10. Maxim
CHAPTER TEN
maxim
A-Hole Chat
Angelo: Dude
Maxim: What the fuck you want
Angelo: You’re getting married?!
Ilias: So you’re doing it
Maxim: I don’t say things I don’t mean
Ilias:
Maxim: So yes. I’m doing it.
Angelo: Fucker
Conall: That’s my sister asshole. Be respectful.
20 minutes later
Conall: Meet for a drink at Fortune?
Ilias: I can do 7
Angelo: I can swing that
Me: Same
Conall: See you eejits there
Angelo: Not if I see you there first, you eejit
The dim lighting in Fortune gave the lounge a certain mystique that men like us seemed to appreciate. Heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and whiskey, leather chairs circled a low table bearing crystal glasses and a bottle of Angelo’s finest scotch. Angelo leaned back in his seat, his tie undone, the epitome of relaxed menace. Ilias sat to his left, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair, his dark eyes sharp as ever but impatient. Conall was across from me, his expression unreadable but for the occasional twitch in his jaw.
“Any sign of Vladimir slinking back?” Conall asked.
Since my bratva had kicked Slavsky out of his territory and taken over his alliances, we’d had a smooth takeover. If I were him, I wouldn’t have taken it lying down, but then I had ripped it apart at the seams and turned him inside out — dismantled any sort of support systems he could turn to.
“There were one or two attempts to reach out, but he got turned away.” The satisfaction I felt when his men came to me with the report probably was wrong. To ruin a man like I had and then get visceral satisfaction from his continued helplessness wasn’t normal. Then again, I never said I was a good person. “He wasn’t well-liked by his men. They were glad when he was swept out. There was some grumbling about the prostitution ring.”
The men stirred restlessly. The skin trade was something we all felt strongly about. That was a no-go for us. We would always put a stop to forced prostitution or any flesh trading. The foundation of the blood oath our fathers made had been to further their trafficking ties, but we had worked for years.
Literally.
To take them fucking apart at the seams.
To this day, we were uncovering additional contacts or routes that were still someone continuing under the auspices of our last names. Those weren’t the legacies we wanted.
Caruso’s words still burned like poison in my gut.
“I’ve replaced it with a better system of checks and balances. Increased the protection to make sure the participants are willing.” I shrugged. We weren’t going to put a stop to women who wanted to make a living, but we would be damned sure that they weren’t forced into something.
“Sounds like things are going well,” Ilias said, swirling his drink.
“Vladimir might have had an unfortunate accident in Jersey,” I admitted. “Loose end.”
Conall chuckled. “You’re not wrong. I was thinking along the same lines.”
Angelo poured another glass of scotch, lifting it toward me with a smirk. “So, Maxim,” he began, his voice all easy charm, “how’s your fiancée settling into her new role? Or should I say, her new leash?”
I narrowed my eyes at the jab, though Angelo’s tone was more teasing than hostile. “Cora will adjust,” I replied, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
Angelo’s smirk widened. “Oh, I’m concerned. She’s fiery. Irish girls usually are.”He gave me another sly grin. “She’s a beauty, though.”
Conall stiffened in his chair, his hand curling into a fist on the armrest. “Careful, Angelo,” he warned, his voice low and even. “You’re talking about my sister.”
Angelo raised his hands in mock surrender, though the gleam in his eyes said he was enjoying this far too much. “Relax, Con. I’m just saying she’s not what I expected for our Volkov friend here. I imagined someone more… docile.”
“Cora’s not your concern,” I snapped before Conall could. My voice cut through the tension like a blade. “She will be an asset to both our families.”
Conall’s gaze flicked to me, a hint of surprise softening his sharp features. But Angelo and Ilias exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between them.
“An asset,” Ilias echoed, his tone flat. “Is that what you’re calling this arrangement now? An asset?”
I didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice or how he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You know as well as I do,” I replied, meeting his gaze head-on, “that this is about more than just alliances. This is about ensuring our future. For all of us. Stability.”
“Stability,” Angelo muttered, knocking back his drink. “You mean dragging us all back into a blood oath none of us wanted to uphold in the first place. Making our family members targets?”
I let the silence hang for a moment, the weight of their resentment palpable. They weren’t wrong, not entirely. If I had sided with them months ago, we could have ignored the contract and charted our own paths. But that wasn’t who I was. A promise was made. It hadn’t been a secret among other crews or organizations. I wouldn’t make it my legacy that I broke a blood oath. That wasn’t how the Volkovs operated.
I wasn’t a liar.
“I didn’t make the oath,” I said quietly, my voice carrying the weight of finality. “My father did, but my signature and blood were on it, too. And I will not be the one to break it. I will take Cora into my family and under my protection. She will be the queen of the Volkov Bratva. I will honor that.” I pinned Angelo with a stare. “Angelo, our family members are targets now. It isn’t a secret who they are. An unmarried female is at risk. You know that. You both know that.” I looked to Ilias. “Marrying into a family provides them extra security, extra protection. Yes, we get an alliance, but we have that now, too. This way, we uphold our promise and give each other something.”
Angelo and Ilias shared another look, but neither challenged me further. It was not resignation—it was acceptance. Conall’s stare was nothing but interest as if he didn’t know I had it in me.
Angelo shouldn’t antagonize Conall so much since he would be marrying into his family. If I were Angelo, I’d be more than a little curious about Conall’s approach to the institution of marriage. Angelo’s sister Francesca had been quite the party princess for a while, but she’d been working as a nurse, if I wasn’t mistaken. I wondered how long it’d be before Conall locked that down.
“When’s the wedding?” I asked, shifting my focus to Conall.
His posture straightened, and he took a deliberate sip of his drink before answering. “Soon. A couple of weeks.”
My brows rose, though I kept my expression neutral. “That’s fast, even by our standards.”
Conall shrugged. “If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it right. A proper Irish wedding, in a church. None of this courthouse nonsense.”
I suppressed a groan. Of course, he wanted a traditional church wedding. “A church,” I repeated, letting the word hang between us.
“Problem, Maxim?” Conall’s tone was casual, but there was a challenge in his eyes.
“Not at all,” I replied smoothly. “Just wondering if your sister agrees with your plans. If she’ll even wear a dress. She doesn’t seem much for dresses. More of the jeans and zombie t-shirt type.”
Angelo laughed. “God, my pops would be rolling in his grave if I brought home a girl who dressed like that. It would have been worth it just to piss him off. Was she wearing rain boots yesterday?”
“Yeah.” I chuckled. My zayka was an enigma.
“What was the camera about?”
“She likes to take pictures.” I shrugged.
“Great idea,” Ilias said, the words holding all the sarcasm he could imbue them with.
“She’s always loved to take pictures. Tommy said that was how she spent her time,” Conall admitted. “I didn’t see much harm.”
We all knew plenty of harm could come from running around taking pictures, but I wouldn’t stop her.
I finished my drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Then it’s settled. A traditional Irish wedding in a couple of weeks.”
The conversation drifted afterward, but the tension remained, a silent undercurrent beneath the surface. As I watched Angelo and Ilias brooding over their drinks and Conall’s carefully guarded expression, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of what was coming.
I hadn’t told them yet that I had found my half-sister. Well, found wasn’t the right term. I’d known where she was all along.