5. Maks
5
MAKS
“ M aks?”
Lindsey’s voice is tentative as it greets me as soon as I open the basement door. It’s later than I would have liked, but my day consisted of putting out one fire after the next, and I couldn’t break away any sooner than I did. So it’s nearly nine o’clock by the time I manage to bring her a bag of takeout from Aurelia’s. I could have sent one of my men to feed her now that I know what she overheard, but I want to see her, and bringing her dinner is a good excuse.
“Sorry it’s so late.”
I find Lindsey standing at the front of her cell, her delicate fingers wrapped around the bars as her eyes follow me down the steps. All three blankets are draped across her shoulders, her heels kicked haphazardly across the floor, and her bare legs exposed below her tweed mini skirt. She looks like she’s been pacing.
“What time is it?” The question needles at my conscience. Normally, I don’t have sympathy for the people I keep down here. But Lindsey hasn’t done anything to deserve her discomfort. She’s just a victim of circumstance, who had the bad luck of crossing paths with me at the wrong time.
“Eight fifty-three.”
“At night?”
Again, that stab of guilt. She has no sense of time. She probably feels like I forgot about her. “Yes. You hungry?” I lift the bag of takeout as I fish in my pocket for the key to her cell.
She just nods, swallowing hard as her eyes track the bag of food.
“Take a seat,” I suggest, and like this morning, she heads to the cot without question, settling onto it and crossing her legs so the blankets can cover them.
She would make a good sub, I observe, my cock twitching at the errant thought. But it’s true. She’s a delicious combination of rebellious, independent, and obedient.
I hand the bag of food to her, unsure whether I should stay or go—whether my presence is more of a comfort or a burden—but I can’t drag my eyes away from her as she unpacks the takeaway like it’s a Christmas present. I’m still conflicted about the way I left things with her this morning. Her question shouldn’t have gotten under my skin like it did, but something about her just does that to me. I can’t get her out of my head, and now that I’m here, I can’t tell if she’s grateful for the company or just the food.
“Ugh, minestrone?” she groans, pulling out the large container of soup. “I love minestrone.” Her eyes flit up to me as I stand watching her. “You want to sit?” She gestures to the vacant foot of her cot.
“Do you want me to stay?” I sound surprised.
“Honestly, the isolation is driving me out of my mind,” she admits, opening her soup and releasing a thick coil of steam. She’s not necessarily saying she likes my presence—but if it’s better than being alone, I’ll take it.
I sink onto the offered seat, closer to her than I was this morning, and watch her tear off a chunk of bread and dip it in the broth. She’s not shy about eating, picking at it like a lady. She digs into the food with verve, and the moans of pleasure that escape her make my cock swell against the seam of my pants. She makes it sound as good as sex.
“Taste good?” I tease, leaning forward so I can subtly adjust myself.
“So good. I’ve never heard of Aurelia’s before,” she adds, glancing toward the paper bag with the restaurant’s red logo.
“I’m glad you like it. It’s one of mine.”
“You own restaurants too?” Her hand pauses, a bite of soup halfway to her mouth as she looks up at me.
“I own several businesses around the city.”
Lindsey’s eyes widen, and she sets her plastic spoon back into the soup. “Can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” I point out, but the question is valid, considering my quick departure this morning. If she doesn’t want to be alone, she must be worried I’ll leave if she asks it—which makes me think it must be personal.
Lindsey rolls her eyes, returning her attention to her food, and for the first time since the club, I get the feeling that she’s not scared of me.
“You’re welcome to ask it. I might choose not to answer though.”
“I suppose that’s better than lying,” she concedes, and color infuses her cheeks as I quirk an eyebrow pointedly. “Okay, my lying was because I thought telling the truth would get me killed,” she says defensively, pointing her spoon at me. “You can hardly blame me when your man kidnapped me just for being in that hall.”
She’s not wrong, and killing her would still be the safest plan of action, but she doesn’t need to know that because I don’t intend to kill her if I don’t absolutely have to.
