13. Maxim
MAXIM
“Now this is quite the place,” I say, a smile on my face.
The city’s largest department store rises like a monument to old-world elegance with marble floors polished to a mirror shine, gold-plated elevator doors gleaming under crystal chandeliers, and that unmistakable scent of luxury that only places like this still carry.
I rarely come here.
My world is back alleys, private clubs, and boardrooms where deals are sealed with handshakes and veiled threats.
But this morning, with Milo’s hand tucked securely in mine, I find myself walking through the toy department feeling something dangerously close to contentment.
Milo moves ahead of me with bright-eyed enthusiasm, his hair shimmering in the light as he darts between displays. He’s wearing the black jeans and oversized cream sweater he chose earlier, looking far too innocent for the things I did to him in the shower just a couple of hours ago.
Yet every time he glances back at me with that mischievous little smile, I remember exactly how he sounded riding that dildo while I watched.
“Look at this one!” Milo exclaims, holding up a deluxe wooden chess set with hand-carved pieces. “It’s way better than the one in your office. We could have proper games.”
I raise an eyebrow, but I’m already nodding. “Mine is a classic set. But… add it to the pile, this can be your practice board.”
The darling boy beams and hands it to the patiently waiting assistant who’s been trailing us with a rolling cart.
The young man’s eyes widen slightly at the growing stack: board games, high-end art supplies, a ridiculous number of squishies in every shape and color, and a massive set of building blocks that Milo insisted were “for stress relief.”
I should feel ridiculous standing here among pastel displays and giggling children.
Instead, I’m surprised by how much I’m enjoying myself.
Milo’s excitement is contagious. I watch the boy pick up a set of premium watercolor paints and turn it over in his hands, biting his lip in concentration. Something warm and unfamiliar unfurls in my chest…
When was the last time I felt this… light?
Certainly not since I became Pakhan. My life has been strategy and survival for so long that genuine happiness feels almost foreign.
Milo catches me staring and tilts his head. “What? Am I buying too much?”
“Not at all,” I reply, stepping closer. I brush a stray lock of hair behind his ear, letting my fingers linger against his cheek. “Buy whatever you want. Today is for you.”
His cheeks flush that pretty pink I’m becoming addicted to. He adds the watercolors to the cart and moves on to a display of oversized squishy animals.
I follow, hands in my pockets, watching the way he lights up at each new discovery. The contrast is striking: this bright, playful boy who was handed to me as a political token now bouncing through a toy department like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I pick up a particularly large rainbow-colored squishy unicorn and hand it to him. “This one matches your energy.”
He laughs a real, unguarded sound and hugs it to his chest. “Zoop is going to be jealous.”
The casual mention of his stuffie makes something protective twist inside me. I’ve seen the way he clings to that worn old zebra when he thinks no one’s watching. It’s a vulnerability he guards fiercely, and the fact that he mentions it so easily around me feels like progress.
And with progress, comes trust.
We’re not all the way there yet, but it feels like we’re on the right path.
We continue through the department, the assistant discreetly adding items to the growing pile. Milo debates between two different strategy board games for nearly ten minutes before declaring we need both.
I don’t argue.
Watching Milo’s enthusiasm is worth any price. For the first time in years, I’m not calculating every move through the lens of power or risk.
I’m simply… here. With him.
By the time we’ve exhausted the toy section, the assistant’s cart is overflowing. I hand him my black card and tell him to arrange delivery to the apartment. “Everything. Today if possible.”
The assistant nods quickly, clearly recognizing me even if he’s too professional to show it. “Of course, Mr. Kovalev. It will be taken care of.”
Milo slips his hand back into mine as we walk toward the gold-plated elevators.
His fingers feel small and warm against my palm.
We step into the crowded elevator with other shoppers—tourists, mothers with children, well-dressed couples—and I pull him closer, my thumb stroking the back of his hand.
He leans into me slightly, the top of his head brushing my shoulder.
I haven’t held a boy’s hand like this in public in… I can’t remember how long.
It feels dangerously normal. Domestic. The kind of thing men like me don’t get to keep.
