Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Calina
The restaurant is bustling with the afternoon rush by the time I arrive. Waiters weave between tables, the clink of cutlery and low hum of conversations filling the air. Milana is already seated at our usual corner table, and the moment she sees me, she stands up.
I wrap my arms around her tightly, hugging her like I haven’t seen her in months instead of just a few days. These past weeks have been pure chaos, and I’ve missed my sister more than I realized.
We sit down, and for a moment we just look at each other, both of us searching the other’s face for any sign of strain.
“How are you?” I ask first.
“I’m okay. How are you? I was really worried when Arytom and Mikhail told me what happened,” Milana says, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “The attack at the party… and then everything with Dmitri. Are you okay? Is Maxim okay?”
I nod, giving her a small smile. “We’re fine. Thanks to our brothers. Everyone made it out. Dmitri… he’s gone now. Maxim handled it. He’s rebuilding, making sure nothing like that can happen again.”
Milana’s expression softens with a touch of sadness. “That’s unfortunate. I actually liked Dmitri.”
I quirk a brow, and she quickly adds, “Not like that, but… he was always so flirtatious and charming. He made people feel at ease.”
I let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah, that was probably his whole strategy. Make everyone lower their guard so no one would suspect him. If someone had asked me who I thought might betray Maxim, I would have said Viktor.”
Milana nods quickly. “Me too. Viktor always looked so uptight, so grumpy, like he hates everyone.”
“Exactly,” I say. “That’s why it’s dangerous to judge a book by its cover.”
A waiter comes by and we order, light salads and sparkling water. Once he leaves, we fall into easy sisterly gossip: how Artyom is still overprotective, how Mikhail’s temper hasn’t improved, how Kira and Irina are doing.
It feels so normal, so grounding. I’ve missed this, just us, talking about nothing and everything. Life has pulled us apart since my marriage, and these moments feel precious.
Milana leans forward, studying me. “But how are you? Really. How are things with Maxim?”
I feel my cheeks warm. The memory of our latest encounter flashes through my mind: his hands, his mouth, the way he looked at me. His lips brushing my ear, him whispering “Malyshka… my love. You are everything I never knew I needed.”
I can’t help the small, private smile that tugs at my lips.
“Things are… really good,” I admit softly.
“Better than I ever expected. We didn’t start on the right foot, but now…
I love him, Milana. He makes me happy. He treats me with respect.
He asks for my opinion on things, even business decisions.
When he works from home, I sit with him.
Sometimes he lets me stay during calls. It’s not just a forced marriage anymore.
It feels like a real partnership. Like we’re building something together. ”
Milana’s eyes soften with a hint of relief. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve this. I was worried about you… I didn’t know how it was going to turn out. But hearing you talk like this, it sounds like things are really good between you two.”
I reach across the table and squeeze her hand, smiling back. “They are. I won’t lie, it wasn’t easy at first. But Maxim… he’s changed. Or maybe I’ve changed too. We’ve changed together.”
She studies my face for a moment, then lets out a soft, happy sigh. “Good. You deserve that. You deserve to be happy.”
We talk for a while longer, falling into that easy rhythm we’ve always had. I tell her about the little things, how Maxim sometimes works from home just to be near me, how he’s started leaving me small notes, how safe I feel when he wraps his arms around me at night.
When we finish eating, we do what we always do: shop. We wander through boutiques, trying on clothes we might never wear, laughing at ridiculous outfits. By the time we finally call it a day, my cheeks ache from smiling and my arms are filled with shopping bags.
Maxim
It’s been said that patience is a virtue.
I never understood that growing up. It made no sense to me. Why should I wait when I could take what I wanted right away? Why be patient when the world rewarded those who seized power immediately?
But over the years, I’ve come to realize there are some things best left to time.
You want an empire that no one can touch? Give it time.
You want a wife who looks at you with love instead of fear? Give it time.
You want revenge against those who tried to destroy everything you built? Give it time.
Right now, as I sit at Pantheon’s headquarters during our weekly meeting, listening to Ivan drone on about how deeply sorry he is for Adrian’s “interference” and his attempt to kill me and my wife, I understand why patience matters.
