Chapter 8
“Respect is like good bread. It takes time to make and only a second to ruin.”
— ROBERT MONROE
Constance
I’ve finished fixing my makeup and gotten the knots brushed out of my hair when Maximo comes back into the bedroom. “Still no word from Melissa?” I ask anxiously.
“Nothing yet, but I don’t know how long that procedure she was supposed to undergo takes. She might still be in recovery and just waking up,” Maximo tries to reassure me.
I was just beginning to dig through the long, narrow closet for something to wear when Maximo walks in with me and squeezes past me to head to the very back rack. There, he pulls down two of the stiff white vests I recognize as the thin body armor he’s had me wear before.
“We’re not going to take any chances today,” he says as he untucks and begins unbuttoning the shirt he’s wearing. “I told my boys to wear theirs too and carry their weapons in the truck. We’re going to make sure you stay safe today.”
“I don’t mind,” I tell him as I take the vest he offers me.
I shimmy out of the new bathrobe I borrowed, then pull the body armor over my head and fix the Velcro cinches until it’s tight.
It’s uncomfortable with nothing but my bra underneath it.
The last time I wore this thing I had on a camisole.
I think about changing but decide I can bear it for today and instead pull one of Maximo’s T-shirts and hoodies off a hangar, then find a pair of jeans that fit me.
“All those clothes I had brought in for you, and you steal my shirts,” he teases me as I pull the plain blue tee over my head.
“I like the way they smell and they’re comfortable,” I explain as I wave a hand at the variety of clothes on the rack he had assigned for my wardrobe.
“It’s easy for you to hide body armor under a suit; it’s not so simple with the kind of clothes I wear day-to-day.
I will look less awkward wearing something baggy.
I appreciate everything you brought for me, though.
Your stylist did an amazing job. I love these jeans,” I add as I pull them on, then find a new pair of boots in the shoe pile.
I liked the ones I wore yesterday best, but like the rest of that outfit, they were ruined.
“Well, you should wear whatever makes you comfortable. You look beautiful in everything,” Maximo says as he cinches his own vest over his undershirt. My eyes linger on his shoulders and arms as he pulls his dress shirt back on and begins buttoning it.
“You do too,” I tell him, then laugh at the blush that rises in his cheeks. “You don’t get many compliments, do you?” I ask as I squeeze his arm in appreciation.
“From my mother, sure.” He smiles at me. “But that hardly counts. That reminds me, I haven’t spoken to her since everything happened yesterday. We’ll have to invite her over for dinner this weekend and tell her all about the excitement.”
“The excitement? Is that how you refer to life-or-death situations? You make it sound so casual.”
“She’s used to this sort of thing. She dealt with several crises over the course of my father’s life. I think she was more worried about me and the trials I endured right after taking over for him, honestly. She never seemed all that worried about my father.”
“Well, I’m fine with whatever you want to tell her. If she’s involved enough in your life to know what you do, she can probably handle the details.”
A sudden wave of nausea rolls my stomach as the anxiety that’s plagued me since the abduction grips me once again. “I need to use the bathroom while you finish getting ready.” I excuse myself and walk away stiffly, unsure if I’m actually going to vomit or not.
I asked Maximo last night how he deals with the uncertainty, the fear of someone always being after him.
I’m not certain if he was just being facetious when he raised his glass to me in a toast, or if alcohol is really the best coping mechanism he’s been able to find.
Maybe he’s just gotten used to the responsibility of his position and the inherent danger of being the head of a powerful family tied to so much of the business in the city.
I want to ask him, but I hate feeling this way—helpless and riddled with crushing anxiety.
Knowing what I know now, would I have still killed Kirill Volkov?
“You’re goddamn right I would,” I growl at my reflection as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. The surge of rage feels good and helps abate the tension and weight that’s gripped me. “Fuck him and fuck that murderous whore who gave birth to him.”
I’ll help Maximo get through this, I promise myself.
Despite my fears, one thing I know for certain is that I’m crazy for the man.
I want to be a part of his life. I want to stand by his side and be with him as we get through these challenges.
And yes, I decide as my hand drops to my belly, my fingers scratching at the stiff armor under my shirt, I want to have his child.
