CHAPTER FOUR
Judge. Jury. Executioner.
Maxsim
I stand in the hallway, fists clenching and unclenching. Ari’s scent lingers, making my pulse drum in my ears.
I should’ve stopped Gio before he laid his hands on her. The moment he danced her into a secluded corner, it was clear what his intentions were.
Fury simmers just below the surface, but it’s not just Gio’s smug face pushing me toward the edge. Another face flickers in my mind—one I couldn’t save. Her fierce eyes, the same fire as Ari’s, went cold far too soon. I promised myself it wouldn’t happen again.
It’s been years, but an invisible knife twists uncomfortably in my gut.
Is this a crack in my control?
Will the Mafia wild child finally accomplish what no other person has?
I force myself to breathe, but the image of Gio’s smug face keeps pushing me toward the edge. Every instinct screams to act, but there’s a voice in the back of my mind—one I’m trying hard to ignore—whispering about the consequences.
Just as I’m about to make a move, Alexey steps into the hallway. His footsteps are too controlled—exactly what I don’t need right now. He takes one look at me and steps directly into my path, blocking any forward momentum.
“Max,” he says, voice low and firm. It’s just enough to snap me out of the haze of anger.
No more words are needed. I know that look, that tone. It’s the same one he uses when dragging me back from the edge, stopping me from doing something that could burn everything to the ground.
The urge to shove past him and ignore his warning burns in my gut, but I don’t move. Alexey’s not someone you push aside—not unless you want a fight you’re not prepared to win.
He grips my shoulder, the pressure just enough to remind me who’s in charge. “You can’t start a war here. Not tonight. Not like this.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s no mistaking the steel underneath. “One misstep, and the alliance crumbles. One wrong move, and she could become collateral.”
I clench my jaw, my teeth grinding together. I know he’s right, but it takes everything in me not to snap back. The idea of letting Gio walk after what he did feels like a knife in my side. Alexey’s grip tightens, a silent command to stay in control.
I give him a stiff nod, the only sign of agreement he’s going to get out of me. I don’t like it, but I’m not stupid enough to ignore him. We head back to the ballroom together, slipping into the crowd like nothing happened. The music is loud, the laughter and clinking glasses are deafening, but it all feels like background noise to the rage that continues to build.
I drift through the ballroom, hearing snatches of conversation that fuel the fire already burning in my gut.
“…she practically threw herself at him…”
“…Gio had to fight her off…”
My grip tightens around the glass in my hand. I’m ready to shatter it, to let the shards fly and pierce through every lie I hear. Ari’s name is being dragged through the dirt by people who couldn’t match her in a thousand lifetimes.
They want to paint her as desperate? Pathetic? I clench my jaw so tight I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack.
I toss back the rest of my drink and scan the room for Anton. I spot him near the entrance, watching the crowd with that calm, detached look he’s perfected over the years. He senses me before I make a move, and when our eyes meet, I give him a single nod. Silent but clear.
Anton dips his chin slightly, acknowledging the unspoken command. The game is about to change, and Gio is about to become the prey.
He’s holding court in a corner, boasting about his so-called conquest to a group of soldiers. The lies drip from his mouth like poison as he spins the tale so that the blood on his neck makes sense.
Are they foolish enough to buy it, or can they see through his pathetic bravado?
I cut through the crowd, the look on my face, part people like the Red Sea. The buzz of conversation dulls as I approach the group, a ripple of awareness spreading through the room.
By the time I’m in Gio’s space, the group around falls silent. A few men exchange uneasy glances, and one or two subtly step back. Everyone knows what I’m capable of.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gio asks with fake sincerity.
“I don’t care for men who lie.” I step closer, seeing sweat bead on his forehead. “And dishonor a person’s name.”
I can feel the room holding its breath, waiting. Gio’s smirk falters for just a second as he realizes I’m not going to stop at a simple warning. His eyes dart to the men surrounding him, seeking an escape.
Anton shifts his hand on his holster as Nikolai joins us.
Gio’s hollow laugh falls flat. “You must be referring to Ari’s... advances.”
“Watch your mouth,” I growl, my patience snapping like a twig.
“Or what?” His eyes challenge me, daring me to make a move.
“Or this,” I say, grabbing his wrist. With a swift motion, I twist, feeling the bones snap under my grip.
I keep the pressure on his wrist, watching as the pain contorts his face. “This,” I say, my voice cold, “is so you have time to reflect on how to treat innocent women.”
The final snap is brutal. I feel the bones give way under my grip, a sickening crunch that reverberates through the room. I release him, watching him stumble back, his pride shattered as thoroughly as his wrist.
“Consider this a warning,” I hiss, my voice low and deadly. “Touch her again, and it’ll be more than just your hand.”
“Y-you’re insane,” he growls, cradling his broken hand. “This is going to ignite a war between the families.”
“I doubt it.” I look around at the curious faces. “Disrespecting the granddaughter of the capo di tutti capi has only one consequence. All I’ve done is take care of the trash for our host.”
Gio’s men surround him, escorting escort him from the room.
Anton and Nikolai stay close, silent shadows radiating menace. The crowd is frozen in place. Some faces are pale with shock, others tight with suppressed amusement. A few glance around, whispering behind their hands, no doubt delighted to see Gio taken down a peg. But most wear the same wary expression, as if trying to decide whether to cheer or distance themselves from the fallout.
Let them see what happens when lines are crossed. Alexey and Franco study me from across the room, their expressions unreadable.
What did I just set in motion? The satisfaction of punishing Gio is brief.
Now, I’m left with the cold reality of what comes next. Alliances will be tested; enemies will take note. But more than that, there’s a nagging question I can’t shake.
Was it worth it?
I step onto the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief after the confrontation. The estate’s grounds stretch out before me, bathed in moonlight, silent and still.
“Maxsim,” a voice cuts through the silence. Franco Bianchi strides towards me, his eyes hard and questioning. His tailored suit does nothing to soften the intensity of his gaze.
“Franco,” I greet him, keeping my tone neutral.
“What the hell happened?” he demands, no pretense of civility. His voice is controlled, but there’s an edge that can’t be ignored.
“Ari had an unfortunate encounter with Gio,” I reply, my words measured. “He overstepped. I intervened.”
“Overstepped how?” Franco’s eyes narrow, demanding specifics.
“Touching her without consent,” I reply, each word like ice. “I made sure he understands that such behavior has consequences.”
“Consequences?” He raises an eyebrow. “You broke his hand.”
“Would you have preferred I did nothing?” I challenge, holding his gaze.
“Of course not,” he snaps, then regains his composure. “But this will have repercussions, Maxsim. You know that. Ari may be my sister, but this? This puts a target on all of us. I can’t afford that now.”
“Yes,” I nod, my mind already calculating the fallout. “But allowing disrespect would be far more dangerous.”
“True,” Franco concedes, though his jaw remains tight. “But now we have to manage the fallout. Sal Santoro has been testing the limits for months and quietly consolidating power in New York, making Gio do his dirty work. This,” he waves his hand, “could be just the excuse he needs to break ranks and spark a war we’re not ready for.”
“Then we get ready,” I state simply. “We remind everyone where the lines are drawn and make sure they stay in place.”
The noise of the party filters through the open balcony doors, distant and muted. I straighten up, adjusting the knife in my pocket, the weight of it familiar and comforting.
“André wants to speak with you and Alexey.” He tips his head toward the door. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Of course.” I follow Franco into the ballroom and nod to Anton and Nikolai as I pass. If someone in the Cosa Nostra wants a fight, they better be prepared because I will bring a war.