As the elevator descends, surrounded by the quiet chatter of strangers, a rare feeling settles over me. Happiness. Not the sharp satisfaction of a successful deal or the cold thrill of victory in battle, but something softer. Deeper.
I glance down at Milo, who’s quietly examining one of the smaller squishies he kept with him: a little octopus with big, sad eyes. He catches me looking and smiles up at me, shy but genuine.
In that moment, I wonder whether he could truly be more than just a pawn in this game.
The thought should alarm me.
Attachments are weaknesses. I learned that the hard way with Ryan. But Milo isn’t Ryan. He’s fire and defiance wrapped in a true softness. He pushes back. He makes me feel alive in ways I’d almost forgotten were possible.
Could he stand beside me, not just as a symbol of the truce, but as something real?
A partner even?
The idea is tempting. Dangerous. But for the first time, I don’t immediately dismiss it.
The elevator doors open on the ground floor. We step out into the bustling main hall, my hand still firmly holding his. I guide Milo toward the exit, already thinking about the rest of the day.
Lunch somewhere quiet.
Perhaps a stop at one of the boutiques so he can pick out more clothes that suit his new life.
And tonight… tonight I’ll remind the boy exactly who he belongs to in the most pleasurable ways possible.
As we walk out onto the busy sidewalk, Milo squeezes my hand. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I haven’t done something like this in… I don’t even know how long.”
I look down at him, letting a rare, small smile touch my lips. “You don’t need to thank me. This is only the beginning.”
Milo doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans closer as we walk, his shoulder brushing my arm. The city moves around us—honking taxis, rushing pedestrians, the endless pulse of life—but for these few moments, none of it matters.
I’ve spent years building an empire on control and calculation. But walking through this grand old department store with Milo’s hand in mine, watching him light up over board games and squishies, I feel something I haven’t allowed myself in a very long time.
Hope.
The large city park stretches out before us like a green oasis carved into the steel and concrete heart of the city. Tall oaks sway in the brisk breeze, their leaves whispering overhead as Milo and I walk along one of the winding paths.
The boy cradles a large cup of hot chocolate between his gloved hands, the steam curling up around his face. I sip my black coffee, strong and bitter the way I like it, but right now even that familiar sharpness can’t cut through the unexpected warmth blooming in my chest.
The breeze nips at our faces, carrying the faint scent of fallen leaves and distant street food vendors, but I barely feel the cold.
Milo walks close beside me, his shoulder occasionally brushing my arm.
Every few steps Milo takes a careful sip of his drink, leaving a tiny chocolate mustache on his upper lip that he doesn’t seem to notice. The sight is so disarmingly sweet it makes something inside me twist in a way I’m not used to.
I’ve walked through this park before for late-night meetings, surveillance routes, the occasional quiet moment to clear my head after blood had been spilled.
But never like this. Never with a boy whose hand fits so perfectly in mine, whose laughter still echoes in my ears from the toy department earlier.
Milo glances up at me, his dark eyes bright against the cool autumn air.
“Will you be around tonight? I was thinking we could try out some of the new board games they’re delivering. I saw this really complicated strategy one that looked like it might actually challenge you.”
Milo’s tone is light, hopeful, but there’s a vulnerability underneath it that tugs at me. I take another sip of coffee to buy myself a second.
“I will try,” I tell him honestly. “But my world usually comes alive at night. There are always fires to put out, deals to monitor, people who only speak when the sun goes down. I may need to go out.”
The boy sighs, the sound small but heavy. The breeze catches his hair, blowing a strand across his face. I reach over and brush it out of his eyes. His cheeks flush from more than just the cold.
“I can arrange for Yuri to come keep you company,” I add. “But only on the understanding that you don’t try to trick him again. No more stolen phones, Milo. I mean it.”
He smiles that mischievous, slightly guilty smile that always makes me want to both punish and kiss him. “I’ll try my best to behave. Should it come to that.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. It’s a low, genuine sound that surprises even me. The boy has guts and a sense of humor about his own chaos.
