2. Maxim
CHAPTER TWO
maxim
Present
“Angelo, you drive like an old lady,” I complained as Santelli seemed to slow even further and stopped at the yellow light. “It’s yellow. That means go faster, you asshole.”
“No, that means caution, you dick,” he argued.
Santelli babied his 1968 Lamborghini Miura like it had just come off the showroom floor instead of it being old as fuck. It drove us crazy.
“It’s a special car. I need to be careful with it.”
I rolled my eyes. It was a nice car, but Angelo was absolutely ridiculous about it. The day he got it, he sat next to it in a lawn chair and stared at it, making us listen while he told us all sorts of random car facts that we didn’t give two fucks about. We weren’t even allowed to drive it, and I’m surprised he let us ride in it.
“We’re going to be late.”
He sent me a slow look. “We’re almost there, you impatient fuck. You’re the one that insisted that I pick you up.”
“I don’t like to drive,” I grumbled.
Angelo pulled his car into the familiar lot of the lounge where we’d all met what seemed to be a lifetime ago. It had become upscale partly because we’d burned the building down and started revitalizing the area and partly because we had our enforcers keeping crime down in the neighborhood.
As if he were reading my thoughts, Angelo said next to me, “That was a good night.”
“Yeah, it was,” I agreed. Even now, the memory was sweet. “The old place was an eyesore.”
The four of us had snuck out, came to the old strip joint, and had a couple of beers. We’d been teenagers then, except for Ilias, the baby of our little squad. Dawn had been creeping over the horizon when we lit the match and set the whole thing on fire. We had sat on the curb for a few minutes until we heard sirens, watching the place burn. Then, we ran like the wind, cackling like mad hatters.
“You were slow even then,” I added as we walked into the club.
What used to be dingy and tacky had become a classy gentleman’s lounge with low lighting, wood floors, and scattered plush couches. The idea had started small at first to rebuild it into something we could use — a headquarters, and then it took on a life of its own. It had taken many years to come to fruition.
Today, we had our club, Fortune .
I couldn’t claim too much credit in the venture. This was Angelo’s baby. Well, money. I’d put my twenty-five percent in. That was the deal. The four of us agreed that we’d invest in rebuilding the club, but how we wanted — a place to hatch our plans and see our businesses grow. It would be a piece of our revenge. The four of us were all about revenge, but Angelo had the vision, so credit should go to him.
“Looks good.”
“I know,” he smirked, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, asshole, they’re waiting for us.”
I could just make out the two men waiting in the back corner. Conall and Ilias sat in the low light of the brass lamps in one of the private booths, their drinks already sweating on the table. They looked up as we approached, each of them giving a nod. Conall lifted his glass in a silent toast, his eyes sharp, as always, assessing. On the other hand, Ilias leaned back in his seat, arms spread out over the backrest, looking like he owned the place—to be fair, we all did.
“You two took your damn time,” Conall said, raising an eyebrow. “Did Angelo drive like someone’s granny again?”
“Only because Maxim’s too much of a princess to drive himself,” Angelo muttered, releasing me with a good-natured shove as we slid into the booth.
I grinned, lifting my own glass after a waiter appeared to set it down. “Someone has to balance out all the tough guys around here. Besides, I have a reputation to maintain,” I joked.
Ilias laughed, his effortless demeanor never entirely masking the cunning lurking underneath. “Some things don’t change. You still bitching about everything, Maxim?”
“Are you still pretending you’re the responsible one?” I countered, grinning at him.
The easy banter between us slipped into silence as we settled into our seats, each of us falling into our thoughts. We rarely got together like this; responsibilities pulled us in different directions, and we now ran our own crews, organizations, or businesses. But when we met, there was a certain gravity to it, as if the four of us coming together signaled something important, something inevitable.
Conall leaned forward, his tone dropping. “How’s the business on the West Coast?”
I took a sip, then set my glass down. “It’s good. The restructuring is taking longer than I’d like, but it’s working. Besides, it has been quiet, which helps. Boring, honestly.”
“Quiet isn’t always a good thing,” Angelo pointed out, swirling his whiskey. “Sometimes it’s the calm before the storm.”
“Well, I’m more than ready if anything kicks up.” I wasn’t concerned about trouble. There were measures that I’d taken for my West Coast operations, and now that Dimitri had resurfaced, I felt more comfortable than ever with how things stood. “How’s New York?”
Angelo shrugged. “Good. Lots of turf issues.”
Ilias nodded in agreement. “My guys tell me there’s talk that the Olivetos are trying to take over some of the Scarpato’s turf.”
