Second Epilogue
ROMAN
“Budem zdorovy,” Maxim raises a toast to our health.
Pavel and I clink our glasses with his, the sharp echo resonating in the quiet room.
We knock back the shots in unison, the clear liquid burning a familiar trail down my throat.
I don’t know why Maxim called us to his office tonight, but in our world, both good and bad news is greeted with ice-cold vodka shots.
“I have an announcement to make.” Maxim sits forward in his seat.
He isn't one for fanfare or big speeches, but his tone is oddly formal, capturing both of our attention.
“I'm stepping back from the day-to-day running of the business. I want to be there to raise this child with Kira. After everything...” he pauses, allowing the significance of his words to sink in, “there's not a moment of my life that I'm willing to let slip by. Time's too damn precious.”
My eyebrows raise to my hairline. That’s not a change, that's a quantum leap, but one in the right direction. “Damn, I’ll toast to that.”
Maxim’s lips twitch with a flicker of amusement.
We've come a long way, he and I. We met when I was working as a low-level drug runner for the Antonov Bratva, and he was Oleg’s strong arm.
To this day, I don't know what Maxim saw in me—I was drunk and wild, always chasing danger and the next hit of adrenaline. But nonetheless, when Maxim realized what a dirtbag Oleg Antonov was and struck out on his own, he took me with him, something I’ll forever be grateful for.
Maxim not only got me out of a shitty situation, but he was also the role model I never had. He taught me discipline. He taught me how to temper my darker impulses and transform the pain and rage that lived inside me into fierce determination. It's what he does best, after all.
And up until the moment Kira entered his life, he lived with a single-minded focus to build his empire and little else. I never would have imagined that he’d loosen his iron grip. But since falling in love and learning his wife is pregnant, everything has changed, undoubtedly for the better.
Maxim steeples his fingers in front of him, his gaze shifting between Pavel and me.
“You two, you're more than right hands, you're my brothers.” Pavel and I exchange a look, unsure where this is headed.
It's true that we've faced our fair share of pain and loss together, and maybe that's what has cemented our bond into a loyalty that can only be earned, not bought.
Maxim's dark blue eyes fix on Pavel. “Moving forward, you'll take over the counterfeit operations.” Pavel nods. He’s a man of few words, but a rare smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
Forgeries, whether wine, art, or currency, rake in millions for the syndicate, and with Pavel's sharp mind and unflinching resolve, he'll keep everything running smoothly.
“And Roman will oversee shipping.”
With the Kozlov deal in place, it'll be the cornerstone of our business, but fuck me. I’d happily take anything but shipping.
Don't get me wrong, it’s exactly the kind of logistical challenge I thrive on, especially now with Maxim's new partnership with his brothers-in-law, the Kozlovs.
The plan is straightforward: we ship our product to the US for them to sell, and they send theirs back for us to distribute across Europe.
It's a big operation, promising big returns, and I'd be all in if not for one ugly detail.
Anatoly fucking Petrovich. The biggest slimeball on the planet, whose family owns Russia's largest shipping fleet.
The Petroviches made us an offer we couldn't turn down: unrestricted access to their ships, networks, and assets to distribute our products—whether it be drugs, fakes, or weapons—globally.
The partnership will be invaluable for our syndicate, but it means I have to play nice with the mudak engaged to Elizaveta Ivanova.
The one woman who makes my dick hard, my blood boil, and sets every nerve I have on edge.
So yeah, it's not ideal, but what in life is? And there's no way I'm going to disappoint Maxim. If he's trusting me with an essential part of his business, I'm going to step the fuck up and make it work. Honestly, after the shit he just went through with Nadya, I want to see my friend happy.
I'll just keep my distance from Liza, and everything will be fine.
After all, the Black Company has been brought to heel, and we rule the wine forgery business.
Maxim is marrying the love of his life, and they have a baby on the way.
He's slowly working to repair his relationship with his daughter, Alyona, and even more than that, he's ending the exile of his first wife, Irina.
Forgiveness is not usually his strong point, but he's ready to move forward with his life. We all are.
After another round of celebratory shots, Maxim clears his throat, tapping his fingers on the desk in front of him. “There’s one more thing I need from each of you.” He lifts a folder from his desk and passes it to Pavel. “Does she look familiar?” he asks.
Pavel's eyebrows draw together as he pulls a picture from the folder and studies it closely. “Should I know her?”
Maxim leans back in his seat and lights a cigar, regarding Pavel through the swirl of smoke. “That's the woman who stabbed you in the back. Literally.”
Holy shit. I stand and look over Pavel’s shoulder.
The picture is of a gorgeous young woman, thick dark hair pulled back in a ponytail; she’s wearing some sort of flowy summer dress, and she’s smiling bright as the sun in the picture.
She doesn’t look anything like the trembling young thing that stabbed Pavel during the Black Company raid, but it was dark and chaotic and I didn’t get a good look at her.
“Who is she?” Pavel asks, voice rough.
“Her name is Hope, Lai King's daughter. And now that we let her escape, she's a woman on the run. Last seen in Madrid but I’m sure that’ll change soon. She knows better than to stay in one place for long.”
