Chapter 16 - Alyssa
Living in limbo between two worlds has become my specialty, though I never intended to make it a career.
Two weeks have passed since Maksim first brought me to Barkov Maritime, and what started as a single educational visit has evolved into something resembling a routine.
Most mornings find me at the docks, where I watch the chaos of legitimate business mixed with activities I’m learning not to question.
“You’re early today,” Dyrel, one of the supervisors, calls out as I walk through the warehouse entrance. The older man has become something of a protective uncle figure since the container incident, always making sure I have coffee and a hard hat when I arrive.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I admit as I accept the steaming cup he offers. “Figured I might as well be useful.”
“Boss man’s in the office reviewing the manifest for container block C. Something about a shipment from Prague that needs special handling.”
The euphemistic way Dyrel describes Maksim’s work never fails to amuse me. Everyone here speaks in careful code, as if saying the wrong thing might summon federal agents from thin air.
I make my way through the maze of shipping containers and forklifts toward the administrative offices.
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve learned the routines of this place—when the legitimate cargo arrives, when the workers take their breaks, and when certain conversations happen behind closed doors.
“Morning, kitten,” Maksim greets me without looking up from his paperwork as I knock on his office door frame. “You’re here early.”
“Dyrel said the same thing. Am I that predictable?”
“Nothing wrong with being eager to feel useful.” He glances up with a smile that makes my stomach flip despite everything. “Which I find incredibly attractive.”
The easy affection in his voice still catches me off guard sometimes.
These past weeks have created an odd sort of domestic routine between us—mornings at the docks, afternoons at Ravenshollow, evenings spent having conversations that dance around the growing attraction I’m not ready to fully address.
“What’s special about the Prague shipment?” I ask as I take a seat across from his desk.
“Electronics. High-end surveillance equipment that certain clients prefer to acquire through… alternative channels.”
“Stolen?”
“Liberated from corporate warehouses that never properly secured their inventory.” He sets down his pen and asks, “Does that bother you?”
Two weeks ago, the answer would have been an immediate yes. Now, after watching how Maksim’s operation works, after seeing how much his operations benefit his employees and the respect he commands without intimidation or coercion, my moral compass has become significantly more flexible.
“It bothers me that I don’t mind as much as I should,” I answer honestly.
“That’s called growth.”
“I think it’s called corruption.”
He laughs, the sound rich and genuine. “Maybe. But you’re still here.”
“I’m still here,” I agree, though I’m not entirely sure why.
The truth is, I’ve found something at the docks that I didn’t know I was missing—a sense of purpose, of belonging to something larger than myself. Maksim’s workers have accepted me as part of their extended family, and even his brothers treat me like we’re old friends when they visit.
“Dmitri’s stopping by this afternoon,” Maksim mentions as he shuffles through another stack of papers. “Something about coordinating security for a client meeting next week.”
“Will Cecily be with him?”
“Probably. She likes coming here almost as much as you do.”
The comparison makes me smile. Cecily and I have become genuine friends over these past weeks.
She’s taught me how to read the subtle signals that indicate when business discussions are happening, and I’ve helped her understand the technical aspects of running a business, which I learned in college.
“Speaking of which,” Maksim continues, “we’ve got a new shipment of automotive parts coming in from Germany. Want to help oversee the processing?”
“Define ‘automotive parts.’”
“Actual automotive parts. Some of our business really is legitimate, you know.”
“I know. It’s just hard to tell which is which sometimes.”
“That’s the point.”
I spend the next two hours learning about import documentation and customs procedures, activities that would have bored me senseless a month ago but now fascinate me. Maksim is a natural teacher, patient with my questions, and impressed by how quickly I catch on.
“You could do this professionally,” he comments after I successfully identify a discrepancy in the German manifest. “International trade, I mean. You have the mind for it.”
“Criminal international trade?”
“The legitimate kind. Though the skills are transferable.”
The casual way he discusses my potential future in his world should alarm me. Instead, it fills me with excitement and glee, no matter how much I try to pretend otherwise.
