6. Milo
MILO
“No, no, no, please no!”
A gunshot cracks through my skull.
I bolt upright in bed with a scream tearing out of my throat before I can stop it. My hand flies to my mouth, muffling the sound into a pathetic whimper.
My heart hammering, I freeze, listening for footsteps in the hallway.
The last thing I need is Maxim bursting in here thinking I’m some terrified little boy. I hold my breath until the apartment stays silent except for the distant hum of the city far below.
Sweat clings to every inch of my skin.
My tank top is plastered to my chest, and the sheets are twisted around my legs like they tried to strangle me. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to piece the nightmare back together…
But all I can remember is a tall, shadowy figure looming over me, cold metal pressing against my temple. Then the bang. That was when I woke up.
Of course it was just a dream. Just a stupid fucking dream.
I lie back down, but the heat rolling off my body makes it impossible to get comfortable. The silk sheets feel gross now. With a frustrated groan I kick them off and pad into the ensuite.
The marble is cool under my bare feet. I don’t even bother turning on the main lights—just the soft LED strip above the massive rainfall shower.
The water comes on hot and strong and I adjust it to cool it down enough so I don’t come out hotter than when I went in. I strip out of my damp clothes and step under the spray, letting it cascade over my head and shoulders.
The sweat rinses away, and for a minute I just stand there, eyes closed, breathing through the lingering adrenaline.
Then the urge hits me like a freight train.
I can’t ignore it.
My body is still buzzing, nerves raw from the nightmare and everything else.
I reach up, detach the handheld shower head from its hook, and adjust the setting to a strong, pulsing massage. Leaning back against the cool tile wall, I part my legs and bring the powerful stream right where I need it.
“Oh fuck…” The words slip out before I can catch them. “Mmmmph. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…”
The water pounds against my balls, cock, and between my ass cheeks in relentless waves. I bite my lip hard, one hand braced on the wall, the other angling the shower head exactly right as I take my cock in my hand and begin to work it.
My mind should be anywhere else—on escape plans, on Charles, on how much I hate Maxim Kovalev.
Instead, his face flashes behind my eyelids.
Those piercing eyes.
The way he towered over me earlier.
His low, commanding voice saying good boy.
The heavy warmth of his hands around my throat…
My hips jerk forward as I wank myself faster and faster, almost totally out of control at this point. A sharp, leg-trembling orgasm crashes through me so fast I have to slap a hand over my mouth again to keep from crying out.
In the most sudden of moments, my knees buckle. I slide down the shower wall until I’m sitting on the tiled floor, water still beating against my oversensitive skin, chest heaving.
I can’t believe I just did that.
Worse… I can’t believe the man I was thinking about while I climaxed was Maxim.
I stay there until the water starts to cool, then force myself up, shut everything off, and towel dry on autopilot.
Back in the bedroom I pull on fresh sleep shorts, and a clean tank top.
Zoop is waiting on the pillow. I hug him tight, bury my face in his fur, and whisper, “Hey, what happens in the shower stays in the shower…”
Sleep comes eventually, but it’s restless.
Still, at least there are no more nightmares.
Yet.
Morning light filters through the huge windows when I finally drag myself out of bed. My hair is a mess, but I don’t bother fixing it.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” I grumble to myself, the prospect of a first morning in my supposed new home not exactly lighting a fire beneath me.
I pad barefoot down the corridor toward the kitchen, following the rich smell of coffee.
Maxim is already there, leaning against the marble island in a crisp black button-down and tailored trousers, reading an actual physical newspaper. The sight is so comically old-school I can’t help myself…
“Wow,” I say, voice still scratchy from sleep. “Didn’t realize I was living with a grandpa. Who still reads print media these days? You got a flip phone too?”
Maxim doesn’t even look up right away. Just turns the page with deliberate calm. “There is a lot to be said for the old ways, Milo. Some things still feel better in your hands. More real. More visceral. You should try it.”
I roll my eyes and head straight for the espresso machine.
I’ve already memorized where everything is, which isn’t difficult given how sparsely the whole apartment is furnished. While the espresso hisses and gurgles I glance over at him again.
Even first thing in the morning Maxim looks annoyingly put-together. Sharp jaw, faint stubble, those silver threads at his temples catching the light. The memory of last night’s shower fantasy flashes through my mind and I feel my cheeks heat.
Stop it.
“So,” I ask, trying to sound casual as I sip my coffee, “what are we doing today? Any thrilling underworld activities on the schedule, or am I just supposed to sit here and look pretty?”
Maxim finally folds the newspaper and sets it aside. His gaze lands on me: steady, assessing. “Today is about you getting comfortable in the house. I’ve arranged for my nephew Yuri to come over with supplies. Clothes, toiletries, anything else you might need. He’ll be here within the hour.”
My ears perk up at the mention of another person. Supplies mean opportunities. Yuri is family, but still… fresh blood. Someone I might be able to work.
“And my phone?” I ask, keeping my tone light even though frustration is already bubbling.
Maxim shakes his head once.
“Not yet, boy,” he says. “I’ll be back in the late afternoon. We can talk then about how you will communicate with the outside world. Under supervision, of course.”
Of course.
I bite back the sarcastic retort that wants to fly out and just nod instead. No point pushing too hard right now. “Fine.”
Maxim studies me for a second longer, like he’s trying to read every thought behind my eyes, then drains the last of his coffee. “Yuri is trustworthy. Behave yourself.”