“What’s your question?” I say, leaning my elbows onto my knees and interlacing my fingers.
Lindsey hesitates, trapping her lower lip between her teeth, and it makes me want to bite that lip.
“Are you some kind of mafia don or something?” she asks quickly, her cheeks flushing an attractive shade of rose.
“Do I sound Italian to you?” I counter, my lips curving into a grin.
“No. But one of my friends told me the Dungeon is owned by the Russian mob, and I thought since your guy called you the boss—” Her words trail off, and she traps her lip once more.
“I am the pakhan of my Brava, yes,” I say, curious how she’ll react. That’s not something I typically broadcast, even if authorities couldn’t lock me up for it, but the speculation is pretty common knowledge.
Lindsey looks stunned, her jaw dropping slightly. “Wow, I didn’t actually expect you to answer so frankly.”
I shrug. “I don’t see how being honest about it could hurt.”
“Fair point, considering I don’t really have a hand to play with here.” Her smile is dry, but a spark of humor lights her eyes. “And even if I did, I imagine that must be how those dancers ended up in the cages at your club, right?”
A throaty chuckle of surprise rushes from me. I didn’t expect her to make it back to witty while she’s still locked up down here. “Maybe that’s why I told you,” I tease, relishing a little too much the thought of her occupying one of those cages. Only, if Lindsey were to dance for me, she wouldn’t be in there with anyone else—and she would be dancing for me alone.
“As long as I don’t have to wear another gag,” she quips, playing along.
“If I were to gag you, I promise you’d like it.”
My voice dips low with desire, and Lindsey inhales sharply, her eyes dilating in a clear sign of arousal despite the dark vow. My pulse kicks up a notch, all the blood rushing to my cock, which is suddenly rock-hard. She flushes, her eyes dropping shyly as she turns her attention back to her food. I must be some sick kind of twisted to be turned on right now—when Lindsey’s probably more than a decade younger than I am and trapped here against her will . I force my mind out of the gutter as she delicately soaks up the last of the soup with her final bite of bread and places it between her lips. The gesture isn’t meant to be sensual—like Annika’s blatant invitations are—but fuck, it’s hard not to notice how attractive Lindsey is.
Clearing my throat, I jerk my chin toward the empty bag. “Did you get enough?”
“Mm.” She nods and quickly swallows. “It was perfect.” Wiping her mouth with her napkin, she packs up the trash and grabs the large bottle of water I brought her, cracking it open for the first time.
“If there’s anything you’d like, in the future, I’ll see what I can do about getting it for you. Just let me know.” I don’t know what it is about this girl, but I like knowing what pleases her.
“Thanks.” Lindsey smiles as she pulls her blankets more firmly around her. “Can I ask you something else?”
This time, the question sounds more intrigued than tentative. “Shoot.”
“Since we’re being honest and all, I guess I’m just curious about this guy you want dead. Why is killing him so important?”
The tendons in my jaw crack as my teeth clench, that familiar, consuming hatred rising up in my chest. The image of Don Costanzo’s face rises in my mind—his sleazy sense of entitlement hidden behind an oily mask of old-school traditions and respect. My family trusted him. I trusted him, and that fucking animal took advantage of it. For Lucian Guerra, this is about overthrowing the don’s reign and putting a new power in charge of Chicago’s Italian mafia. But for me, this is solely about revenge. I intend to crush Don Costanzo. I want to watch the light leave his eyes—and while I know I’ll never get close enough to have the opportunity to do it myself, I won’t rest until he’s dead. I will do whatever it takes to make that happen—even if that means taking Lindsey out of the equation.
“I’m still debating whether I’ll need to kill you just for knowing about it,” I state flatly. “Telling you anything more would only give me more motivation to need you dead.”
Her breath catches, and fear flickers across her face, but it’s quickly replaced with determination. “I swear, I won’t tell. You can trust me, Maks.”