“But I can’t say anything yet,” I whisper.
Maximo has placed me on a shelf above others in his life, which I don’t mind, but I refuse to be sealed away entirely in the name of my safety.
I grew up with a single father, and I’ve always had to be independent.
I’m not willing to sacrifice my freedom for safety, especially when there’s no guarantee there is any safety to be had.
Melissa encouraged me to take a step back from Maximo, even accusing him of love-bombing me.
If it was just the wardrobe, or the affection he displays towards me, maybe I would agree.
But Maximo gave me something no other man alive could have delivered.
He gave me vengeance. I didn’t have the words to explain to him before, but when the subject invariably comes up again, I now know what to tell him.
That I’m just as crazy about him as he is about me.
“I’m going to go downstairs and make sure my men are getting ready,” Maximo says through the bathroom door.
“I’ll be down in just a few!” I call back to him. “Go grab me another knife from your arsenal!” I remind him.
I hear him bark a laugh and say, “I’ve got you,” before his heavy footsteps thump away from the door.
“I know you do.” I nod to my reflection. “And I’ve got you, too, Maximo. We’ll get through this together.
With a deep breath to reassure myself that it is the truth, I turn to go catch up with him.
The five of us pile into one of the black SUVs lined up out front of the estate a short time later.
Joey is driving again, with Tony up front in the passenger seat.
No one wanted to be pressed into his bulk in the back where Trenton has one window and I’m wedged in the middle.
Maximo is to my right, typing in some notes on his phone.
“I need to remember to ask Detective Tillman if they recovered your purse and phone,” he explains as he flashes the screen at me to show me the message he was typing.
“Did you have time to get me a knife before we left?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” he says as he reaches inside his suit coat and pulls a switchblade that’s almost identical to the one I had been carrying yesterday.
The only difference is that this one has a forest green case, and the word RANGER printed on it in bold white letters.
“Trenton has that pistol you prefer too in the bag,” he adds as he points to a tool bag sitting in the floor by my feet.
I tuck the knife down inside my boot, then pick up the heavy tool bag and set it on my lap.
Maximo reaches over and pulls out a massive revolver.
He checks to make sure it’s loaded, then stuffs it into a holster he’s wearing under his jacket.
“Did you get one for yourself, too?” Maximo asks Trenton.
“Yeah, but I don’t have a permit to carry any of these. I’m only registered with this old nine-millimeter of mine,” Trenton replies as he pats at his coat. “I got that Colt of yours because you said it’s registered. It’s okay for you to carry around town.”
“We’ll get you a permit and make it legal as soon as we can,” Maximo tells me. “For today, you can leave it in the car when we have to step out. Keep it in the bag and keep it near you. Tony, Joey, you both armed?”
“Yes, sir,” Joey confirms as he drops a hand to the butt of a pistol tucked between his seat and the center console, right by his seat belt latch.
“Yeah, boss,” Tony says before jerking a thumb at the back of the SUV. “I put a couple of rifles and a shotgun in the back too, just in case.”
“Good man,” Maximo says and settles back into his seat.
“When can I get a permit?” I ask him. I can see the pistol I shot Kirill Volkov with glinting up at me from the bag, and I quickly set it back on the floor.
“We’ll get you a new gun and get it registered to you with all the proper permits as soon as you’re ready,” Maximo says. “We can go tomorrow if you like. Today, I think we have a full dance card.”
“I know we’re heading into town, but where do you want to go exactly?” Joey asks as he navigates the wide streets of the Scarsdale neighborhood surrounding Maximo’s estate.
“What did your biker buddies say?” Maximo leans forward to ask Trenton. “Are they interested in helping out?”
“I called over to their clubhouse, the one they set up over in the East Village,” Trenton replies.
“They wanted to meet you directly to go over the details. They didn’t want to talk any specifics on the phone but said they were always looking for paying gigs.
You said to set up a meeting if they needed, so I told them to be at Luciani Financial at noon.
I called it into the office and they got it scheduled.
They’re even going to put out some coffee and snacks. ”
“Why do you want to meet a group of bikers at your office?” I ask Maximo. “Are these the guys you think can help us track down Sizemore?”