The second he leaves the kitchen I let out a long breath. Frustration simmers in my chest, but I push it down and focus on the new angle…
Yuri. Nephew. Almost certainly younger, maybe close to my age.
If I play this right—turn on the charm, act a little helpless, drop a few strategic smiles—I might get him to slip me a phone, or at least pass a message to Charles.
Or find out more about how Maxim operates.
At this stage I’ll take any intel I can get. This isn’t going to be a long term problem for me. One night here has told me that. I’m not cut out for this life. Maybe my mother was happy to be a pawn in the bigger game, but that’s not me.
I finish my coffee, already turning over possibilities in my head. Maxim thinks he’s in control. He has no idea how good I am at getting what I want when I set my mind to it.
Even from inside this beautiful cage.
I head back toward my room to make myself look a little more presentable before Yuri arrives.
Whoever he is, I know he won’t see my moves coming.
I’m too smart. And I know that my status as a college dropout makes people underestimate me too.
Yuri won’t know what hit him by the time I’m through twisting him around my little finger.
I quickly brush out my hair, swipe on some mascara, and change into a cropped hoodie and soft lounge shorts that show just enough leg. Not obvious, but enough to look approachable. Harmless. Relatable.
Later that morning I hear the low murmur of voices from the front door. I step out of my room just as Maxim opens the apartment and in walks Yuri…
Yuri twenty-one, fresh-faced, with messy dark hair and bright, curious eyes. He’s wearing acid-wash jeans and a fitted red t-shirt that shows off a surprisingly lean, dancer’s build. No tattoos visible, no hard edges, no Bratva swagger.
Honestly, Yuri looks more like he belongs at a Little meet-up than in Maxim’s world. My lips curve into a genuine smile before I can stop it. This is going to be much easier than I hoped.
“Yuri,” Maxim says, clapping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, “this is Milo. He’ll be staying with us for the foreseeable future. We hope very much that he will be a permanent fixture in the Kovalev family. Make sure he has everything he needs.”
Yuri shifts the stack of packages in his arms and flashes me a warm, easy grin. “Nice to meet you, Milo.”
Maxim explains, “Yuri is a professional dancer and musical theater actor. One of the best in the city. He’s also family, so you can trust him. Isn’t that right, Yuri?”
“You got it, Uncle Maxim,” Yuri replies, smiling openly.
I widen my eyes and let my voice go bright and bubbly.
“Musical theater? That’s so cool! I used to love going to shows before…
well, everything.” I step forward and give Yuri an enthusiastic little hug around all the bags, making sure to press just enough.
“I’m really glad you’re here. This place is gorgeous but kind of… quiet.”
Maxim watches the exchange with that unreadable expression of his, then checks his watch. “I have business downtown. I’ll be back late afternoon. Behave.” His eyes linger on me a second longer than necessary—half warning, half something hotter—before he nods once at Yuri and leaves.
The door clicks shut.
Now it’s just the two of us.
Yuri sets the packages down on the massive coffee table and rubs the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish.
“So… first day, huh?” Yuri asks, knowing full well the answer. “Look, I know Maxim can seem pretty intense, but he’s not as scary as people make him out to be. The family runs smooth under him. No unnecessary drama. You’ll be okay.”
I drop onto the couch and tuck my legs underneath me, giving him my best I’m totally fine with all of this smile. “Yeah, I’m adjusting. It’s a lot, but everyone keeps telling me it’s for the best.” I tilt my head toward the pile of bags. “So what did you bring me? I’m dying of boredom already.”
Yuri’s face lights up like I just handed him a spotlight. He starts unpacking with genuine excitement, clearly proud of his choices…
First come two big board games—Ticket to Ride and a deluxe edition of Catan. Then a stack of video games for the massive TV in the living room.
Next, a ridiculous assortment of sweet treats: gourmet chocolate, sour gummies, fancy Italian cookies, and even a couple of those fancy European snack boxes.
Finally, Yuri pulls out a professional-grade karaoke machine with two wireless mics, a mixing board, and a bunch of cables.
I clap my hands together. “Oh my God, this calls for karaoke! Right now. Please tell me you know all the show tunes?”
Yuri laughs, cheeks going a little pink. “I mean… I kind of have to. It’s my job.”
I can see that Yuri is completely taken by my enthusiasm. His eyes keep flicking to my legs, my smile, the way I lean in when he talks.
Perfect.
While Yuri is busy plugging in the karaoke system and scrolling through song options on the connected tablet, I casually reach for one of the snack boxes and “accidentally” brush against his jacket where it’s draped over the couch.
His phone is right there in the pocket.
I slide it out smoothly, tuck it under my thigh, and keep chatting like nothing happened. “What’s your go-to song? I bet you crush ‘Defying Gravity.’”
Yuri grins wider, totally oblivious. “Only on my best days. Come on, pick something. I’ll duet with you.”
I laugh and nod along, heart racing with triumph.
Inside, I’m already hitting the high notes.
One phone. One tiny victory.
Tonight, while Maxim’s still out, I’ll message Charles. Or find a way to reach someone on the outside. This is the first real step toward getting the hell out of Maxim Kovalev’s control.
I smile sweetly at Yuri as he hands me a mic, already planning my next three moves.
Maxim thinks he’s broken me in twenty-four hours.
That damn sonofabitch has no idea who he’s dealing with…