25. Maks
25
MAKS
I barely taste the dinner we ordered, but from the sounds of pleasure that Lindsey makes with every new dish she tastes, it must be good. I just can’t stop thinking about what she said—how she doesn’t regret what’s happened. I don’t see how that’s possible when she’s been so vocal about her frustration over being my prisoner. She fought me tooth and nail at the start, and she ran every chance she got, but somehow, she can look back on the situation I put her in without resentment. Maybe that will change once she gains some distance, but it doesn’t stop the small seed of hope from planting itself in my chest, and it takes all my effort to root it out before it can get out of hand.
Watching Lindsey eat does little to help me on that front. I’ve never met someone who enjoys food quite like she does. She makes me enjoy the act of cooking more than I knew I could, and meals with her never fail to put me in a better mood—even when shit’s going sideways.
It also doesn’t help that tonight, it feels like all the walls we’ve built up over the past few weeks have fallen away. We’re talking like we used to, joking, flirting. It would be nearly impossible not to when Lindsey’s wearing a dress like that. She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, and every time I catch a glimpse of the rock on her finger, it makes me think about what might have been if we were living in some alternate universe.
“Seriously, I can’t eat another bite,” Lindsey insists as I push the passionfruit mousse back across the table toward her. Her laughter fills the space when I give it another nudge in her direction. “Okay, fine, but only if you finish it.”
The sound of her laughter does cartwheels to my chest, and I grin wolfishly, aware that I’ve smiled more at this dinner than I have in weeks. “Deal,” I say, and watch as she scoops a delicate bite onto her spoon and traps it between her lips. I can see the pleasure behind it, and the partial hard-on I’ve been sporting all dinner throbs. I fucking love watching Lindsey eat. I enjoy it almost as much as I enjoy tasting her pussy—partially because it makes me think of that face she makes when I do go down on her. Even if I spent a lifetime with her, I’m not sure I would tire of it, and my chest aches to think this could be the last time I get to see it.
“Maks,” she says, her eyebrows arching with warning, and she glances down at the dessert.
“Right.”
Scooping the last spoonful of mousse from the small ceramic dish, I put it in my mouth. It’s light and creamy, with just the right amount of tart tang and sweetness. I know that it’s exceptional—another reason I wanted to bring her here. But none of the food we’ve eaten tonight compares to Lindsey herself, and I’m just torturing myself with all of the reminders about what I’m going to miss about her. Still, if it’s my last night with her, I want to enjoy everything I love about her one last time.
“You ready to go?” I ask, glancing at my watch.
“Yeah.” Lindsey’s expression is suddenly nervous as she wipes her lips with her napkin and sets it on the table, then stands.
I follow suit, placing my hand on the small of her back again as I walk her toward the door. Her dress is cut low enough in the back that I get a glimpse of the dimples on either side of her spine, and again, I know I did this to myself—adding to the temptation until it’s nearly impossible to focus on the point of tonight. That’s actually a good thing, I think, because if I didn’t have Lindsey to distract me, I would be far too tempted to step in and kill Emiliano myself.
“That dinner was amazing,” Lindsey gushes once we’re inside the limo, her eyes bright as she turns toward me. “Thank you, Maks. Really.”
“You’re welcome.” I can feel her knee brushing lightly against mine, and when I glance down, the slit of her dress has fallen open to reveal one silky smooth thigh.
As I force my eyes back up to her face, I know she’s caught me looking, and my cock swells against my thigh. An undercurrent of electrical tension fills the back of the limo as Lindsey’s breath catches, and her tongue darts out to run across her lips. Fuck, I want to kiss her, to pull her onto my lap and feel what’s under that dress. If my security weren’t riding with us to the front doors of the event, I might act on the impulse, but as much as I want to touch Lindsey, I don’t want to give anyone else the pleasure of hearing the sounds she makes when my fingers are inside her.
“I almost forgot,” I say, breaking the connection as I turn from her to the compartment in the armrest beside me. “I have something for you.”
“Haven’t you already given me enough?” she asks, her voice incredulous.
