Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
CAMILLA
"I still cannot believe you are marrying a Bratva Pakhan in forty-eight hours," Sienna says, violently stabbing a grilled asparagus spear with her fork. "Two days, Camilla! It’s insane. Dad has officially lost his mind if he thinks this is just another standard family arrangement."
"Sienna, lower your voice," Rosalia warns, though her own eyes are wide with the same residual shock. She takes an elegant sip of her red wine, her gaze sweeping over the lavish spread covering our table.
We are sitting in a secluded, semi-private booth near the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows of The Obsidian, one of the most exclusive, high-end restaurants in the city.
The entire place belongs to Maksim. True to his word, his men are stationed subtly near the entrance and the perimeter, but inside this booth, wrapped in the rich scents of truffle pasta, seared steak, and expensive champagne, the world outside doesn’t matter.
For the first time in a long time, I am surrounded by all my sisters.
"Let her vent," Daniela chimes in, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand.
Her touch is warm, solid, and so fiercely grounding that it takes everything in me not to burst into tears right here over the appetizers.
"We've all been losing our minds since we got the news.
Are you sure you're okay, Camilla? Really okay? "
"I am," I say, and for the first time, I actually mean it.
Looking at them—Sienna’s fiery indignation, Rosalia’s protective vigilance, Daniela’s gentle warmth, and Eleonora’s quiet, supportive presence—the suffocating weight in my chest lifts.
I take a bite of the perfectly cooked pasta, the familiar comfort of our chaotic, overlapping chatter wrapping around me like a security blanket.
"He's terrifying," Eleonora murmurs, leaning forward. "We saw the news from the gala last night. The way the papers described him..."
"He is terrifying," I reply softly, swirling the champagne in my glass.
I think of the cold, dead-eyed stare he gave that underboss last night, the absolute fear he commands with a single glance.
But then, my mind betrays me, flashing back to the locked bathroom, the rough warmth of his hands, and the way he fiercely declared that he hadn't looked at another woman since Sicily.
"But... he keeps me safe. He connected me back to you guys. Dad never would have allowed this."
Sienna scoffs, though her expression softens as she reaches over to steal a piece of bread from my plate, an old childhood habit that makes me smile. "Don't start defending him just because he bought us dinner, Cami."
"I'm not," I laugh, the sound bright and unburdened. "Trust me, I'm not. He’s arrogant, overbearing, and an absolute caveman."
"Sounds like the typical men in our world," Rosalia notes, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through her serious facade.
She reaches across the table, her fingers squeezing my other hand until all of us are practically linked together over the plates of food.
"But whatever happens, whatever he tries to do, you remember that you have us. We are your blood. Transactional marriage or not, the Caruso sisters stick together."
"Always," Daniela echoes, her eyes shining with emotion.
Looking at them, feeling the fierce, unyielding wall of love protecting me from across the table, the lingering fear of the upcoming wedding fades into the background. I am not alone anymore.
No matter how dangerous the world gets, I have my sisters, and right now, laughing and passing dishes around the table, we are entirely whole.
"So," Sienna starts, leaning her elbows on the table and giving me a pointed look, "what's the deal with the wedding prep? Have you chosen the flowers yet? Please tell me you aren't letting some random Russian decorator pick out basic white roses."
"Actually, it's all underway and being completely handled by a high-end wedding planner Maksim hired," I reply, taking a slow sip of my water. "We visited, I told her all my preferences and I’m just letting her handle the rest."
Sienna scoffs loudly, throwing her hands up in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? I can't believe this! Camilla, you were practically a drill sergeant during my wedding prep. You wanted to choose every single detail, down to the jewelry. You almost fought me on that one."
“She did fight me about that!” Daniela laughs.
I let out a genuine laugh, the memory warming my chest. "Well, now that I'm actually the one who's going to be the bride, things feel a little too real. Honestly? I really don't care about the flowers or the decor. I just want the whole circus done and over with."
"Fair enough," Rosalia says softly, offering an understanding nod. "Given the circumstances, keeping it low-stress is probably for the best."
We fall back into our usual rhythm, laughing over old childhood memories, gossiping about people, and talking about completely random things. For a couple of hours, I am just Camilla—not a captive, not a political pawn, and certainly not the future wife of a ruthless Pakhan.
But reality has a way of reminding you exactly where you belong.
Deep inside my handbag, my phone begins to vibrate against the leather. I don't even need to pull it out to know who it is. The rhythmic buzzing continues, cutting through our laughter.
It's Maksim.
I deliberately ignore it, keeping my eyes fixed on Daniela as she finishes telling a hilarious story about her chaotic week. The phone stops, pauses for a few seconds, and then begins to vibrate all over again. He is getting impatient. Let him wait.
Ever since last night at the gala, when he pinned me against the restroom vanity, ruthlessly edged me right to the brink of a screaming climax, and then cruelly pulled away to cart me straight back home, I haven't spoken a single word to him.
The sheer frustration and anger from being left completely unfulfilled and manipulated has solidified into a cold, stubborn silent treatment.
Ignoring his calls is the only shred of control I have left, and I am going to milk it for all it's worth.
"Everything okay, Cami?" Eleonora asks, noticing my brief glance toward my purse.
"Perfect," I smile, reaching for the wine bottle to refill her glass.
We finish the rest of our food, the plates eventually cleared away to leave only our half-empty glasses and the warmth of lingering laughter. For a few more beautiful minutes, we just sit together, completely wrapped up in each other's company.
"Good evening, ladies."
The smooth, deep voice cuts through our laughter like a blade slicing through silk.