Angelo’s gaze narrowed. “Oh, are they?” He scoffed. “Are we intervening or letting them hash it out?”
There were essentially five prominent Italian families in New York, but Angelo had been itching to take over and consolidate. He’d love to expand the Santelli family’s reach. Angelo’s mafia family was small but ruthless and efficient. While others in the Italian sector were hapless and without direction, Angelo kept a tight ship, and his men were loyal. It helped that the Santelli mafia was directly allied with all members of the Commission. It made a lethal combo. Cross one of us, and you crossed us all.
I shrugged. “For now, let’s see what happens. But if they step too far, we’ll act. We have enough to deal with.”
Conall nodded in approval. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To keep each other informed and prepared. Stronger together.”
Angelo was the first to break the moment. “Well, enough with the serious shit. I didn’t build this place to sit around brooding. Let’s celebrate— Fortune is open, business is booming, and we’re all under one roof for the first time in years.”
Ilias’s face lit up, his grin widening. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Let’s live a little.”
He signaled the bartender for another round, and soon enough, drinks were flowing, laughter echoing off the walls of our new club. We’d come a long way from the reckless teenagers who set fire to that crumbling dive.
I glanced around the table at the faces of these men who had been through it all with me—fights, bloodshed, betrayal, and laughter. In a world where trust was a rare and precious thing, we’d managed to build something out of the ruins.
As the drinks flowed, Conall leaned in, lowering his voice, and his tone slipped from celebratory to strategic. “Maxim, we’ve heard rumors about a bratva outfit in the city. Their leadership is weak—infighting and lost alliances. It could be… ripe for the taking. It’d be nice to have someone in our corner here.” He straightened his tie, smoothing it against his shirt. Conall was at the core of things particular in how he did everything.
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “New York has been a no-man’s-land for the Volkovs for years. They’re barely hanging on, then?”
Ilias nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah. They’re running on fumes. From what I’ve heard, they’ve lost the loyalty of their men. Lost the respect of their allies, which means every crew in that territory is looking for a way in. If you step in, you can consolidate what’s left and bring order. With us in your corner, you could do it. Bring your men, and it’d be a slam dunk.”
Angelo leaned back, swirling his whiskey, but his gaze sharpened. “But leaving the West Coast? That’s no small thing, Maxim. You’ve spent years building up your presence there. You walk away, even briefly, and someone will start circling.”
I nodded slowly, my thoughts weighing the possibility against the reality of what I’d be leaving behind. “I get it. But I’ve established my foothold out there. New York would double our leverage. It would give us a strategic advantage, not to mention the control over trade routes.”
Conall’s lip twitched, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. “The problem is, there’s no guarantee. The bratva here might be weak, but there are still others lurking. Some of the other families… they’ll want a piece of it, and if you show up on their doorstep, they’ll push back hard. Are we ready?”
Ilias chimed in, a note of caution in his voice. “Plus, your absence on the West Coast could send the wrong message. You’ve got rivals there who’d love to chip away at your territory while you’re distracted.”
I ran a hand over my jaw, absorbing their words. They were right, and I knew it. My empire in California was stable, but only because I was there to enforce that stability. The East Coast could bring new power, but it could also bring new problems. The idea of being close to my friends again was enticing. When we were young, it was something we had promised.
“I don’t plan on abandoning the West Coast,” I said firmly. “If I go, it’s for the long game. And I’d be smart about it—split my time, keep my men in line. Build a bridge between both.”
Angelo gave a slow nod, his calculating gaze fixed on me. “You’d need someone you trust to handle things in California while you’re gone. Someone who commands respect. You have anyone like that?”
For a moment, I paused, picturing the men loyal to me who could handle the pressure. “There are a few. I’ll need to put them to the test, but it might be worth the risk if it means expanding the family’s reach and solidifying control coast-to-coast.”
Conall raised his glass. “Then here’s to risk—and to new territory. If anyone’s crazy enough to pull it off, it’s you, Maxim.”
The others joined in, and I lifted my glass, feeling the thrill of the unknown mixed with the cold, calculating drive that had been guiding me for years.
Conall lowered his glass, his tone shifting from the thrill of expansion to something heavier, more serious. “There’s something else we need to discuss, lads. That old arrangement our fathers put in place—the blood oath.”
I felt the weight of his words settle over the table and glance at the others. Conall’s face was set, Angelo frowned, and Ilias looked annoyed. We all knew what he was talking about: the pact that bound our families together when we were kids, signed in blood and sealed by each of our fathers. They promised each other that we, their sons, would marry into each other’s families to keep our alliance secure and unbreakable.
