6. Maxim
6
MAXIM
I van is leaning against the sleek, black SUV parked by the curb. He’s chewing on the end of a cigar.
When he sees me, he straightens, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Done?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. Always sharp. Ivan doesn’t miss much.
I pull off my gloves, blood staining the leather. With a flick of my wrist, I toss one into the first of the winter snow, watching as it leaves a crimson smear against the pure white.
“Resolved,” I say curtly, opening the passenger door to retrieve another pair of gloves from the compartment. The air inside the SUV is warm, the faint scent of leather and cologne hitting me as I lean in. “The wardrobe.”
Ivan chuckles softly. “Classic.”
I slip on the fresh gloves. My cane taps against the icy pavement as I move toward him. Ivan knows better than to push for details.
He pulls open the back door for me, shaking his head with an amused snort. “You should have burned the place down. He could have shot you.”
“Mrs. Bukowski would have burned,” I reply. “I have no interest in killing the innocent.”
He slides into the driver’s seat, pulling the door shut behind him with a solid thunk. “Innocent? She’s fucked half the KGB in her time.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “And sold the intel to us.”
“Dmitri wants a word by the way.”
I arch a brow. “My cousin?”
He nods, lighting the cigar with a flick of his silver lighter. He blows out the smoke before continuing. “You know another Dmitri who’d give you orders?”
“I thought he retired and put my father in charge.”
“Wants to speak to you, not Victor.”
“What about?”
“No idea. He just said it was something about family.”
The word grates on me, as it always does. Family. It’s a concept we love to wield in this world, like it’s supposed to mean something. Loyalty, yes. Control, always.
But family? That’s just another negotiation. I can’t imagine a wife and kids and all that bullshit. Family to me means what you can leverage and who you are loyal to, that’s all.
Ivan turns the key in the ignition. The engine purrs to life, its low rumble filling the silence between us. “It’s always something about the family,” I say out loud.
The SUV glides down Moscow’s icy streets as I dial Dmitri’s number.
“Maxim,” he growls when he answers. “I heard you came back from the dead.”
“Apparently so.”
“One day out of a coma, and you’re on the first flight to Moscow. What was so urgent?”
“The GPS on my stolen boat,” I reply curtly, keeping my eyes on the road. “Arseni didn’t disable it.”
“Arseni? What’s he got to do with your boat being stolen?”
“He stole it.”
“Explain.”
“How much do you know, Dmitri?”
“Only that you went to talk to him and ended up in hospital with two gunshot wounds. He disappeared. I assumed whoever shot you killed him. Now I find out you’re in Moscow hunting him down. Help me fill in the blanks here.”
“Arseni betrayed us. Lombardi paid him to kill me only he fucked up on two fronts. Bullet didn’t hit my brain and GPS was still working on my boat. I tracked him to Moscow. Boat’s in his garage. He went straight to Mrs. Bukowski to get his rocks off.”
I don’t mention the woman I saw fall into the river while I was on the boat talking to Arseni. I say nothing about jumping in and dragging her to shore. I know what he’ll tell me. I compromised the meeting, lost focus, went soft. Maybe he’s right.
“So Arseni’s dead?” he says when I’m done explaining.
“You think I’d let him live after he cheated us?”
“I think you’re supposed to ask the Pakhan for permission to kill a member of the Bratva.”
“I don’t need my father’s consent to get justice.”
He’s silent for a moment before answering. “I need you on the next flight out.”
“Why? You’re retired. Why are you getting involved in anything anymore?”
“This one’s personal.”
“How so?”
“One, your father only stepped in temporarily.”
I laugh. “So you’re coming back out of retirement to take over?”
Dmitri chuckles as well. “Not quite.”
“Too busy playing house with Elena to take the reins, right?”
“After everything with Ivanov, the Bratva needed stability. Victor has handled it well. But now, the old man’s ready to retire for good.”
“And?” I prompt, sensing where this is going.
“He wants you to take over. Victor’s giving us two months of his time. After that, the empire and all its assets are yours. On one condition.”
I let out a slow breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Which is?”
“He wants you to settle down,” he replies, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. “Says it’ll help show strength and stability. You know how he is, all about the appearances.”
I scoff, the sound sharp. “Marriage is for fools and romantics, I’ve told him this.”
“I got married. So which am I?”
“You need me to answer that, cousin?”
“I suppose not,” he says, laughing. “Look, you only need to be married for sixty days. Just long enough to check the box and make your father happy. Then he steps down. Think of it as another of your ‘delicate negotiations.’”
“You make it sound simple,” I reply dryly. “Where am I supposed to find a woman willing to marry me for two months who can also keep her mouth shut?”
“You don’t need to,” he says, his tone turning sly. “Come to New York. I have someone ready for you.”
“Who?”
“Not over the phone. Just know that she needs the protection of our name for a couple of months. It will be mutually beneficial.”
I glance at Ivan, who’s listening quietly, his expression neutral. “Who?” I repeat, my curiosity piqued despite myself.
“I’ll tell you when you get here,” Dmitri says. “Trust me, Maxim. She’s just your type. Got a hell of a mouth on her, and wants Vito Lombardi dead as much as you. Oh, and she’s just got out of a coma too. See, you’ve already got so many things in common.”
There’s a pause, and I can hear the smile in his voice as he adds, “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. I’ll be sure to get you a toaster.”
The line goes dead.
“New York?” Ivan asks, cellphone already in his hand.
I nod, my gaze fixed on the road ahead. “New York.”
He snorts out of nowhere. “Married?” He turns his head to look at me, his grin spreading. “Well, hell. Can I be your best man?”
A faint smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, but I don’t reply. His humor is a welcome distraction, but my mind is elsewhere, tangled in the mess Dmitri just dropped in my lap. Marriage. Stability. Family. Words that mean nothing to me beyond their use as tools or weapons.
The irony isn’t lost on me. My father, the man who taught me to value power over everything, now demands I play house to inherit the empire.
I smile to myself as I realize something.
“You look happy,” Ivan says.
I nod. “Arseni was paid by Vito Lombardi to betray us. When I’m Pakhan I can order everyone to focus on bringing Lombardi down. No more sticking to our half of the city. I kill him and then I rule New York.”
“Just like you always dreamed of doing.”
“Precisely.”