I chuckle as I turn back to her, careful not to touch her this time and make my arousal any less bearable. I don’t answer as I hand her a large velvet box. She glances between it and me before accepting it, then slowly lifts the lid.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathes, running her fingers over the fine black lace mask with jewels sewn into the delicate pattern. It will cover both her eyes and the tops of her cheekbones, though the asymmetrical design curves higher along the left temple and down the jawline almost like a butterfly’s wing. She picks it up carefully, like she might break it just from touching it, and the black silk ties dangle from the corners. “Help me put it on?”
“Of course.” Our fingers brush as she passes it to me, and a jolt rushes up my arm. Trying to ignore it, I press the heel of my palm into my growing erection, subtly adjusting myself as she turns her back to me. Then I reach around her, letting her position the mask on her face before I tie it at the back of her head.
Her blond hair is soft and silky, cascading down her open back in waves, and after I tie the silk in a bow, I have to restrain myself from running my fingers through it before I pull away. When she turns to face me, my chest twinges at the sight of her blue eyes—somehow even more beautiful now that they’re her most prominent feature.
“Beautiful,” I state.
“What are you wearing?” she asks, glancing behind me expectantly.
Pulling out my more basic white one, I use the elastic to strap it to my face. The more structured style that covers my eyes and nose along with the right side of my face will make me less identifiable, and seeing as I’m sure Emiliano and his cronies will be on high alert for me tonight, the less recognizable I am, the better.
“You ready?” I ask as the limo pulls up to the bottom of the steps, where a red carpet leads the way and paparazzi line the steps. Everyone who is anyone in Chicago attends this event, and no doubt it will be the main headline in the news tomorrow morning—especially after what Lucian and I have planned.
“Yes,” Lindsey says, her voice suddenly breathless.
Nodding to my men, I say, “Stay close. Be ready to make a quick getaway if I give the word.”
“ Gospodin. ” Liam gives a curt nod of acknowledgment.
Then the driver opens the door, and I step out first to offer Lindsey my hand. She follows me, her fingers soft and delicate as she accepts the help, and the cameras start flashing as her long legs appear. Shielding her from any unwanted exposure, I wait until she straightens her dress, and she looks up at me with a smile, then she takes my elbow so I can lead her up the steps.
“Just ignore them,” I state as she flinches from the attention of the cameramen, the shouts from anonymous faces as they ask who she is.
She nods, pressing her lips together as we climb, and her grip on my arm tightens. “Is it going to be like that all night?”
“Just until we get inside,” I promise.
She takes a breath, and her steps quicken slightly, making me smile.
“Name?” the ticketmaster asks as we reach the top landing and stop in front of his podium.
“Oh, um, Lindsey Payne,” she says, leaning closer to watch as his finger scans down the list on his iPad.
“Welcome,” he says as he finds her and clicks the screen, then notes my presence before gesturing that we can both enter the convention center.
Strangely enough, it’s the most ordinary entrance I’ve probably ever made to an event like this. With my typical arm of guards waiting outside so I won’t draw unnecessary attention and the mask hiding my identity, I could almost be invisible in a crowd of Chicago’s top echelon. It feels good to have Lindsey on my arm, and while she’s most definitely catching people’s eyes, no one seems to even notice I exist. More importantly, no one’s tried to stop me from entering the event.
Signs and ushers lead us toward the gala, and as we step into the ballroom, Lindsey’s steps falter.
“You alright?” I murmur, slowing to match her sudden hesitation.
“I’ve just never been to anything like this,” she says, taking the room in with wonder. “I mean, I’ve been to the theatre and New Year’s parties and stuff, but—this is like some high society event I thought Hollywood made up.”
I chuckle, her disbelief only intensifying my enjoyment. “Surprise.”
Lindsey snorts, but she lets me lead her farther into the room, where a live orchestra is playing classical music as people wander, drink, and socialize while others move across a sprawling dance floor.
“Care to dance?” I offer as she watches their movements, her expression almost envious.
“Are you kidding me? I can’t dance like that.”
“Why not?” I press, grasping her hand and putting the other on the small of her back so I can steer her toward the floor.
“Have you seen me dance?” she asks incredulously, resisting me without successfully stopping us.
“Yes,” I say, the heat in my voice mirroring my memory of watching her dance in the club. She might not know the ballroom steps, but Lindsey knows how to dance.