Conall was the oldest of us, and he was the one that kept us on track. The grumpy asshole was fastidious in how he wanted things handled, but he wasn’t wrong. It was past time that we thought about this. It was a topic we’d avoided for a long time, but we’d been racing along toward honoring that blood oath in all ways but one.
Angelo rolled his eyes, looking unimpressed. “So? Are you saying it’s time we followed through on that mess? We’re grown men now, Conall. I think we should be able to choose who we marry.”
Conall raised an eyebrow, holding Angelo’s gaze. “That oath was no small thing, brother. It’s not just a promise—it’s a blood bond. And in our world, blood oaths aren’t taken lightly. Don’t be thinking we can break it. We have our blood on that feckin’ thing. If we’re going to expand—if Maxim’s going to expand to New York—it might be time to solidify that bond. And like it or not, the best way to do that is through family.” Conall sighed. “I’m getting older, and I’ll need an heir soon. Like it or not, that’s just how our world works.”
Angelo huffed, running a hand through his hair. “And what if we disagree? If any one of us refuses, what then? The other families come for us? We’ve ignored it this long. Why can’t we just keep ignoring it?”
Conall’s jaw tightened. “Criminal organizations have short memories for good deeds and long ones for broken promises. You know as well as I do, Angelo—nobody breaks a blood oath and walks away unscathed. Do you want to be the one to test that theory?”
Angelo leaned back, still skeptical. Ilias scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “We’re talking about marriage here, not business. Why should we be forced into something because of a promise our fathers made? I was fucking ten when he made me put blood on that paper,” Ilias said sulkily.
“Because it’s not just a promise. It’s our legacy.” I spoke up, meeting each of their eyes. “Our fathers may have built this alliance with their shitty trafficking, but we tore that to the ground. We swore to each other that we’d build something better — something true and honest. It’s up to us to keep our word and our promises. We might not have signed willingly, but we promised. Our word is our bond. If it means marrying into each other’s families, so be it. I’ll go first.”
They knew I was right, and I saw resignation on Angelo and Ilias’ faces. I didn’t mention that I had other motives. It had only been recently that I’d found my half-sister Galena — my father’s little secret. This agreement with the others would provide for her. Right now, she was on the fringes of the underworld — a target. Marrying one of my friends would protect her. I had left her to her normal life, but it was only a matter of time before she was discovered.
There was a pause as the others considered my words. Conall nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in approval, while Angelo sighed, looking as if he were facing a firing squad. Ilias ground his teeth but finally shrugged, muttering, “God help whoever is marrying my sister. She’s going to be pissed. Fine. Whatever.”
“Good. I’m glad you all agree.” Conall reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out four scraps of paper. “If we’re doing this, let’s keep it simple. Draw randomly, and that’s the family you’re marrying into. No arguments, no deals. Fate decides.”
He folded each piece and tossed them into a tumbler before clearing his throat. I didn’t question him, but random and Conall had never been in a sentence together before.
“Let’s draw,” he said, shaking the tumbler.
I narrowed my eyes at him as I watched him look at the glass before gingerly picking one of the scraps out before he indicated that the rest of us should draw. One by one, we drew until each of us was left holding a slip of paper. I unfolded mine. The name inked in dark letters stared back at me: O’Kelly .
The others revealed their slips. Conall stroked the paper in a gesture only I saw— Santelli . Angelo, looking slightly amused, had Anthakos . Ilias frowned at his paper, turning it over in his fingers as if he could change it by force of will: Volkov .
So it would be Ilias who would have Galena’s safety in his hands. I could live with that. The room fell into silence as we absorbed what this meant. Conall broke it, raising his glass again. “Looks like the plan is in motion.”
Angelo chuckled, though there was a hint of tension in it. “Well, here’s to alliances and to these poor girls that are stuck with us.”
It was no secret to anyone that Conall had a thing for Francesca Santelli. He’d rigged the whole thing, not that I cared. According to Angelo, Francesca had been careening along a path of destruction for a while, so maybe Conall could help set her to rights.
Theodosia Anthakos was someone I was glad not to be paired with, so I was relieved. The girl was a menace and constantly in trouble. Good luck to Angelo.
That put me with Cora O’Kelly, who I knew nothing about. I’d take my chances.
We all laughed, but underneath was the understanding that things were set in motion now. There was no backing out. The blood oath had spoken, binding us not just by loyalty but by marriage into something deeper, more permanent.
If it was what was needed to secure our empires, then so be it.