Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MAKSIM
When Camilla and I arrive at the restaurant, the dining room is completely empty, closed off to the public for the evening.
No lingering eyes, no security risks, and no unwanted audience.
The establishment is mine, so Dmitri called ahead.
A select few of my most trusted staff stayed behind, quietly moving through the shadows to transform the floor into something fitting for the woman sitting beside me.
The space opens up into a stunning, high-arched sanctuary of dark velvet and polished marble.
Warm, amber light flickers against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, casting long, elegant shadows across the room.
Right in the center of the floor sits a single round table, draped in heavy, seamless white linen.
It is impeccably set.
Dozens of deep crimson roses bleed over the edges of a towering crystal vase, their scent thick and rich in the air.
Surrounding them are polished golden candelabras, their dancing flames reflecting off the polished silverware and sparkling crystal stemware.
The tabletop is already weighted down with an extravagant spread—platters of seared rack of lamb, fresh seafood, artisan cheeses, and an expensive bottle of vintage red wine sitting in ice.
Camilla looks breathlessly beautiful standing beside me.
She wears a dark, form-fitting dress that clings to every curve I claimed o in our bedroom, her hair cascading softly over her bare shoulders.
Looking at her in the soft candlelight, a strange, rare sensation settles in my chest. For the first time in months—maybe years—I feel completely, entirely relaxed.
The crushing weight of the Bratva, Viktor's threats, and the elders' quiet plotting all fade into the background.
I pull out a heavy velvet chair for her, waiting until she sits before taking my seat directly across from her.
Camilla looks around the glowing, empty room, a soft, genuine smile touching her lips before her eyes meet mine.
"Thank you for bringing me out, Maksim," she says softly, her voice carrying a quiet warmth that cuts straight through the cold armor I’ve worn my whole life. "This is... incredible."
I clear my throat, shifting slightly in my seat. "Let's eat," I say, my voice a little rougher than intended.
Because if I don't say that right now, I might say something else. Something dangerous. Something my dark, rigid heart won't even begin to understand.
We immediately start eating, the high-end spread tasting exceptional, though my focus remains split.
Every ten minutes like clockwork, my phone pings against the heavy tablecloth. Silenced, but buzzing with short, precise updates from my security team positioned around the restaurant perimeter and adjacent streets.
Camilla has no idea they're out there. I explicitly told my men to be shadows, completely invisible to her. She wanted a private night, a normal night out, away from the fortress, but I simply can't give her absolute vulnerability. Not while Viktor is breathing.
Just as she finishes her food, she grabs her wine flute and takes a slow sip. Her dark eyes fixate on me, watching the subtle movement of my thumb turning my phone screen face down for the fourth time.
She sets her flute down with a deliberate, soft clink.
"If this is supposed to be a real dinner, Maksim," she says, calling me out with that sharp, unyielding gaze of hers, "you have to stop treating it like a security operation."
I let out a slow, heavy sigh, running a hand over my jaw. The instinct to monitor every angle is built into my DNA, but I meet her eyes honestly. "I'm trying, Camilla."
Instead of pulling back or getting angry, she reaches straight across the linen table, her soft fingers wrapping around my large, calloused hand.
"Let's play twenty questions," she offers, a subtle challenge dancing in her eyes.
I frown, staring down at her hand over mine before looking back up at her face. "What the hell is that?"
A bright, genuine laugh spills from Camilla’s lips, the sound echoing softly off the high arched ceiling.
"It’s a game, Pakhan," she says, her thumb lightly tracing the back of my knuckles. "We take turns asking each other twenty questions. You ask me something, I answer truthfully, and then I ask you something. No dodging, no corporate answers, and no bullshit. Just pure honesty."
A quiet chuckle escapes my throat, but beneath it, a sudden knot of tension tightens in my chest.
Honesty isn't a currency I deal in often.
In my world, raw truth is leverage—a weakness someone can press a knife against. As I look into her dark, expectant eyes, I'm not sure I can give her the level of transparency she’s asking for.
I just hope to God she keeps it light and doesn't push into territory too deep for me to navigate without lying.
"Alright," I say slowly, leaning back in my chair, keeping my hand laced in hers. "How do we start?"
Camilla smiles, her dark eyes flashing with playful mischief across the candlelight.
"You go first."
"I don’t know how to play it," I admit, leaning back against my chair. "You ask me first."
She giggles, resting her chin on her free hand while her dark eyes hold mine across the warm candlelight.
"Alright," she says softly, her voice filled with quiet curiosity. "What’s something you’re proud of that most people don’t know?"
I hum, shifting slightly as I fall into silence.
The question catches me off guard. People in my position are proud of territory, body counts, power, or line of succession.
But none of those answers feel right to give to her tonight.
I take a slow sip of my wine, letting the quiet hang between us while I search for something real.
"When I was twenty-two, right in the midst of a power tussle," I say slowly, my voice dropping into a quiet rumble. "The estate was in absolute chaos. Everyone expected me to burn down half the city to assert my dominance. Instead, I quietly secured a clean, legal trust fund for the families of every soldier who died under my father’s reign. No press. No Bratva credit. Just making sure the mothers and children were taken care of without ever having to bow to this life again. Nobody in the council knows I did it. They think it was an offshore loss. I’m very proud of that.”
Camilla’s expression softens completely, a warm, genuine smile spreading across her lips as she nods, visibly touched by the truth.