“Maks, I’ve never done this before,” she objects. “I don’t know anything about the foxtrot.”
“Good, because this is the waltz,” I tease, continuing to nudge her forward.
“I’m going to look like an idiot!” she hisses.
“I won’t let that happen,” I promise. “Just follow my lead. If you aren’t having fun after one song, we can stop.”
Lindsey groans, but she stops fighting me, and I smile as we reach the dance floor.
“This hand here,” I instruct, resting her left hand on my shoulder. Then I take her right hand with my left and put my right hand on the small of her back to bring her closer. “Breathe, Lindsey,” I say quietly, and when she gives a breathy laugh, I start to lead.
She gasps as we fall in seamlessly with the other dangers, her head turning to watch as we move with the motion of the crowd, and her feet follow effortlessly, her instincts carrying her in the right direction as she lets me sweep her across the dance floor.
“Holy shit,” she gasps, turning her eyes back to me, and a radiant smile breaks across her face.
“I told you you wouldn’t look like an idiot,” I say playfully.
Lindsey laughs, and the sound makes my pulse quicken. If this is my last night with her, I’m glad this is how we’re spending it. Seeing her happy means more to me than I ever thought possible, and it feels so fucking good to hold her. I know it’s going to make saying goodbye nearly impossible, but there was no way I could keep my distance tonight.
The song ends, and the dancers transition, some moving off the dance floor changing partners, and I smile down at Lindsey as I keep her in my arms.
“Well?” I ask. “I only insisted on one song. Are you having fun?”
She nods, her hold tightening on my hand and arm, so when the music picks up again, I lead her into the next song. We dance until we’re breathless, then stop for some refreshment and wander around the space. In one of the adjoining rooms, we stop to watch the Italian opera singer for a while as she covers some of the most memorable pieces from the classical works, then we pass into the silent auction room to see what’s up for bid.
“Are you going to bid on anything?” Lindsey asks as we pass a beautiful sculpture showcased in glass.
“Considering I’m not supposed to be here tonight, it’s probably best if I don’t, but if you see something you like, I’ll cover the cost.”
She glances up at me from the corner of her eye, her cheeks coloring slightly. “Thanks.”
We wander in silence for some time, and I keep my eyes peeled for the reason we’re here, but as the hours pass, I still haven’t caught a glimpse of Emiliano. Though I do catch sight of Lucian and several of his men mingling in the crowd, the don’s absence starts to make me restless as the night continues.
Heading back into the ballroom once more, I do another sweep, and this time, Lucian’s gone as well. A sinking feeling settles in my stomach, and I scan the room again.
“Care for one more dance?” Lindsey suggests, her tone hopeful.
Looking down into her bright blue eyes, I smile. “Sure.”
The music’s calmer now, slowing down because the gala’s in its final hour, and as we sway to the rumba song, I pull Lindsey closer.
“I like this dance,” she murmurs, trapping her lip between her teeth as she peers up at me through her thick lashes.
The urge to lean in and kiss her sweeps through me, the desire so intense, I almost give in to it. But that won’t make this any easier. I need to find a way to let her go. But just like the countdown to Emiliano’s end, I know my time with Lindsey is finite, and I risk the possibility of breaking my word to her if I cross that line and can’t control myself any longer. I have to be able to let her go tomorrow.
Still, holding her like this, our bodies moving together in time to the romantic music is making it nearly fucking impossible to resist her. I know she can feel it too—that magnetic pull between us, that draw that keeps bringing me back for more. And when the song ends, we stay together, the air between us charged.
“Maks, I?—”
“Signor Yashkov.” One of Lucian’s men appears through the mass of bodies, grasping my arm urgently as he cuts Lindsey off. “The signore asked to speak with you in private,” he murmurs, his voice just loud enough that Lindsey and I can hear.
I really wanted to know what she was about to say, but when I met her eyes again, she just gives me a reassuring smile.
“It’s fine. Go,” she insists. “I’ll meet you over at the bar when you’re done.” She tips her chin toward the open bar set up along the far wall.
I glance around, doubts flooding my mind. My instincts tell me to stay, but if Lucian needs to talk, something must have gone wrong with the plan. “You’re sure?” I ask, studying her face.
