9. Maxim
MAXIM
The city sprawls beneath us like a glittering carpet of lights, but I barely notice it. My attention is locked on the young man sitting across the dining table from me…
Milo cuts another piece of perfectly seared steak, dips a crisp French fry into the peppercorn sauce, and pops it into his mouth with unselfconscious pleasure.
The boy can eat. There is no delicate picking at his food.
He attacks the meal with the same fiery energy he brings to everything else, and something primal in me likes that.
I watch the way his lips close around the fork, the small satisfied hum he makes when the flavors hit his tongue. His chestnut hair shimmers, still slightly tousled from earlier. Even in simple lounge shorts and a soft tank top, he looks stunning.
Dangerous, too.
Because every time he shifts in his seat, I know his bare, freshly-creamed ass is brushing against the chair, and the memory of how he looked bent over my lap makes my blood run hotter than it should during dinner.
“You enjoyed the steak,” I say when he finally sets his knife and fork down.
Milo glances up, dark eyes meeting mine. “It was incredible. Thank you.”
I lean back in my chair, swirling the last of my vodka. “Write down a list of all your favorite meals. Everything. I’ll have them delivered each night. No more midnight toast and poached eggs unless you ask for them.”
His eyebrows lift in genuine surprise. “You’d do that?”
“Of course.” I allow a small smile. “You’re under my roof now. I take care of what’s mine.”
He thanks me again, but the words feel automatic. There is something else behind his eyes, a tension he hasn’t quite shaken since the spanking. I can read it in the way his fingers tighten around his beer bottle, the slight crease between his brows.
I set my glass down. “You’re still bothered by all of this. The new arrangement. Being here with me.”
Milo doesn’t deny it.
Instead, he stares out at the city for a moment before answering.
“It’s a lot to adjust to. One minute I’m living my life, the next I’m… property.”
The word lands heavy between us. I respect his honesty.
“I cannot make promises that you will ever be truly happy as part of my family,” I tell him, voice steady.
“This life is not built for happiness. It is built for survival, for power, for loyalty. But I will do my best to accommodate you where I can. Comfort. Food. Some freedom. Even entertainment.” I gesture toward the living area.
“I am not a monster, Milo. But I am not a soft man either.”
He listens, chewing his lip. I can see the boy weighing my words.
“My rules must be adhered to,” I continue, leaning forward so he understands how serious I am.
“There is far too much at stake right now. The truce with your uncle, the balance of power in the city, the safety of my men. I cannot give you free rein. Not yet. Not while things are still delicate. Disobey me again and the consequences will be harsher than what you felt tonight. Do you understand?”
Milo holds my gaze for several heartbeats, then gives a small nod. “I understand.”
Progress. Small, but real. Right now, I’ll take it.
I push back from the table and head to the kitchen. The delivery bags are still on the counter. I pull out the pint of triple-cookie-dough ice cream from Carlo’s Creamery downtown, another one of his favorites according to Michael’s updated dossier, and grab two spoons.
“Come,” I say, returning to the table. “We can eat this in front of the TV. Put a movie on. Something mindless.”
Milo’s face brightens a fraction. He actually looks pleased. We move to the living area, settling into opposite leather armchairs.
Milo curls his legs beneath him carefully, no doubt still feeling the effects of his punishment, and scrolls through the streaming options until he picks a new romantic comedy…
Bright colors, witty banter, the kind of film I would normally avoid like the plague.
I don’t complain.
As the opening credits roll and we dig into the ice cream, I try to focus on the screen. I really do. But my mind keeps drifting back to earlier…
The way he kicked and squirmed across my lap.
The sharp cracks of the hairbrush on his perfect ass.
The soft, broken sounds he made when the pain finally cracked through his defiance.
For a moment there, I swear he was grinding against my thigh, chasing something more than just relief.
My cock thickens against my thigh at the memory, heavy and insistent. I shift in my chair, trying to will it down. This boy is under my protection, a symbol of the truce, and yet all I can think about is how beautifully he took his discipline. How his body responded even when his mouth fought me.
A soft buzz pulls me out of the dangerous spiral. My phone vibrates on the side table. Michael’s name appears on the encrypted screen.
I read the message once, jaw tightening..
MICHAEL: Pakhan, situation escalated. Need you on site. Kobek is holding, but your presence is needed.
Duty calls. As always.
I stand, setting the ice cream tub down. Milo pauses the movie and looks up at me, expectant.
“I have to go out,” I tell him. “Business. Behave while I’m gone. No funny business this time.”
He nods quickly. “I promise.”
I study Milo for a second, searching for any flicker of deception. There is none, only tired honesty and the faint flush still lingering on his cheeks.
“My security team will be right outside the door,” I add. “Just in case.”
Milo meets my eyes without flinching. “You can count on my promise, Maxim. I won’t cause trouble tonight.”
Something in the boy’s voice rings true. I give him one last long look, then button my jacket.
“Finish your ice cream. Rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
I head for the private elevator, already shifting into the cold, calculating mindset I need for whatever mess awaits at the bar downtown.
But even as the doors slide shut and the city drops away beneath me, my thoughts circle back to the boy I left curled in my armchair…
Milo Pirlo-Lentini is far more than a bargaining chip.
He is a complication.
And the most dangerous part is that I’m starting to enjoy it.
The Escalade rolls to a stop in the narrow alley behind Onyx, one of the legitimate bars I own in the old warehouse district.
From the outside it looks like any other busy Friday night: bass thumping through the brick walls, laughter spilling out every time the door opens. Inside, it’s even more convincing… packed with locals, hipsters, and off-duty office workers chasing cheap whiskey and louder company.