"Your turn," she says softly.
I look at her, taking in the soft glow of the candlelight against her skin. "What’s a memory that still makes you smile?"
Her smile slowly fades, replaced by a deep, nostalgic quiet that fills the space between us. She looks down at our joined hands for a moment, her thumb lightly tracing my wrist before she speaks.
"The time when my sisters and I were all still living under one roof," she whispers, her eyes shining with a mixture of warmth and ache. "Rosalia, Eleonora, Sienna, Daniela, and me. Before everything got complicated. Before marriages, alliances, and politics."
She lets out a tiny, breathless laugh, looking back up at me.
"We used to play padel on the back courts every single weekend, screaming at each other over ridiculous points. We’d crowd into one bedroom at night, blasting music, dancing and singing until our throats hurt, stealing each other’s clothes without asking.
It was chaotic, loud, and completely imperfect...
but we had each other. That memory still keeps me warm. "
I listen to her, processing the vulnerability in her voice. "I know how much your sisters mean to you, Camilla," I say gently, my grip on her fingers tightening just a fraction. "I won't ever separate you from them. Whatever happens with your father or Viktor, that bond stays untouched."
She blinks back the faint sheen in her eyes and smiles softly. "Thank you, Maksim."
"I actually enjoy this game," I say, leaning forward on my elbow, a subtle smirk playing on my lips. "Ask me another question."
She laughs softly, swirling the last of the red wine in her glass before setting it down. She tilts her head, her dark eyes locking onto mine with a sudden, sharper curiosity. "If someone betrayed you once, could they ever earn your trust again?"
I hum, shifting in my seat as the atmosphere shifts back to the brutal realities of my life. I don't hesitate long.
"No," I answer plainly, my voice dropping into a low, firm register. "In my position, a second chance is a luxury I can't afford. Betrayal doesn't just hurt pride—it gets people killed. Once that line is crossed, it's over."
Camilla nods slowly, understanding the weight of the words. "That’s true."
"My turn," I say, turning the tables before the mood gets too heavy. "When was the last time you felt completely safe?"
I expect her to name a time before the auction, or a quiet moment back at her family's villa. But without a second of hesitation, her eyes meet mine, honest and unwavering.
"With you," she says softly. "I always feel completely safe."
A dramatic, mocking gasp slips out of me. I clutch my hand over my chest, widening my eyes in exaggerated shock. "With me? But you prove to be the most difficult woman on the planet every single time I try to keep you safe!"
A rich, melodious laugh bursts out of her, the sound filling the quiet, candlelit restaurant.
"Because your methods are always extreme!" she says through her laughter, pointing a finger at me across the table. "Locking down a mansion for two weeks isn't normal, Pakhan!"
"I can't believe this," I mutter, shaking my head with a genuine laugh of my own, the heavy armor around my chest completely disintegrating in her light. "I give you top-tier Bratva security, and I get accused of being extreme."
She parts her lips, ready to fire back another witty retort, when the quiet atmosphere gently shifts. From the hidden speakers lining the high arched ceiling, a soft, slow melody begins to swell, filling the vast, empty restaurant with low strings and a gentle piano rhythm.
Camilla arches an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Don't tell me you organized a playlist too, Pakhan. Or do you only dance when it helps you intimidate someone on the floor?"
"Is that a challenge, princess?" I ask, setting my glass down on the white linen.
"Maybe it is," she hums, tilting her head. "I just can't picture you moving to music unless there's a threat attached."
Without a word, I stand up from the table, smoothing the front of my tailored suit jacket. I step around the candelabra-lit table and extend my open hand down to her.
Camilla looks at my outstretched palm, her dark eyes flashing with a mix of surprise and lingering defiance. But she places her hand in mine. I pull her up smoothly, leading her away from the table and into the wide, open aisle between the empty, velvet-draped dining booths.
At first, the dance is stiff, almost a battle of wills.
Camilla moves with a sharp, mocking grace, trying to provoke me—tilting her chin up, testing my grip, seeing how far she can push the stoic Bratva leader.
I keep my frame tight and controlled, my expression locked in a stoic mask as I guide her through the steps, refusing to let her throw me off balance.
"You're stiff, Maksim," she murmurs, her breath hot against my collarbone as she tries to lead.
"I am adapting to my partner," I rumble back, my hand pressing firmly into the small of her back, holding her right where I want her.
Slowly, the playful friction begins to melt away.
The dining room is dimly lit, illuminated only by the flickering golden glow of our table's candelabras and the distant city lights beyond the tall glass windows.
There are no guards watching, no rival bosses to posture for, no elders to convince, and no audience to perform for.
It is just the two of us, suspended in the quiet darkness of the night.
Her hand softens in my grip. Her eyes soften, locking onto mine with a raw, unshielded trust that pulls the remaining air right out of my lungs. My grip on her waist loosens, turning gentle, guiding her effortlessly across the polished floor.
The music swells, building into a powerful, breathtaking crescendo.
I pull her close, then send her spinning outward in a smooth, sweeping twirl.
Her dark hair fanning out around her face, her laughter catching in her throat, her dress catching the golden light—and as I draw her back flush against my chest, her hand resting over my hammering heart, the realization hits me with the force of a freight train.
This woman isn't just an asset. She isn't just a political pawn in a war against her father, or a responsibility I inherited to prove my strength to the elders.
She means far more to me than I ever realized. And God help anyone who tries to take her from me.