Around noon, Dmitri arrives with Cecily in tow, as predicted.
The four of us share lunch in Maksim’s office while we discuss everything from current events to family gossip.
These moments feel remarkably normal, like we’re just friends meeting for a casual meal instead of criminals planning their next operations.
“How’s the new security system working out?” Dmitri asks between bites of his sandwich.
“Better than expected. Response time is down to under three minutes for perimeter breaches, and the facial recognition software has flagged two potential problems this week alone.”
“Problems?” I interrupt, suddenly aware that I might not want to know the answer.
“Former employees who thought they could steal from us,” Maksim explains with the same tone he’d use to discuss the weather. “We had a conversation with them about career alternatives.”
Cecily catches my eye and gives a subtle head shake, a signal I’ve learned means ‘don’t ask for details.’ Some aspects of this world still require willful ignorance on my part.
“Alyssa’s been learning the import procedures,” Maksim continues, changing the subject. “She caught an error in the German manifest that could have cost us a significant delay.”
“Impressive,” Dmitri replies with genuine approval. “Not many people can make sense of international shipping documentation on their first try.”
The praise makes me flush with pride, which probably says something unsettling about my psychological state. When did I start caring so much about the approval of criminals?
Our pleasant lunch is interrupted by Dyrel bursting through the office door without knocking.
“Boss, we’ve got a situation at the main gate. Vincent Kozlov is here with four men, and he’s demanding to speak with you.”
The temperature in the room plummets by twenty degrees. Maksim’s entire demeanor changes from relaxed to alert in the span of a heartbeat, while Dmitri’s hand moves instinctively toward something beneath his jacket.
“Kozlov?” Maksim repeats. “What does he want?”
“Claims it’s about the Prague shipment. Says you’re cutting him out of a deal that was already agreed upon.”
Maksim and Dmitri exchange a look loaded with meaning I can’t interpret. Cecily reaches over and takes my hand under the table.
“Who’s Vincent Kozlov?” I whisper.
“Someone who used to be a friend,” she whispers back. “Emphasis on ‘used to be.’”
“Tell him I’ll be out in five minutes,” Maksim instructs Dyrel. “And make sure the perimeter security is active.”
Dyrel nods and disappears, leaving the four of us in suffocating silence.
“This could get messy,” Dmitri declares in warning.
“It won’t come to that,” Maksim replies, but his tone lacks conviction. “Kozlov’s too smart to start trouble on our territory.”
“Is he?” Cecily asks pointedly. “Because allying with the Serpents doesn’t exactly scream intelligence to me.”
The mention of the Serpents makes my blood run cold. These past weeks of relative safety have made me forget about the threat that brought Maksim and me together in the first place.
“The Serpents?” I echo. “Troy’s people?”
“Kozlov’s been working with them for the past month,” Dmitri explains. “We cut ties with him the moment we found out, but apparently, he’s not taking the rejection well.”
“Should I leave?” I ask, already half-rising from my chair.
“No.” Maksim’s voice carries an authority I’ve learned not to question. “You stay here with Cecily. Dmitri and I will handle this.”
“Maksim—”
“No arguments, Alyssa. I need to know you’re safe so I can focus on dealing with Kozlov.”
The protectiveness in his voice makes my heart race for reasons that have nothing to do with fear.
Since I moved in with him, I’ve seen sides of Maksim I never expected—the responsible businessman, the caring brother, the man who values loyalty above all else.
Watching him prepare to face a potential threat without so much as flinching only reinforces how much I’ve come to admire his quiet strength.
“Be careful,” I tell him, meaning it more than I’ve meant anything in weeks.
He pauses at the office door and looks back at me. “Always am.”
The brothers leave, and Cecily moves to the window that overlooks the main courtyard. I join her, and we watch together as Maksim and Dmitri approach five men waiting near the security gate.
Vincent Kozlov is a thin man in an expensive suit, the kind of person who looks like he’s never done manual labor in his life. His four companions are clearly muscle—broad shoulders, dead eyes, and the telltale bulges of concealed weapons.
“Can you hear what they’re saying?” I ask.