I freeze instantly, the smile vanishing from my face as a familiar, heavy aura blankets the entire booth. I look up to see Maksim standing at the edge of our table. He looks towering and devastatingly sharp in a dark designer suit, his gray-blue eyes sweeping over the scene.
He doesn't look at me. Not even a glance.
Instead, he fixes his attention entirely on my sisters, his expression smoothing into a mask of perfect, lethal politeness.
"I hope I am not interrupting," he says smoothly. "I wanted to officially introduce myself. I am Maksim Sokolov. I trust the restaurant has treated you well tonight and the food was to your liking?"
My sisters stiffen for a fraction of a second, the heavy weight of his name sinking in, but they quickly recover their composure. They are Carusos, after all; they know how to navigate dangerous men.
"The food was exquisite, Mr. Sokolov. Thank you," Rosalia says, her tone perfectly polite but laced with a protective vigilance.
She shifts her gaze to me before looking back at him.
"We were actually just getting ready to leave since it is getting quite late.
But we truly appreciate your hospitality tonight. "
"The pleasure is mine," Maksim replies, his voice a low, courteous rumble. "I will see you all again at the wedding."
I am absolutely seething. My blood runs hot with a mixture of defiance and pure fury as I slide out of the booth to hug my sisters goodbye.
I hold onto each of them tightly, whispering quiet promises to call them tomorrow, before walking them out to the front entrance of the restaurant.
We watch as they are escorted into their separate waiting vehicles, pulling away into the night.
The very second the last car disappears around the corner, the polite facade drops. I whirl around on my heel to face Maksim, who is standing right behind me in the shadows of the awning.
"You are unbelievable!" I snap, my voice trembling with rage. "Did you really have to come down here just to watch me? To show me that you own the place? I told you I was having dinner with my sisters, and you just couldn't resist holding the leash, could you?"
Maksim doesn't look angry. His face is a dead, unreadable mask as he turns away from me and begins walking briskly down the concrete steps toward our waiting SUV.
"Follow me," he says flatly over his shoulder.
His complete lack of an argument makes me even more livid. I storm down the steps after him, my chest heaving. "Don't ignore me, Maksim! I am speaking to—"
He stops dead in his tracks and snaps his body back around to face me, towering over me so suddenly that the words catch in my throat. The cold, dangerous Pakhan from the gala is back.
"Next time I call you, Camilla," he growls, his voice dangerously low, his eyes flashing with an icy promise, "you pick up the fucking phone. Am I making myself clear? I don't care if you're angry or what. When I call, you answer."
I open my mouth to fire back a scathing retort, taking a furious step forward, when a sharp crack echoes under my feet.
My ankle wobbles violently as the heel of my left shoe snaps completely off against a groove in the concrete. I let out a sharp gasp, stumbling sideways as I lose my balance.
Before I can hit the ground, Maksim's massive hands catch me by the waist, anchoring me against his solid frame. "Let go of me," I hiss, trying to push against his chest.
He ignores my protest, his eyes dropping to my broken shoe. He bends down, intending to scoop me up into his arms, but I fiercely shove his shoulders.
"No! Do not carry me. I am not a helpless child, and I am certainly not letting you carry me like a trophy after you just ruined my night!"
Maksim pauses, looking up at me through his dark lashes. For a second, I think he’s going to override me and lift me anyway. Instead, a heavy silence settles between us.
Without a word, he steps back. He reaches down, unbuckles his own expensive, polished leather dress shoes, and steps right out of them. Then, he bends down, grabs my feet one by one, and gently slips my broken heels off my feet.
Before I can even ask what he's doing, he slides his own large, dress shoes right in front of my bare feet.
"Put them on," he commands quietly.
I blink in surprise, looking from the massive shoes to him. I reluctantly slide my feet into them. They are absurdly huge, my feet swimming in the rich leather, but they are warm from his skin.
Maksim picks up my ruined footwear in one hand. Completely barefoot, his dark socks pressing directly against the cold, rough concrete of the pavement, he walks right beside me, matching his pace to my clumsy, oversized steps all the way to the open door of the car.
We slide into the backseat of the car, and the heavy door thuds shut, sealing us back into that familiar, suffocating leather bubble.
The engine purrs to life, pulling us out into the dimly lit streets.
I immediately kick off his ridiculously oversized shoes and tuck my bare feet up onto the seat, my entire body vibrating with residual anger.
"I am so tired of this," I bite out into the darkness of the car, the silence finally snapping.
I turn to glare at his silhouette. "I am tired of the noose around my neck.
I am tired of you hovering over me like I'm a prisoner waiting for execution, showing up at the restaurant just to flex your power. "
Maksim doesn't look at me. He just stares straight ahead, his jaw locked tight as he loosens the top button of his shirt. "I told you why I was there. You ignored my calls. In my world, a missing fiancé who isn't answering her phone usually means a corpse or a hostage."
"I was with my sisters!" I snap, throwing my hands up. "The only person threatening me right now is Viktor, and you refuse to tell me anything. What is Viktor planning? Give me something, Maksim. It's my life on the line."
He finally turns his head. "It's better if you don't know."
"Better for who? You?"
"Better for your safety, Camilla," he says, his voice dropping into that flat, dangerous tone that leaves absolutely no room for argument. "I handle Viktor. You focus on surviving the wedding. That is the end of the discussion."
I let out a sharp, frustrated huff, the sheer arrogance of his response making my blood boil. Without another word, I slide as far away from him as the leather seat allows, pressing my shoulder against the door and staring blindly out the window.
Let him think he's won this round. I don't care that we are getting married in less than forty-eight hours.
I don't care if I have to stand at an altar and say vows to him in front of the entire underworld.
I am never speaking to him again. Not a single word.
He can spend the rest of his life married to a ghost. The arrogant, controlling bastard.