15. Veronica
15
VERONICA
The next day…
W hen I find out there’s a gym in this place, I head straight for it. Of course Maxim’s already in there.
The rhythmic clang of weights echoes down the hallway as I approach, the sound sending an odd flutter through my chest.
The faint smell of leather and sweat grows stronger as I near the open door, and I pause in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
And there he is.
Maxim, in a black tank top that clings to his broad chest, arms flexing as he curls a barbell with effortless precision.
The Bratva tattoos across his shoulders ripple with every movement. His expression is as cold and focused as ever, but there’s a fire in the way he moves—controlled, deliberate, lethal.
I’m staring. I know I’m staring, but I can’t stop. My mouth goes dry, and for a split second, I forget why I even came in here.
“Take a picture if you want,” he says without looking up. “You can use it later.”
I fix an indifferent grin on my face. “Whatever for? I am an innocent maiden with no clue what you might be referring to?”
“Not what you were saying at the engagement party.”
I swallow down a smile at the memory. “If you’re trying to impress me by working out, you’re failing,”
He sets the barbell down with a deliberate thud. “If I wanted to impress you, Veronica, you’d know.” He winces slightly, leaning to pick up his cane. “Why are you here?”
“Let’s do the math, shall we? Gym gear, in a gym. Must be to spy on you.” I step into the room, scanning the sleek equipment and floor-to-ceiling mirrors that reflect every angle of his ridiculously perfect form. “So this is your secret lair. All the better to brood in, right?”
“Something like that.” His dark eyes sweep over my loose sweater and leggings. His gaze lingers for a second too long before he picks up a towel, wiping his hands. “Change out of that before we meet with my father.”
I cross the room and sit casually on the edge of a bench, trying not to look like my knees are about to buckle under his gaze. “You in charge of my wardrobe now.”
“Someone needs to be.”
“I could go wearing my Fuck the Patriarchy tee-shirt. Think he’d like that?”
“I assume you’re joking.”
“Wait and see.”
His brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t reply, so I press on. “I’m thinking he might ask about my parents. And I figure we might as well stick to the truth—or close enough. They do say the best lies are hidden in truth. That’s what they said in The X-Files anyway.”
“You watched that too?” He snorts—an actual snort—and for a fleeting moment, I feel like I’ve won some sort of prize. “Didn’t think you were old enough.”
“Heard of reruns?”
“What do you want us to tell him,” he says, shaking his head.
“The last thing I’m guessing you want is for your father to sniff out a weak spot.”
He grabs a water bottle and takes a slow drink, his eyes never leaving mine. “He’ll look for one, but he won’t find it,” he says firmly. Then, after a pause, he sits down on the bench across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “But if you want to use the truth, fine. Let’s start with your family.”
I hesitate, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of my sweater. “My mom was an abusive drunk,” I say, my voice steady. “She wasn’t always like that, but in the end she walked out on us when I was eight. Then my dad died a few years later—cancer, when I was thirteen.”
He doesn’t flinch or look away, which is oddly reassuring. There’s a long pause, his gaze unreadable. Finally, he nods. “Victor will respect your honesty. He values strength, even when it comes from pain. He’ll know you’re telling the truth if you tell him that.”
“What about you?” I ask, shifting the focus to him. “What’s Victor going to expect me to know?”
He exhales slowly, leaning back. “That I think he’s an asshole. Ruled the family with an iron fist. Controlled everything in Moscow for years—money, power, people. But his one weakness was my mother.”
There’s something raw in his voice, something he’s trying to hide. “He loved her more than anything, but it made him blind to the dangers in his own house. My sister, Katya, was born with disabilities. Our rivals saw her as a way to get to him. They tricked her into following them out of school one day. Hurt her badly. And because he was too distracted by his obsession with my mother, he wasn’t there to pick her up.”
“What happened?”
“They killed her and my parents divorced a year later. My mother killed herself not long after that. My father threw himself into work, never talked about her or Katya again. I only tell you this so you don’t mention it during the meeting. He might ask about your parents but he will say nothing of Katya or my mother. Do not ask him.”
The words hang heavy in the air, and I feel my throat tighten. “Maxim… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says, his tone sharp. “It was a long time ago.” He stands, grabbing the towel again. “You should go get changed. We have a meeting to survive.”
“What about my workout?”
“Should have been up earlier.”