“Not from here. But watch their body language.”
The conversation starts cordially enough. Maksim and Kozlov shake hands, and there’s even some laughter from the assembled men. For a moment, I allow myself to hope that this will be resolved diplomatically.
Then Kozlov says something that makes Maksim’s spine snap straight. Dmitri takes a step closer to his brother, and the muscle men spread out into a more tactical formation.
“This is about to go bad,” Cecily mumbles, bringing her hand to cover her mouth.
She’s right. I can see the exact moment when politeness transforms into hostility. Maksim’s voice carries across the courtyard, too distorted by distance and glass to understand the words but clear enough to convey anger.
Kozlov responds by gesturing sharply to his men, and suddenly, everyone is reaching for weapons.
The first gunshot makes me scream and duck below the window frame. Cecily grabs my arm and drags me toward the back of the office as more shots ring out, followed by shouting and the sound of running feet.
“Stay down,” she hisses, though her fear is evident despite her attempt to remain calm.
Through the chaos, I can hear Maksim’s voice barking orders. The shooting seems to move away from the main courtyard, but the sound of gunfire continues to bounce off the warehouse walls.
“I have to see what’s happening,” I tell Cecily s I crawl back toward the window.
“Alyssa, don’t—”
But I’m already peering over the sill with my heart pounding as I search the courtyard for any sign of Maksim. What I see makes my blood freeze.
Two of Kozlov’s men are down, their bodies motionless on the concrete. Maksim and Dmitri have taken cover behind a shipping container, and they’re returning fire at someone I can’t see.
“Oh God,” I breathe as I watch Maksim lean around the container to take a shot. “He could get killed.”
Holy shit. I’m not afraid of Maksim anymore—I’m afraid for him. Somewhere in these past weeks, my terror of his dangerous world has transformed into terror at the thought of losing him.
“He knows what he’s doing,” Cecily assures me.
The gunfight lasts another three minutes that feel like hours. When the shooting finally stops, the silence is deafening. I watch as Maksim emerges from behind the container with his weapon still drawn as he cautiously approaches the bodies.
Kozlov is gone, apparently having fled when his men started dropping. Two of his muscle men are dead, while the other two are nowhere to be seen.
“It’s over,” Cecily announces with relief.
But it’s not over. As Maksim begins checking on his own people, I can see that several dock workers are injured. One man sits against a shipping container, holding his shoulder with blood seeping between his fingers. Another lies on the ground while someone applies pressure to a wound on his leg.
“They’re hurt,” I shout, already moving toward the door.
“Alyssa, wait—”
I don’t wait. I run from the office and across the courtyard, and my minimal understanding of first aid from spending one summer volunteering at a hospital suddenly feels inadequate but necessary.
“How bad?” I ask as I reach the man with the shoulder wound.
“Through and through,” he replies through gritted teeth. “But it burns like hell.”
I help apply additional pressure to the wound while Maksim coordinates getting the more seriously injured man to a hospital. Watching him take charge of the crisis, making sure his people are cared for before anything else, confirms what I’ve been reluctant to admit.
I’m falling for this man. Not despite his dangerous world, but because of how he handles it with honor, loyalty, and genuine care for the people under his protection.
“Are you hurt?” he asks when he finally reaches my side, checking me for injuries even though I was never in danger.
“I’m fine. But your people—”
“Will be fine too. The medical team is already on the way.”
“What was that about? Why did Kozlov come here?”
Maksim glances around at the aftermath of the gunfight before answering. “He wanted us to honor a contract we made before he allied with the Serpents. When we refused, he thought he could intimidate us into compliance.”
“He was wrong.”
“Very wrong. No one threatens my people and walks away unscathed.”
The sound of approaching sirens gets our attention, and soon, paramedics arrive to tend to the wounded while police officers who are clearly on Maksim’s payroll begin documenting a version of events that will never see a courtroom.
As I watch Maksim coordinate the cleanup with the same calm he brings to everything else, I realize that my transformation is complete. I’m no longer an outsider looking in on his world.
I’m part of it now, for better or worse.