23. Milo
MILO
Morning light filters through the heavy curtains of Maxim’s bedroom, soft and golden, painting everything in gentle warmth.
For one terrifying heartbeat I wake up alone. The sheets beside me are cool. My heart slams against my ribs as I bolt upright, clutching the duvet to my chest.
It was a dream.
Paolo, the rooftop, the gunshot…none of it happened.
Maxim is gone. I only imagined he won.
Panic claws up my throat. I scramble out of bed, wearing nothing but one of his oversized black t-shirts, and stumble toward the living area on bare feet.
Then I see him.
Maxim sits at the chessboard near the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathed in sunlight, an espresso cup steaming beside his elbow.
He’s shirtless, wearing only low-slung silky pajama bottoms. Maxim’s dark hair is tousled from sleep, silver threads catching the light.
He’s studying the board with that intense focus I love, fingers absently turning a white knight between them.
Relief crashes over me so hard my knees nearly buckle.
He’s real. He’s here. It wasn’t all a dream.
We made it.
I pad across the hardwood floor, heart still racing but for an entirely different reason now. Maxim looks up the moment I’m close, and that slow, devastating smile curves his lips… the one he saves only for me.
“Good morning, Milo.”
I don’t answer with words. I climb straight into his lap, straddling him, and kiss him like I’ll never get another chance.
He tastes like espresso and I love it. His big hands slide under the t-shirt to cup my bare ass, pulling me closer as he deepens the kiss.
A low, approving growl vibrates in his chest.
When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against his, breathing him in.
“I thought…” My voice cracks. “For a second I thought last night was a dream. That you weren’t here.”
“I’m right here,” Maxim murmurs, brushing my messy hair back from my face. “And I’m not going anywhere. Daddy will always be close by.”
I settle more comfortably on his lap, arms looped around his neck. The city sparkles far below us, peaceful in the morning light, as if it has no idea what kind of war ended on a rooftop just hours ago.
Maxim’s thumb strokes my cheek. “Are you sad about Paolo?”
I think about it for a long moment, searching my heart. There’s grief there—complicated, heavy grief—but not the kind he means.
“I’m sad he betrayed my father,” I say quietly. “I’m sad he was willing to betray you too. To use me as a pawn and then throw me away the second it suited him. That’s what hurts. Not that he’s gone. That’s good.”
“And I’m glad my mother is okay,” I say.
“Like I promised, she can live out her life back in Italy in peace now,” Maxim says. “You can visit whenever you like, private jet of course.”
I smile. It’s going to take time to repair my relationship with my mother. But my Daddy is ready and willing to help, and I love him for it.
“So ruthless, but so kind too,” I say, sighing dreamily.
Maxim nods, eyes steady on mine. “This is the life I live, Milo. Betrayal is currency. Loyalty is rare. All I can do is act with honor and let other people choose what kind of man they want to be. Sometimes that choice ends with blood on the rooftop. Sometimes it doesn’t.”
My Daddy pauses, then cups my face with both hands, voice dropping into that low, serious register that always makes my stomach flutter.
“I meant what I said last night when we got back,” Maxim says. “If you want your freedom, it’s yours. No strings. No debts. I’ll set you up anywhere you want… money, protection, a new life far from all of this. You don’t have to stay in my world. You don’t have to stay with me.”
The offer hangs between us, generous and terrifying all at once.
I look into those icy blue eyes that have seen so much darkness and still look at me like I’m made of starlight. I think about the boy I was before—partying, dropping out of Harvard, hiding my Little side behind sass and designer clothes.
Then I think about the young man I am now.
The one who stood on a rooftop and ended a monster.
The one who feels safest in the arms of a true Bratva Pakhan.
I shake my head slowly.
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t want freedom. I want you. I want to be your boy forever. Your little one. Your malysh. I want the rules and the spankings and the chess games and the way you hold me after the nightmares. I want all of it. Forever.”
Something raw and powerful flashes across Maxim’s face. He pulls me in for another kiss, slower this time, full of promise and possession and love so deep it steals my breath.
“Then forever is what you’ll have,” Maxim says against my lips. “You are mine, Milo Kovalev. And I am yours. No more deals. No more truces. Just us.”
I smile through happy tears and rest my head on his shoulder, tracing the tattoos on his neck…
Доверие. Вера. Преданность.
Trust. Faith. Loyalty.
The words feel like they were always meant for this moment. For us.
After a long, perfect silence, I pull back and glance at the chessboard with a mischievous glint in my eye.
“I challenge you to a game,” I declare, voice turning playful. “But with new rules. Every time a piece gets taken… the loser gets one hard spank from the winner. Right here, right now. On naked butts too!”
Maxim’s eyebrows shoot up. A deep, genuine laugh rumbles out of him, the sound I love most in the entire world.
“You’re getting bold, little boy.”
“Very bold,” I tease, wiggling on his lap. “Game on, Daddy?”
His eyes darken with heat and amusement. He reaches over, resets the board with quick, efficient movements, then settles me more firmly on his thighs.
“Game on,” he growls, nipping at my bottom lip. “But don’t cry when your pretty ass is red and sore before we even reach the middlegame.”
I grin, already buzzing with excitement and love and the delicious thrill of what’s to come. I make my first move—pawn to e4—then lean in and kiss him again, soft and sweet.
“Bring it, Pakhan.”
We play like that for the next hour, the city waking up around us, sunlight warming our skin. Every captured piece earns a sharp, stinging slap that makes me squeal and giggle and melt all at once.
Maxim’s handprints bloom pink across my bare bottom while I manage to take two of his knights and a bishop, delivering my own enthusiastic smacks that make him chuckle low and dangerous as his big, strong buttocks redden just a shade.
Between moves we kiss. We touch. We whisper promises of forever.