Maxim watches a smoke ring drift upwards, giving Pavel a moment to process. Like me, he's a fan of a quality cigar, but I'm guessing that'll change once his kid's born. His world's about to shift in a big way, a shift he's embracing with Kira at his side. Me? I don’t do relationships. Ever.
I live for freedom. A smoke, a drink, a roll of the dice, a wild night out. The only commitment for me is my work. After the shit my father put my family through, I'm not about to walk the same path. If I learned one thing, it’s the fewer entanglements in life, the better.
Pavel's still focused on the photo when he mutters her name, “Hope King,” like he's etching it in his mind. Damn. His eyes haven’t left that picture since Maxim handed it over. Lost in thought, he traces the photo's edge with his finger. “I couldn't kill her. Wasn't prepared for someone so…”
“Female,” I suggest, easing back into my chair, crossing one leg over the other.
Pavel grinds his molars together, and lifts his eyes to mine.
“I’m not against killing a woman if she deserves it, but she was doing what anyone would do.
Protecting her family...” He swallows, a hint of vulnerability peeking through his hardened exterior.
The death of his younger sister changed him forever, and he has a secret soft spot few will ever see.
Still, I've never known him to avoid a job that had to be done, no matter how unsavory.
“She fucking stabbed you. I'd say she deserved it,” I point out.
Maxim watches Pavel quietly. He knows the demons that haunt our friend.
“We killed most of King's senior men, but I'm sure he has allies just waiting to rise up in Hong Kong.
And she's his successor, the rightful heir to the Black Company throne.” Maxim gives a small shrug.
"It's up to you to find her before she decides to get revenge. "
Pavel's lips curl in a sneer. “Revenge? She was terrified. What damage could she possibly do?"
“We're not going to wait around to find out.”
Pavel's expression darkens. “And then what? Kill her?”
“That's our last resort. Find out what she's been doing, what her plans are, who she's spoken with. But if we deem her a threat…” Maxim's expression is stoic. “There's only one way.”
Pavel huffs out a ragged breath. He's one of the most ruthless assholes I know, but there's something about the girl that left a mark on him. Still, when Maxim gives an order, we see it through. It's what's expected of us and what we agreed to. And Maxim's rarely wrong.
Maxim's intense gaze locks on me, and something tells me I’m not going to like what he says next. “And I need you to accompany Kira and Liza on a girl’s trip.”
“Excuse me?" I sit up straighter in my seat. Did I hear him right? "I thought I was done playing babysitter.”
“You're not a babysitter.” A chuckle escapes him as he flicks ash into the tray. “You're the one person besides Pavel I’d trust with Kira's life…” he smirks. “Except she actually likes you.”
“Yeah, yeah, very funny,” Pavel grunts. He and Kira are slowly warming to each other. Pavel finally trusts her, and Kira takes great pleasure in needling him for being so damn serious at times.
But Maxim's request is still rattling around in my head. It's not like it's a tough gig. Kira's good company, and a few days away could do us all some good. Everyone except for my dick, which seems to really like the idea of spending time with the dark haired beauty I’ve vowed to steer clear of.
Fuck me.
Maxim snuffs out his cigar and leans his forearms on the desk. “Kira wants to go away with Liza while she still feels good in the pregnancy. I'm tied up with business for the next few months, so this falls onto your shoulders.”
“It's fine,” I busy my hands pouring another shot of vodka. I don't like how either of them is looking at me, like they can read my every thought and emotion. “Whatever you need,” I say to Maxim, not meeting his eyes. “And I will guard Kira with my life. Do you have the details of the trip yet?”
Because I sure as hell need time to prepare myself to be in Liza’s company around the clock.
The funny thing is, while I’m panting over her, it’s pretty obvious she hates me.
My whole casual, easy-going act gets under her skin, and for some reason, it makes me want to prove to her that I’m more than meets the eye.
But damn, these are dangerous thoughts. The bottom line is there's no room in my life, or my heart, for feelings, for attachments, or love, whatever that bullshit is.
I've kept my life straightforward so far, and I'm not about to complicate it for a woman.
“Kira is planning it now. Coordinate with her,” Maxim advises.
“I’ll do that,” I say, feeling a surge of irritation.
Maxim stands, brushes off his pants, buttons his suit jacket, and wishes us a good night. I’d wish him the same, but judging by the glint in his eyes, I’m sure he’s going to have a great night with his wife.
I reach for the bottle of vodka because, fuck, I’m going to need a lot more alcohol if I’m going to calm the wildfire raging under my collar.
I’m pouring myself another shot as Pavel lays down the picture of Hope King on the desk in front of him.
We’re a real fucking pair, him and I. The future of any syndicate relies on its leaders making clear-headed, rational, often brutal decisions—but the look in Pavel's eyes is tinged with a storm I recognize too well, the kind that brews not from strategy, but from something far more volatile.
Before I can put the bottle back down, Pavel speaks up. “You better pour me one too.”
I top off his glass and then mine, the vodka flowing freely. We exchange a look, a silent understanding.
I’m not sure what comes next, but I do know we're in for one hell of a ride.
Thank you so much for reading!
Want another spicy Maxim and Kira scene?
CLICK HERE to get a BONUS EPILOGUE sent straight to your inbox.