Chapter 7 – MAKSIM
Seven
MAKSIM
Loyal servitude.
The idea of being at a woman’s beck and call should unsettle me, yet I find myself restless, eager, even, to see her again.
Talking to Valentina, being near her, is…
disarmingly easy. Too easy. I shove the thought aside and step off the elevator onto her floor.
A quick nod to the security camera overhead, and I can’t help but wonder if Derek’s watching. The idea makes me smile as I move past.
The door opens before I can knock. Valentina stands there, bright-eyed, her hellhounds flanking her. Both alert and silent, noses twitching as they take me in, still slightly wary of my presence.
It would be annoying, but I like their protectiveness.
“You’re early,” she says, throwing an arm around my middle, her head resting against my chest. I return the hug, realizing I can’t remember the last time I let anyone this close who wasn’t my mother.
Effortless. That’s what it feels like, her against me. Her scent is sweet, familiar, and it pulls me in before I can stop myself.
“I didn’t want to be late on my first day. I heard the boss is a bit cold-hearted.”
Her laugh is contagious.
“Come in.” The dogs move in perfect sync as she steps back, and I find myself impressed by their discipline.
“I’ll make breakfast,” she says over her shoulder as she walks. “You still love those disgusting, runny eggs?”
I follow her into the kitchen, eyes tracing the curve of her hips before I realize what I’m doing. I should look away. I should feel guilty.
But I don’t. And that truth sits heavier than it should.
“I thought I was here to help. Why are you cooking? And…wait—you still remember that?”
“How could I forget?” she says, grimacing with mock disgust.
There’s a strange ache in my face, and it hits me.
It’s from smiling too damn much since before I even arrived.
I tell myself it’s just nostalgia, that she feels like family, that being near her just stirs up old memories I didn’t know I missed.
But it’s not that. It’s something else. Something more I can’t quite name.
“It’s okay. I won’t judge you,” she says with a wink, grabbing my wrist and doing her best to shove me into a chair.
“I think you already did, but…thanks.”
A ceramic bowl clanks down in front of me before she heads for the pantry. I fight the urge to help, but even after all these years, I know better. Valentina is as stubborn and independent as she was the day I left.
But she’s a woman now.
My gaze drifts to her ass again, and my cock twitches under the table.
What the fuck are you doing?
Still, I don’t look away. Not until she turns, catching me in the act. There’s something in her eyes, an intensity that sends heat crawling up my neck. Like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, and feels it too.
We say nothing and let the moment stretch between us until she’s suddenly at my side again, pouring colorful cereal into my bowl.
“Where are those disgusting eggs you promised me?” My tone is light but clinging to the tension that hasn’t fully eased.
“It was just a question, Ruso. I never promised a damn thing.” Her dimples deepened the wider she grinned.
“Ruso?” I echo, brow lifting.
Before I know it, milk splashes onto the sugary loops. “Yeah, I can hear the slight accent.”
“Fourteen years in a place will do that.”
“I like it,” she murmurs, twirling a spoon between her fingers before handing it to me. “Enjoy.”
“And this…you like this?” I fill the spoon with a small mountain of the offending food.
“It’s my favorite. Nothing like cozying up with a warm blanket, a good movie…” She pauses, teeth catching the edge of her lip, and I find myself wanting to do the same. “Great company, and a bowl of the best artificially flavored fruit cereal ever made.”
I picture it. Her curled up on the couch, warm, safe…indulging in her favorite snack, and I don’t know whether to laugh or let my thoughts slip into darker territory.
Forbidden ones.
Because Valentina isn’t just any woman. She’s Derek Cain’s daughter. And I’d already lived twelve years before she even entered this world.
“That tracks. You still eat these off the floor?”
Laughter bubbles out of us both at the small dig.
“Hey! In case you haven’t noticed, a lot has changed, Maxy.”
I’ve noticed.
“That includes you no longer being an uptight, brooding little asshole…maybe. The jury is still out, but at least you’ve got jokes now.”
