Chapter 13
Maksim
No, Boris Volkov was not my boss. He was not anyone’s boss.
The Bratva wasn’t built with chains of command like the Army. It was a brotherhood—equals, bound by blood and oaths, each man carrying his own weight and wielding his own talent.
Boris’s gift wasn’t in blood or blades. It was in words. He could smile while lying through his teeth, make enemies believe they were friends, and walk out of a room with more than he walked in with. That was his weapon.
And he wielded it well.
Which is why when he asked to meet, I knew it wasn’t a suggestion.
* * *
The restaurant was quiet, all white tablecloths and candlelight.
A place for business deals masquerading as luxurious dinners.
Boris sat at a corner table, jacket draped over his chair, sleeves rolled up, a glass of red wine in his hand.
He smiled when I walked in. Not the kind of smile that reached his eyes.
“Maksim,” he said warmly, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Sit. Drink. Eat. You look tired, brother.”
I sat but didn’t touch the wine. Not cut from the same cloth as Boris, I didn’t beat around the bush. “You’ve heard things.”
“Of course I’ve heard things.” He swirled his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. “You’ve been sniffing around a bartender like a dog in heat. People notice these things. Konstantin tells me she’s been in places she shouldn’t. Popov’s study. The Midnight Market.”
His eyes flicked up to mine, sharp beneath the veneer of civility. “That could be very inconvenient for all of us.”
“She’s not a threat.”
Boris chuckled, shaking his head as if I were a boy who’d said something na?ve.
“No? Maksim, everyone is a threat. Especially women. They listen. They remember. They talk. Maybe not on purpose, maybe not at first. But one day, someone leans close, asks the right question, offers the right amount of money, and suddenly—your bedmate has become a liability.”
He leaned forward, voice dropping. “And you know what we do with liabilities.”
My hands tightened on the table. “She’s not a liability. She’s mine.”
The smile slid from his face. For a long moment, silence hung between us, heavy with everything unspoken. Finally, Boris leaned back, sipping his wine, as casual as if we’d been talking about the weather.
“And that, my friend, is worse. You’re a good soldier, Maksim.
A loyal brother. That is why I’m warning you.
” He set the glass down, his tone turning colder.
“Do not let this girl become your weakness. Because if she does, the brotherhood will make the choice for you. And you won’t like how it ends. ”
“You. Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Her,” I ground out.
“Maksim… this is exactly what I’m talking about.
A woman like that is a weakness because your judgment is clouded by her.
You open yourself to being manipulated because of your feelings for her.
What if someone gets to her? Threatens to harm her unless you do or don’t do what they want?
You see?” He cocked a brow as he let his words sink in.
“I understand what you’re saying. I understood it when Konstantin said it. Trust me when I tell you, if I thought she was a risk or a threat, I would’ve eliminated her. She is not,” I insisted.
“See that she isn’t. Because my promise stands—just as it always has with us. No one and nothing comes between brothers. We have been friends since we were small and our parents immigrated from Russia. Have we not?”
“We have,” I agreed.
“And have we ever let anyone weaken us? Let anyone come between us and what we want?”
“No,” I reluctantly replied.
“Then do not expect us to start now.”
Done with this conversation, I got to my feet. With nothing more to say, I left the restaurant with his words in my ears—his warning gnawing at me.
But even as I stalked into the night, my blood hot with rage, one thought cut through everything else—
He could threaten me all he wanted.
But no one was touching Sofia.
Not while I still drew breath.
* * *
Boris’s warning didn’t leave me. His voice was in my skull every time I lit a cigarette, every time I lay in bed with Sofia’s warm body beside me.
Don’t let her become your weakness. Or the brotherhood will make the choice for you.
I knew what that meant. And it only made me more possessive.
So I kept closer to her than I should have. I shadowed her walks to work. Sat at the bar when she poured drinks, daring anyone to look at her the wrong way. The regulars had started giving her wide berths, muttering about the Russian who’d claimed her. Good. Fear was protection.
But fear wasn’t enough.
* * *
It was late when I cut down an alley near the docks, heading for my SUV. I’d been doing a little recon for Boris.
The air reeked of diesel, piss, and salt, and that’s when I heard them—two voices speaking low in Armenian.
I didn’t need to understand every word to know what they meant. I caught enough. “Russian.” “Knife.” “Festival.”
They were talking about the alley. About me. About her.
Becoming who I’d been trained to be, I moved before they realized I was there, stepping out of the shadows. “You lost?”
The taller one sneered. “Sokolov. Thought you’d be smarter than to bleed one of ours in public.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied with an unconcerned shrug. They were low level. Brawn without brains, if my instincts were spot on.
The other shifted his jacket, just enough to show steel. “You and your bitch were sloppy.”
Despite my usual unwavering ability to remain emotionless, red washed over my vision. I closed the distance in two strides, slamming the taller one against the brick. “Say that again,” I growled, my forearm pressing into his throat.
His partner pulled the gun free, but I’d already drawn mine. The silencer kissed his forehead before he could aim. “Bad choice,” I said flatly. His eyes went wide, confirming my initial impression—they were young and dumb.
The one pinned beneath me wheezed a laugh, ugly and gurgling. “You’ll start a war, Maksim. Over a whore.”
I pressed harder until his laugh broke into a choke. “Careful,” I murmured. “Wars are won by men who are willing to lose everything. Are you?”
He didn’t answer.
I stepped back, gun still steady, and let them both breathe—for now. “Tell your boss I don’t give warnings twice. Stay out of our business and we’ll stay out of yours.”
They stumbled off, muttering, spitting curses. I watched them go, my pulse steady despite the storm inside me. My emotions clashing like lightning against my judgment.
Because the truth was, Boris was right. Sofia was a weakness—a bright, living, breathing human weakness in a world of wolves.
But she was mine.
And if the Armenians—or Boris, or the entire brotherhood itself—thought they could take her from me, they’d learn how far I was willing to go.