Exactly how I like it.
A perfect mask for the real business that happens upstairs.
I button my coat and step out, Michael falling in beside me without a word. Two of my soldiers melt out of the shadows to flank us as we enter through the side door.
The crowd parts instinctively. They don’t know who I am, but they feel the shift in the air when I walk through.
Good.
We move past the long mahogany bar and the sea of bodies, then climb the narrow staircase at the back. My security men stationed on the landing nod once and open the heavy office door.
The scene inside is exactly what I expected.
Kobek is standing near the desk. Two more soldiers lean against the wall, knuckles still bloody.
And on the floor, curled in a groaning heap, is a man I don’t recognize… his face swollen, one eye already shut, blood dripping from a split lip onto my expensive rug.
“Pakhan,” Kobek greets me, voice flat.
Michael gestures at the beaten man with his chin. “Cartel spy. We caught him trying to drop down from the roof terrace into the office. He had tools, a burner, and a knife. He wasn’t here for the ambiance, put it that way.”
I step closer. The man lifts his head with obvious effort. His one good eye burns with hatred.
I crouch down in front of him, elbows on my knees, voice calm. “You have one chance to speak. Who sent you? What were you looking for?”
The man spits blood onto the floor, narrowly missing my shoe. “Russian filth,” he rasps. “You think you can carve up the city without paying your dues? The cartel owns these streets now.”
I rise slowly, brushing imaginary dust from my trousers. His defiance is almost admirable. Almost.
“Show our guest the exit,” I tell the soldiers. “The quick one. No need to make him walk through the crowds downstairs.”
The spy’s eyes widen as the implication hits. He starts cursing in rapid Spanish, struggling as my men haul him up by the arms.
I watch as my men drag him toward the wide patio doors that open onto the roof terrace. I follow, Michael and Kobek right behind me. The cool night air hits us as we step outside.
Three stories below, the alley is dark and empty except for a couple of dumpsters.
The soldiers don’t hesitate. They lift the man between them, swing once for momentum, and throw him over the low railing.
The scream is short. The impact is a sickening thud against wet concrete.
I lean over the edge and look down. The body lies twisted and motionless.
Good enough.
“Take the body,” I order. “Dump it somewhere it will be found before sunrise. The cartel needs to understand they cannot play games with me. Not in my city.”
The soldiers nod and disappear back inside to handle the cleanup. I stay on the terrace a moment longer, staring out over the rooftops. The distant glow of the financial district twinkles like nothing violent just happened three floors below us.
Michael joins me at the railing.
“Trouble is brewing faster than we thought,” Michael warns. “The cartel doesn’t usually move this boldly without provocation. Not unless they smell weakness.”
Kobek lights a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his scarred face. “Agreed. This feels like a probe. Testing how soft we’ve become since the truce with the Leones.”
I drum my fingers on the metal railing, mind already turning over possibilities.
The spy’s words echo in my head… Russian filth. They’ve grown too comfortable. Perhaps they believe the new alliance with Paolo has made me distracted. Or worse, vulnerable.
“There is another option,” I say quietly. “We test our new allegiance with the Lentini family. See if they are willing to stand with us against the cartel. Two families working together would send a much stronger message than one acting alone.”
Michael exhales. “That’s a big step. The truce is still fresh. Milo’s only been with you a short while. It could get messy.”
At the mention of his name, an image flashes through my mind: Milo curled in my armchair, spooning ice cream, cheeks still faintly pink from earlier. The contrast is almost jarring…
Up here I throw men off rooftops.
Down in my apartment I rub cooling cream on a defiant boy’s punished ass and watch him eat steak like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
I push the thought aside. Sentiment has no place in decisions like this.
“Exactly,” I reply. “The timing matters. If the Leones see us handling threats decisively, and if we offer them a share of the spoils, they may commit. If they hesitate… then we know exactly how much that truce is really worth.”
Kobek flicks ash over the edge. “Risky. But smart. We cannot fight a war on two fronts.”
I nod once, decision settling in my bones. “Set up a discreet meeting with Paolo. Neutral ground. Security is fine, show that we trust one another enough to allow it. We’ll feel him out.”
We head back inside. The office already looks untouched, blood wiped from the floor, rug turned. My men are efficient.
I pour myself a fresh vodka from the decanter on the sideboard and drink it in one smooth motion. The burn grounds me.
Michael is watching me closely. “And the boy? He going to be a problem while you’re handling this?”
I think of Milo’s promise before I left, the way his voice had sounded almost sincere. “He’ll behave. For now.”
But even as I say it, I know the truth.
Milo is a wildfire in a silk wrapper. Keeping him contained while I prepare for war with the cartel will require constant attention. Part of me—the darker, truly possessive part—looks forward to it.
I set the empty glass down. “Double the watch on the apartment building tonight. I want eyes on every entrance. And tell Yuri he’s on thin ice. If he lets the boy charm another phone out of him, I’ll throw him off a roof next.”
Kobek chuckles darkly. Michael just smirks.
We spend the next twenty minutes going over logistics: crew rotations, new drop points, possible weak links in our supply chain. By the time I head back down the stairs and out to the waiting Escalade, the alley below the terrace has already been cleaned.
No body. No trace. Just another quiet message sent into the night.
As we pull away from Onyx, I lean back against the leather and let my thoughts drift. The cartel is coming. The Leones are an uncertain new ally. And back at my apartment, a beautiful, bratty twenty-three-year-old with a freshly spanked ass and a sharp mind is waiting for me to return.
War is on the horizon.
But first, I have to figure out exactly what to do with Milo Pirlo-Lentini before he becomes either my greatest strength… or my most dangerous weakness.