“I’m not going anywhere, Maks.” Lindsey’s tone has an edge this time.
She thinks I don’t trust her, that I expect her to run, but it’s the opposite. I don’t trust a single goddamn soul in this room, not when it comes to her safety, and I clench my teeth at the thought of leaving her on her own.
“ Go, ” she insists, giving me a nudge, and when Lucian’s man tugs me in the right direction, I follow reluctantly, keeping my eye on her all the way until we reach the door.
Lucian’s man shows me down an empty hallway, glancing several times behind us to make sure no one’s tracking our movement. Then he opens a door and gestures me inside. I don’t have a weapon—the metal detectors at the front entrance wouldn’t allow it—but I suddenly feel naked without one, and my hand flexes instinctively toward the back of my waistband, where I would keep my gun if I had one right now. The room looks like an employee lounge or maybe even a large storage area with an overabundance of couches and several outdated coffee tables that must have been replaced by the ones muttered across the main atrium now. One of those box TVs with an antenna attached to the top sits in the far corner of the room, and a simple sink installed in a row of cabinets line one wall.
“We have a problem.” Lucian cuts right to the point as he steps out of the shadows, three of his men loosely closing in behind him. He’s still wearing his navy mask that matches his fine Italian suit, while they’re all wearing simple black masks and are dressed like the waitstaff that’s been wandering around, passing out hors d’oeuvres.
“No shit. Where is he?” I don’t use Emiliano’s name—just in case it’s a trap. When it comes to trust in our line of work, it’s near impossible to earn and quick to be revoked, and while Lucian is one of the few Italians I would consider putting my faith in, he is also stabbing his don in the back—or at least, that’s what he’s been claiming he wants, so I can’t rely on my instincts entirely for this one.
“I was going to ask you that. You’re sure the intel was good?”
“Yes.” Lindsey and I might have trust issues of our own, but on that front, I have no doubt—not after what Emiliano put her through.
Lucian gives a heavy sigh. “The night’s almost over. We’re running out of time. If he makes us wait much longer, we might have to pull the plug on this one.”
“If it doesn’t happen tonight, are we going to have a problem?”
The Italian shrugs. “Not a pressing one. Mostly just that we’ll be back to square one.”
Knowing that this isn’t our one opportunity loosens the knot in my stomach, and a shocking sense of relief rushes into me at the realization that it might not happen tonight. The emotion goes against everything I’ve fought so hard for years to achieve. But the relief is too powerful to deny, and when Lindsey’s face fills my mind, I know why—if Don Costanzo doesn’t die tonight, then I’ll have an excuse to hold onto her a little longer.
“Well then, we’ll just have to hope for the best,” I state. “Be ready until the last minute—just in case he does decide to show—and if it comes down to it, we’ll just have to find another opportunity.”
Lucian growls in frustration but gives a nod of agreement before signaling his men to return to their posts.
As I head back to the gala, that now-familiar sense of guilt-riddled anticipation coils in my belly. I will get Kira the vengeance she deserves, and I want to put Emiliano six feet under, but maybe—just maybe—I can have a few more stolen weeks with Lindsey.
When I enter the main ballroom, it’s easy to tell that the guests have started to call it an evening. The dance floor is significantly less crowded than when I left, and it’s not hard to find Lindsey standing by the bar in her knockout red dress. She seems to have made some friends while I was gone as she chats with two masked women who speak animatedly as they face her. I can’t quite make out her Lindsey’s expression beneath the mask, but based on the way she’s savaging her lower lip, I’m going to say the conversation isn’t going the way she wants it to, and I take a step in her direction, ready to cut in and invite her back onto the dance floor.
Then something catches my attention from the corner of my eye—a man in a green-and-gold paisley sport jacket. His gray hair is freshly cut and styled, his gold mask perched across his face, and even from this distance, I recognize Emiliano. He’s made his appearance—finally. But what turns my blood cold is the way he’s watching Lindsey. His expression is hungry, his eyes intent, and from the way he’s watching her, I’m confident that he knows who she is.
“Fuck,” I hiss, forcing my way through the crowd toward her. Our plan just got blown wide open—and that means Lindsey’s in danger.