abandoned buildings. Drove my parents crazy when they found out.”
“I’m sure they were worried sick.”
She sputters her lips and replies, “They cared about liability and insurance claims. Everything else was pretty much left up to me to figure out.”
“That must have been lonely.”
“Sometimes. But it also made me self-reliant, which has served me well.”
We reach my car, but neither of us moves to get in. The morning has been revelatory in ways I never expected, and I’m reluctant to end it.
“What did you think?” I ask. “Of all this, I mean. The operation, the people, the way things work.”
“It’s not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Something more sinister, I guess. More obviously criminal. This just looks like… business.”
“Most of it is just business. The illegal parts are wrapped up in legitimate operations so seamlessly that even the people doing the work don’t always know which is which.”
“Plausible deniability.”
“Exactly. Everyone can truthfully say they were just doing their job.”
She leans against the car. “It’s actually quite clever. And surprisingly… normal.”
“Disappointed?”
“Relieved, maybe. It’s harder to demonize something when you can see how it actually functions.”
“That was the point.”
“I know. And thank you for showing me. For trusting me with this.”
“Thank you for climbing that container and saving my crew hours of bureaucratic safety nonsense.”
She laughs and waves me off. “Anytime you need someone to scale industrial equipment, I’m your girl.”
“My girl,” I repeat, testing the words. “I like the sound of that.”
“Maksim…”
“I know, I know. But I can’t help how I feel about you.”
“How do you feel about me?”
The question catches me off guard with its directness. Most women dance around feelings, especially early in relationships. But Alyssa has never been most women.
“Like you’re the missing piece I didn’t know I was looking for,” I answer honestly. “Like everything before you was just marking time until you walked into my life.”
“That’s a lot of pressure to put on someone you barely know.”
“I know enough,” I reply with a shrug.
“You also know I have terrible taste in men and a tendency to run when things get difficult.”
“You haven’t run from me. Not really.”
She hikes an eyebrow and says, “I tried to.”
“But you came back,” I reply with an index finger in the air. “And you keep coming back, no matter how many reasons I give you to leave.”
She considers this as she absently twists a strand of hair around her finger. “Maybe I keep coming back because you keep giving me reasons to stay.”
“Such as?”
“You catch me when I jump off shipping containers. You show me your world instead of hiding it from me. You stop when I’m not ready, even when we both want more.”
“Those aren’t reasons to stay. Those are just basic human decency.”
“You’d be surprised how rare basic human decency is in my experience.”
The sadness in her voice makes me want to hunt down everyone who’s ever hurt her and show them what real pain looks like. Instead, I reach out and take her hand.
“You deserve better than basic human decency, Alyssa. You deserve everything.”
“Pretty words,” she muses, but she doesn’t pull her hand away.
“True words.”
We stand there for another moment, hands linked, both of us aware that we’re balanced on the edge of something that could either save us or destroy us. The smart thing would be to step back, maintain distance, and let things develop naturally.
But I’ve never been accused of being smart when it comes to women, and this woman in particular seems to short-circuit every rational thought I possess.
I’m a patient man when the prize is worth waiting for, but deep down, I don’t think she wants to wait, either.