A few months ago, these same men would not have let me step foot in this room. I was always on the outside looking in, the orphan, the bastard, the one without pure blood. The ones currently seated around this table used to look at me with disdain, like I was dirt beneath their shoes.
Now, as I look around, all I see is respect.
Give it time.
Ivan continues, “We were not aware of what Adrian was doing. It has always been the policy of this society, we do not attack our own. Nobody goes against another member. This is a brotherhood. It is us against the world, not us against each other. Adrian violated that sacred rule. Had you not dealt with him, Maxim, we ourselves would have. Going against another member is punishable by death.”
The room is quiet. Every eye is on me.
Ivan straightens, looking directly at me. “Maxim, collectively, both the members present here and those attending virtually, have come to a unanimous vote. Adrian’s seat is now vacant. We would like to offer you the position of Vice President of Pantheon, if you are interested.”
I sit up a little straighter, keeping my face blank even as satisfaction courses through me. Give it time. And now, the table is mine. I let the silence stretch just long enough, scanning the room with deliberate calm.
“While I dearly appreciate the honor given to me,” I say, voice steady and authoritative, “I will have to decline to serve as Vice President. I am happy as a member upholding the principles that bind us together, without taking the position.”
I can see that Ivan is surprised but he says nothing about it, only that he appreciates my honestly and that they will be happy to give me some time to think about it. I agree even though I know my answer—I definitely don’t have any interest in walking into Adrian’s shoes.
Hands shake mine. Respectful nods turn into genuine smiles. It feels almost surreal, like an out-of-body experience. But this is real. This is what I’ve worked for years to achieve even, if I don’t really want it now that I could have it.
After the formalities are over, I step out of the headquarters. Viktor is waiting by the car, holding the door open for me.
“How did it go?” he asks as I slide in.
I wait until he’s in the driver’s seat before answering, a rare smile cracking my face. “Just as you predicted. They offered me the place as the new Vice President of Pantheon.”
A genuine smile breaks across Viktor’s usually stoic face, a rare sight. “Well deserved, boss. Even if you won’t take it.”
I nod, leaning back in the seat. “I wouldn’t have made it without you.”
We fall silent for a moment. I know we’re both thinking the same thing, how much better this moment would feel if Dmitri were still here. But the idiot chose betrayal.
“Take me home,” I say quietly. I need to see my wife. It’s been ten hours too long since I’ve been away from her.
The moment I step inside the house, the smell of something warm and sweet greets me. I follow the scent to the kitchen and stop in the doorway.
There she is.
Calina stands at the counter, whisking what looks like chocolate batter, humming softly to herself.
She’s wearing one of my shirts over her shorts, the hem brushing her thighs, sleeves rolled up.
Her hair is tied up messily, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
She looks so effortlessly beautiful, so mine.
Since she moved in, this house has transformed. It used to feel cold and functional. Now it feels alive. She’s redecorated every room with small touches, soft throws, fresh flowers, little things that carry her scent and presence.
Even my study, which I once forbade her from entering, now has her touch.
My desk has been repositioned, a small bamboo plant now sits in the corner of the room, supposedly to attract prosperity.
She even insisted on replacing the harsh overhead lighting with warm lamps because the energy felt "too aggressive”.
She calls it feng shui. Whatever makes her happy, I’m along for the ride.
I walk up behind her quietly and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my chest. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in, that warm scent that’s uniquely hers.
She turns her head, smiling as she kisses me. “You’re back. How was the meeting?”
I rest my chin on her shoulder, holding her a little tighter. “It went well. They offered me the position of Vice President of Pantheon.”
“And what did you say?”
I only smile and she knows the answer without having to say it. She drops the whisk with a clatter, spinning in my arms with a delighted squeal. “Really? Oh my God, Maxim! I’m so proud of you!”
Those words, I’m so proud of you, hit me harder than any bullet ever could.
All these years, I’ve been trying to prove myself. To my adoptive father,, who only saw me as a tool to continue his legacy. To my adoptive mother who treated me like an unwanted stray. To the world, which looked at me as the orphan who didn’t belong.
I kept fighting, kept climbing, just to hear someone say those words. And now my wife says them so easily, so genuinely, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.