And it’s dangerously endearing.
We continue walking side by side, the path curving gently around a small pond where ducks paddle lazily despite the chill.
The warmth in my chest grows stronger, spreading through my veins like good vodka.
Happiness. Not the fleeting kind that comes from a successful deal or a well-executed strike, but something quieter. Deeper.
For the first time in years, I’m not calculating escape routes or scanning rooftops for threats. I’m simply walking through a park with a beautiful, complicated young man who is starting to feel less like a strategic asset and more like… mine.
We reach the edge of the park where the trees thin out and the city skyline reappears. I stop walking and turn to face Milo, pulling him gently into my arms. He comes willingly, his hot chocolate cup pressed between us as he tilts his head up.
“I’m determined to make this work, Milo,” I say quietly, my voice low enough that only he can hear it. “However that might look for us. I’m not a gentle man. My life is complicated and often violent. But with you… I want to try.”
Milo’s eyes soften. The romantic charge between us crackles like electricity in the brisk air. He rises onto his toes. I meet him halfway.
Our lips meet in a slow, deep kiss right there on the edge of the park, surrounded by the distant sounds of the city and the rustle of leaves. He tastes like chocolate and warmth and something uniquely him.
My hand slides to the small of the sweet boy’s back, pulling him closer.
For a perfect moment the world narrows to just this… his soft mouth, his fingers curling into my coat, the way he melts against me like he was made to fit there.
Then my instincts scream at me.
Something is off.
I pull back sharply, every muscle tensing as I scan our surroundings. The breeze carries the faint scent of cigarette smoke that doesn’t belong… too close, too deliberate.
A shadow moves unnaturally behind a cluster of trees to our left.
My hand tightens on Milo’s waist.
“Maxim?” he whispers, looking shocked and a little dazed from the kiss.
“We can’t stick around,” I say, voice low and urgent. “We have to move. Now. Quickly.”
I don’t wait for questions. I tuck Milo against my side, shielding him with my body as I guide him toward the busier path that leads back to the main street.
My eyes never stop moving: rooftops, alley mouths, the faces of passersby. The pleasant warmth in my chest has been replaced by cold, familiar focus.
Someone was watching us. Maybe taking pictures. Maybe worse.
Milo stays close, his earlier playfulness gone. He doesn’t argue or ask stupid questions… another point in his favor. The boy simply keeps pace, his hand gripping my coat tightly.
I pull out my phone with my free hand and fire off a quick message to Michael and Kobek:
MAXIM: Park surveillance. Possible tail. Increase security on apartment and sweep the route home.
We reach the edge of the park where my driver is already waiting with the Escalade, alerted by the subtle signal I gave him earlier. I bundle Milo into the back seat and slide in after him, slamming the door shut.
“Home,” I tell the driver. “Take the long way. Watch for tails.”
As the SUV pulls smoothly into traffic, I turn to Milo. His cheeks are still flushed from the kiss, but his eyes are wide with concern now.
“What happened?” he asks quietly.
I reach over and take his hand again, squeezing it once. “Someone was watching us. I don’t know who yet, but I will find out.”
The boy nods, accepting it without hysteria. Another small victory. Most people in this scenario would be panicking. Milo simply leans his head against my shoulder, his hot chocolate long forgotten in the cupholder.
The warmth I felt earlier hasn’t disappeared entirely. It’s still there, banked beneath the layers of caution and strategy I’ve spent years building. But now it’s mixed with something sharper, a protectiveness so fierce it almost surprises me.
Milo Pirlo-Lentini was supposed to be a pawn. A symbol. A way to seal the truce.
He’s becoming so much more.
And whoever was watching us in that park just made a very dangerous mistake.
I will keep Milo safe. I will make this work. And if anyone tries to take him from me—whether it’s the cartel, a rival family, or even his own blood—they will learn exactly why the name Maxim Kovalev still commands fear in this city.
The car glides through traffic, the city blurring past the windows.
Milo’s fingers stay laced with mine.
But my mind is elsewhere. And my instincts are rarely wrong…