CHAPTER EIGHT
Forbidden things have a secret charm.
Maxsim
The car engine hums as I pull up to the estate Ari and I will share. Will she appreciate the miracle I’ve pulled off in three weeks, or will she scoff and see it as nothing more than a luxurious cage?
I study the expansive home that blends old-world charm and modern efficiency and wonder why I care what she thinks of the place. It’s fucking impressive.
Stepping out, I take in the manicured gardens and see Anton and Nikolai exit the SUV that always follows me. I love my beautiful car’s peace and quiet, but not having my men immediately available would be foolish.
Anton and Nikolai join me, and I nod toward the guardhouse near the gate. “The guardhouse is ready, so check it out.”
“How many men will be on site?” Anton asks as he looks around. “We should have at least a dozen, given the size of the property.”
“Overkill,” Nikolai mutters. “We are all one big happy family now.”
Anton shoots him a warning glance, but I file the comment away. A crack in loyalty is a crack in the foundation, and I don’t tolerate cracks.
Anton takes a step back. “Call us when you’re ready to leave.”
Nikolai gives me a facsimile of a smile, and I watch them stride across the gravel, accepting that I’m entering unfamiliar territory. I’m comfortable dealing with problems that can be solved with money, threats, or violence. But Ari? She’s a storm I have no idea how to navigate.
Shaking off the unfamiliar uncertainty, I stride toward the house. I’ve never been concerned with others’ opinions, and now is certainly not the time to start.
I push through the front door and am greeted by the scent of polished wood and fresh paint. The house is quiet, almost eerily so. I walk through the rooms, each one furnished with the kind of elegance that whispers wealth and taste without screaming it.
The security is tight—cameras, alarms, the works—but discreet. I’ve made sure of that.
I climb the stairs and wonder what she’ll want to change first—the colors, the furniture, or the fact that she’s here at all?
I can almost hear her first sentence: ‘ Nice place you’ve got here, Maxsim. Where’s the exit? ’
The soft buzz of my phone interrupts me from taking the imaginary conversation further. I slide it out and see a message from Yuri, my brother’s avtoritet . Word from Franco. Santoro’s men are acting cagey. Might be nothing but keeping eyes on it.
I clench my jaw. Of course, Giovanni isn’t going to let this go. I tap out a quick response. Let me know if anything changes. If it escalates, I’ll handle it.
Ignoring the tension crawling up my spine, I head toward our bedroom. I think it’s the best room in the house with a view of the gardens but doubt Ari will share my opinion. I stand in the doorway, frowning. Something is missing. The bed is enormous, draped in linens that cost more than most people make in a year. Everything is in its place, perfectly organized, yet... it feels cold, like a luxury hotel room waiting for its first guest.
Should I have asked her what she likes?
“Fuck that,” I mutter sharply. She’d see it as a sign of weakness.
Disgusted, I step out onto the balcony connected to our room. The garden below is secluded, and the thick walls two miles away are impenetrable.
Will it be enough?
With the Feds nosing into operations they should know nothing about, factions of the Cosa Nostra wanting us buried ten feet underground, and the Cartels wanting to see us burn in hell...the answer is a definite no.
The wolves are circling, but like all the threats before them, they have no chance of finding a way in.
I move back inside and call out for the head housekeeper and Pasha as I head downstairs. Once I head into the living room, I see Mila standing straight, hands clasped in front of her, while Pasha, my trusted enforcer, stands at attention, arms crossed. They’re loyal. They know their jobs. But I must ensure that they understand just how important this is.
“Respect her privacy,” I say sharply, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “But if anything’s off, you report directly to me. Understood?”
Mila nods. “Yes, Mr. Volkov. We keep her happy.”
“Good.” I nod to the woman. “She’s the boss in this house. Remember that. But if she’s in trouble, you come to me first.”
“Of course.”
I turn to Pasha. “Make sure the security’s tight but invisible. I want her safe, but I don’t want her feeling like she’s being watched every second.”
“And if she doesn’t take to it here? If she tries to bolt?” Pasha asks quietly.
“Then we adapt,” I reply. “But she won’t because there’s nowhere safer than here.”
Rolling my shoulders, I let out a frustrated breath. Pasha and Mila know the stakes, but they don’t know Ari. They don’t know what she’ll do if she feels caged.
Hell, neither do I, if I’m being honest.
“Any other questions?” Mila shakes her head and then walks quickly from the room. Pasha lingers for a moment, clearly wanting to say something. “What is it?” I ask impatiently.
He hesitates, then finally says, “The interior designer left this.” He slides a card out of his pocket and holds it out. “She wants you to know she’s available whenever you need her. Day or night.”
I take the card and stare at it. The woman is beautiful. And accommodating. But there is no place for her in my new life. “If she calls, tell her that Mrs. Volkov will get in touch when she’s ready to redecorate.” I tear the card in two and drop it into Pasha’s hand, ignoring his surprised look.
“We’re walking into the unknown, and the last thing I will do is drag my past into it.”
“Of course.” He turns on his heel and strides out of the room with an approving smirk.
After I pour myself a drink, I look out the window. The house is ready. The wedding is two days away, and my gut is telling me I’ll be lucky if Ari shows up.
I take a sip, the burn of the whiskey doing little to ease the weight in my chest. I’ve spent my life building walls—around myself, around everything I care about. But this? This is different. This isn’t about her, me, or whether she’ll see this house as a cage.
If this marriage fails, the alliance crumbles. And our enemies’ blood will flood the streets.