By the time I’m draped over his lap, panties long discarded, ass glowing and throbbing beautifully, the chessboard is forgotten. Maxim’s fingers trace over the marks he’s left, soothing and possessive at the same time.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Milo,” Maxim murmurs, voice thick with love and lust.
“No, you won’t die,” I whisper, arching into his touch. “Because I plan on living forever right here. With you.”
He flips me gently, pulling me up so I’m straddling him again, and kisses me until the whole world disappears. Just us. Just this.
The mafia, the blood, the betrayals… they’re behind us now. What stretches ahead is something brighter. Something ours.
Forever.
Six months later…
The late afternoon sun warms my shoulders as I walk down the quiet tree-lined street toward the little Italian coffee shop on the corner. My cream cashmere coat flaps gently in the breeze, and my black ankle boots click confidently against the sidewalk.
Six months. It feels like a lifetime and no time at all.
I’m not the same boy who was handed over in a midnight airfield deal. Far from it, in fact.
I’m not even the same boy who pulled the trigger on that rooftop.
I’m Milo Kovalev now… loved, protected, and utterly claimed by the most dangerous man in the city.
And I’ve never been happier.
I spot him through the café window before I even reach the door. Maxim sits at our usual table near the front, looking unfairly gorgeous in a charcoal three-piece suit, his vintage Rolex catching the light. An espresso sits in front of him, untouched.
Maxim’s eyes lift the moment I step inside, like he can sense me before he sees me. That slow, possessive smile spreads across his face, and my stomach does its familiar happy flip.
I slide into the seat across from him, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss.
“Hi, Daddy,” I murmur against his lips.
“malysh.” His voice is low, warm, just for me. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “You look beautiful.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, just drinking each other in. Then Maxim reaches across the table and takes my hand, thumb stroking over my knuckles.
“Are you happy, Milo?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Yes,” I say softly, squeezing his fingers. “I’m happier than I ever thought I could be. I have you. I have us. The nightmares are fewer. The guilt… it’s still there sometimes, but it doesn’t own me anymore. You helped me make peace with what I had to do.”
His eyes soften with pride and love. “Good. That’s all I ever want for you.”
We finish our drinks slowly, talking about nothing and everything—my new art history classes I started last month, the latest renovation at the upstate compound, how Kobek is finally back on his feet and grumbling about desk duty. Normal things. Our things.
Eventually Maxim checks his watch and nods once. “It’s time.”
We stand together. He offers me his arm like the perfect gentleman, and I take it, chin high. We walk through the cozy café toward the private table at the very rear, tucked behind a decorative screen…
A lone man waits there—mid-forties, expensive watch, cold eyes. A cartel general no less. He doesn’t stand when we approach. Rude, but expected.
Maxim pulls out my chair first, ever the gentleman, then takes his own beside me. His hand rests possessively on my thigh under the table.
The general speaks first, voice clipped with a heavy accent. “You asked for this meeting, Kovalev. And you keep me waiting?”
Maxim leans back slightly, the picture of calm power. “A decision has been reached.”
I stay quiet, listening, letting my Daddy handle what needs to be handled. But I’m not a passive trophy anymore. I’m here as his partner.
Maxim’s voice drops, low and lethal. “If your people ever try to interfere in this city again through the Leones’ remnants, through new alliances, through any backdoor deals…
you will face consequences you cannot imagine.
I will burn every route, every safe house, every contact you have in this territory.
I will unleash hell on earth. Not just on your soldiers.
On your families. On your entire operation. Do you understand me?”
The general’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t blink. “I will report your… position… to my boss.”
Maxim smiles. It’s not a kind smile. “Do that. And make sure he understands this isn’t a warning. It’s a promise.”
A heavy silence stretches between them. Finally the general gives a curt nod and stands. “Safe travels,” Maxim says politely, as if they’d just discussed the weather.
The man leaves without another word.
Maxim and I rise together. He helps me back into my coat, then we step out into the golden afternoon light.
The city feels different now, ours in a way it wasn’t before.
Stronger. United under one rule.
As we walk slowly down the street toward the waiting car, Maxim glances at me. “Was that wise? Speaking so boldly to the cartel?”
I smile, squeezing his arm. “It was perfect. We have them exactly where we want them… off-balance and aware that the Kovalev family doesn’t take a single backward step.
Not anymore. They thought they could play us.
They thought sending me would weaken you.
Instead, we turned their own move against them.
From now on, the cartels know the Kovalev family is playing an entirely different level of chess. A Grandmaster against novices.”
Maxim stops walking. Right there on the sidewalk, in broad daylight, he cups my face and kisses me deeply.
I melt into him, fingers curling into his suit jacket, not caring who sees.
When we finally pull apart, his forehead rests against mine.
“My ruthless little one,” Maxim murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “My perfect Bratva queen.”
I grin up at him, heart so full it might burst. “Your ruthless Little. Always.”
We continue walking, his arm around my shoulders, my hand in his back pocket like the shameless couple we are.
The future stretches out ahead of us: bright, dangerous, and completely ours.
There will be more battles. More hard choices. More nights where he spanks me sore and then holds me until I fall asleep whispering Daddy.
But there will also be more chess games with wicked stakes. Lazy Sundays in the apartment. Trips to the reclaimed Lentini compound where I can be as Little as I want and he’ll spoil me rotten with stuffies and bubble baths and love so fierce it takes my breath away.
I glance up at the man who owns every piece of my heart and soul.
“I love you,” I whisper.
Maxim kisses the top of my head. “I love you more, my sweet baby boy. Forever.”
The city is finally at peace under Kovalev rule. I know without a shadow of doubt that we’ve won.
Not just the war.
We’ve won each other.
The perfect Bratva Daddy and his ruthless Little.
Together from dawn to midnight and forever more.