She leans forward, removing the space between us to clasp my hand, and an electric jolt races up my arm, the simple touch warming my entire body as my fingers close around hers automatically. Her eyes hold mine, their deep-blue open and genuine, wanting to understand me. The air between us feels charged, ready to ignite at the smallest of sparks. That same intense attraction I felt that night we met at the club consumes me, waking my body and turning each of my nerves into a live wire. I want to believe her. I want to trust her—and oddly enough, I want her to trust me. She shouldn’t. I’ve done nothing to earn that trust. But right here, right now, I don’t want to be the villain she must see me as.
Considering I won’t be letting Lindsey out of my sight until the murder is done, I suppose I can’t see the harm in telling her at least a little bit about it. I don’t intend to be close enough to the murder that anything but motive would implicate me.
“Do you know anything about the Costanzo family?” I ask, running my thumb across the tops of her knuckles absentmindedly.
“No. Should I?”
I shake my head. “Only if you were a Chicago native, I suppose. Emiliano is the family’s patriarch. He’s been around a long time—long enough that he was friends with my parents before their deaths. He took advantage of that friendship, and what he did—it’s unforgivable.”
“So, is this some kind of mafia-Bratva feud, then?” she asks, scooting in a little closer.
“No.” The response echoes hollowly off the basement walls. “This is much more personal than that.” Kira’s smiling face rises to the surface of my mind—my niece, my ward. Pain lances through my chest, a deep, resounding sense of guilt because I failed to protect her. That bastard will pay for what he did. “Trust me, I’ll be doing the world a favor by removing Emiliano from it. No one will miss him when he’s gone.”
The hint of jasmine and citrus whispers to my senses as Lindsey leans in, her blond hair falling in a curtain over her shoulder. Even after a night in this cell, she still smells incredible. But the compassion in her eyes makes my chest tighten.
“So much pain,” she murmurs, her free hand lifting from the cot as if to caress my face.
The tension between us electrifies, the oxygen vanishing from the room as I realize just how close we are—how we’re alone, sitting on the bed she’s slept in, our lips mere inches apart as I turn my head to face her. Air rushes past her lips—a soft, quick intake of breath—and my eyes drop to them as the sudden urge to kiss her overwhelms me. My body screams with the need to close the distance between us, to feel her pressed against me. I ache for the comfort of holding her in my arms, the intimacy of claiming her for my own.
All I would have to do is lean in.
But those feelings are dangerous. My instincts to protect Lindsey, to make her mine, will only put her in danger. Casual sex—taking her home from the club for a night of fun—would be one thing, but what I feel for her is becoming something else entirely, and I can’t risk it. As if snapped out of a daze, I jerk back, rising from the cot as I force space between us. Why is it that everytime we touch, I feel this unbearable need to run? Like it’s my only chance of survival?
Only it’s not my survival I would be protecting. Women don’t live long, healthy, happy lives in my world. They’re either used and abused by the men who hold power over them, or they’re disposed of, taken off the chessboard like a pawn. If my sister’s fate weren’t proof enough, Kira’s most definitely is. No, I need to keep my head on straight and figure out my plan for Lindsey so I can send her on her way.
“Maks?” she says, her voice small and frightened once again, and I realize my face is twisted in a grimace, my body rigid with the waves of conflicting emotion threatening to pull me under.
“I have to go,” I state, turning abruptly to exit her cage.
“No wait!”
The fear in her plea makes me pause, and when I turn around, she’s up off the cot, her blankets tossed haphazardly behind her, exposing her bare arms, the low cut of her crop top shirt, the glimpse of midriff above her skirt. Everything about her outfit appeals to my baser instincts, my desire to know just how firm and warm and eager she would feel beneath me. My fists clench as I force my eyes back to her face, and her tongue darts out nervously to lick her lips.
“I’m sorry. If I promise not to ask any more questions, will you stay?”
Fuck. This woman is going to undo me completely.