Another round of laughter, and I nearly choke on these goddamn Fruit Loops.
Valentina leans against the counter, proud of herself, elbows propped on her crutches, and the hem of her shirt lifts just enough to reveal a glint of metal piercing her golden skin and catching my eye.
Things have changed indeed.
Again, she notices me looking, and that knowing grin tugs at her lips. “Remi and I got matching piercings on her eighteenth birthday,” she says, answering my unspoken question.
I swallow my cereal a little harder than intended.
“You two are still close.” A statement, not a question, but she nods anyway. Their bond is undeniable, even in the short time I’ve been around them both.
“Always. Especially now.”
The reverence in her tone makes it clear she’s not talking about her accident, but I don’t press.
“And you, Maksim. Do you…have anyone you’re close to back in Russia?”
I slow my chewing, meeting her eyes before shaking my head. “No.”
The answer is a simple one. In my world, loyalty is currency, but friendships—people I trust outside of business—are reserved for those I call family.
And if she’s really asking whether there’s a woman in my life, the truth is simpler still.
The women in my bed are just that. Temporary.
A means to an end, and a release that never lasts.
“Maybe that’s a sign,” she says, pulling out the chair beside me and sitting down, her chin resting in her hand. There’s a softness in her gaze, threaded with the same quiet sadness I see in my mom’s eyes.
I’ve never cared what people think of me, but for some reason, I don’t want her pity.
“A sign? For what?”
“That you should stay a little longer. Because you have people here.” She scoots closer. “Your mom, Uncle Silas, the whole family…me.”
Something about what she says tugs at the center of my chest, like a silent command buried deep under my skin, one that tells me I’d do whatever she asks of me. The feeling is terrifying and unsettling, like she’s reached inside and flipped a switch I didn’t even know existed.
I grip my chest on impulse, forcing down another rough bite.
“Only if you promise to share more of this stuff. It’s actually really good,” I say, needing to deflect.
“Of course it is.” Her hand glides over mine until her fingers wrap around the spoon. She steals the last bite, tongue slowly darting out to catch a droplet of milk.
Chyort.
My gaze lingers on her mouth. She knows I’m watching again and lets the moment sit.
“What about you? Besides Remi…anyone special?”
Her smile slips, and she looks away for a second, like she’s debating whether or not to answer. Only heartbreak or a breakup gets that kind of pause. I set the spoon down and wait.
“No,” she says at last. “I had a boyfriend. But I don't anymore. He was never special, though. He was just a mistake."
I shouldn’t give a damn who she’s been with, but the thought of someone else touching her makes something ugly twist inside me.
I school my expression before she can read it, reaching for my spoon again, pretending like I’m unfazed. “Good,” I say simply, though it comes out rougher than I mean it to.
She quirks a brow. “Good?”
“Yeah. Recognizing when someone adds nothing to your life and doing something about it is admirable.”
Her smile is faint—thoughtful. But mine doesn’t come at all. Because the truth is, I’m relieved, and I hate that I am.
Valentina leans back in her chair, fingers idly toying with the signet ring hanging from a thin chain at her neck. I know that emblem. Ares.
Mom and Silas have their own, though I haven’t seen them since they retired from the organization. I wonder if they kept them, too…and why she wears her father’s.
“Is that Derek’s?” I ask, nodding toward the dark piece of jewelry.
“It is.” Her thumb brushes over the emblem. “I found it years ago and begged him to tell me about his time with Ares, about the blood oath. Then I asked to keep it. Been wearing it ever since.”
“Why?”
“It’s a part of him,” she says with a small shrug and a wistful smile. “Of who he was. It carries his past, the good and the bad. And it’s the reason I’m here.”
She knows exactly what that ring represents, the ghosts bound to it, and still speaks of it with a kind of reverence.
No doubt Valentina’s cut from a different cloth.
The thought makes my pulse run hotter, and I can’t help but wonder if she’d feel the same way about the blood on my hands. And why do I want her to?