32. Cora
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
cora
The soft hum of the computer was the only sound in the room as I sat at my desk, my fingers brushing over the keyboard. My new office space was pristine, every detail meticulously arranged—a quiet testament to Maxim’s peculiar way of showing care. A sleek monitor dominated the desk, with my damaged camera set to the side. Though the camera’s body was a lost cause from the attack, the SD card had survived. It now sat safely in a card reader, revealing the gritty, raw photos I had captured at the scene of the Fortune fire.
I had other photos that I needed to edit, but I wanted to revisit the scene — so to speak. Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself.
I was safe. I knew that O’Gara was dead thanks to Ronnie’s comment in our text chat yesterday. I’d kept myself from asking Maxim about it since I already knew the outcome. What would I say anyway? It wasn’t as if I disagreed that he’d killed him.
I leaned closer to the screen, adjusting the exposure on a striking shot. The image showed flames licking at the edges of the building, their light contrasting sharply with the shadows of the onlookers. My breath caught as I zoomed in on the faces of the workers on the fringes of the parking lot. Fear and curiosity painted their expressions. A strange pang of guilt twisted in my chest as I edited—like I was intruding on something —but this was why I loved photography, this opportunity to catch a glimpse behind the veil.
Clyde leaped onto the desk, batting at the corner of the monitor with his tiny paw. I smiled and scratched behind his ears. “You’re not helping, Clyde.” The kitten mewed in protest, flopping onto the keyboard.
“If you delete this photo, we’re going to have a serious problem,” I warned playfully, lifting him into my lap. He purred contentedly as I continued my work, one hand occasionally straying to pet his soft fur.
I lost myself in the editing rhythm: adjusting contrasts, sharpening details, and cropping distractions. Each photo pulled me deeper into the memory of the fire—the heat, the chaos, and the moment I realized the danger I had been in. My hand hovered over a photo of a charred sign, its letters barely legible: Fortune .
There was no sign of O’Gara anywhere in the shots. I wasn’t sure what I thought I’d find or why my brain had been so insistent that I do these pictures first.
I began to understand that our lives were messy and entangled—his world of power and shadows collided with my quieter one, and somehow, I didn’t mind.
Pausing on a photo, I focused on the man standing in the shadows watching Maxim and Conall. My finger hovered for a minute, and after a quick edit, I sent it to Maxim’s email. I wouldn’t repeat the mistake of not sharing a photo that tugged at my gut. Maybe it was nothing, or maybe it was important.
A knock at the doorframe startled me. I turned to see Kolya, my apparent guard at the townhouse that day. His large frame nearly filled the doorway, and his expression was as impassive as ever. He was wincing today and walking gingerly. I suspected he might have gotten a couple of gut punches from my husband for letting me wander off. My insides squirmed with guilt. It wasn’t Kolya’s fault that I’d been taking pictures and moved away from the group.
“Everything all right, Mrs. Volkova?” he asked, his deep voice carrying a hint of concern.
"Yes, Kolya," I said, stretching. "Just editing. It’s… consuming work. Please use my first name.” I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s Cora.”
His gaze shifted to the damaged camera on my desk. “I can’t do that. The pakhan is already not happy with me. A shame about your camera."
“I am sorry you got in trouble,” I offered.
He stiffened. “It is my job to watch you. I failed both you and the Volkov Bratva when you were attacked. I was distracted. You don’t apologize to me. I apologize to you. I am sorry that you were injured.” He looked pained while he spoke, but I knew he was sincere.
I wanted to argue, but I also understood that this was a time I needed to understand what our roles were. He was doing his job, and I needed to let him.
“Thank you for coming for me, Kolya. I knew you and Maxim would,” I said instead of what my heart wanted to say — I’m sorry .
“We will always come for you. You are our queen.” He cleared his throat and looked away, gesturing to the wall where Maxim had some camera equipment. “Will one of these work for you as a replacement?” Kolya plucked Clyde off the floor, handling him so gently that I wanted to reach for a camera.
“Yeah, I think one of those will work. They’re beautiful and a little fancier than I’m used to.” I took a glance at the wall of equipment. It was like a camera shop with five different complete bodies, lenses to match, flashes, lighting equipment, tripods, and other things I wasn’t sure I’d ever touch … but I was excited about those cameras.
Kolya gave a slight nod of understanding, his stern features softening slightly. "Is there anything you need?"
“Actually, yes. I want to go to the grocery store. I need Lucky Charms, and I’m craving .. Something.”
Kolya raised an eyebrow. "Something?"
"Something specific. I’ll know it when I see it," I said with a grin. "And I need fresh air. I’ve been cooped up all day."
He hesitated, clearly weighing the risks, but eventually nodded. "Very well, but we’ll take precautions."
"Of course," I said breezily, grabbing my coat. "Let me get my bag."
Kolya’s watchful eyes scanned the street as we walked to the car. He moved with practiced ease, his hand always near his concealed weapon. Despite his intimidating presence, I found his vigilance oddly comforting. Maxim chose well.
"You don’t talk much, do you?" I teased as we settled into the car.
"Not much to say," he replied, his tone even.
"I’ll take that as a challenge," I said with a smirk.
To my surprise, his lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Good luck, Mrs. Volkova.”
The grocery store was a welcome change of pace. I wandered the aisles, tossing items into the cart while Kolya followed a step behind. I laughed at the absurdity of having a bodyguard in the produce section. Still, Kolya remained unfazed, even as I jokingly held up a head of lettuce like a trophy.
When we returned home, the sun was dipping low, casting warm hues over the townhouse. I unpacked the groceries while Clyde darted between my feet, chasing imaginary prey. I couldn’t help but laugh, scooping him up for a quick cuddle before setting him down again.
As I cooked dinner, my thoughts drifted to Maxim. I’d caught glimpses of the man behind the pakhan—the man who painstakingly set up my office space, told me he loved me, and exacted vengeance on my behalf.
My feelings for him were still new, still surprising, but they were real. As Clyde meowed at my feet, demanding attention, I smiled, feeling a quiet contentment I hadn’t expected to find in this life.
"Maybe it’s not so bad being Mrs. Volkova,” I murmured, scratching Clyde behind the ears. "Maybe it’s exactly who I was always meant to be."
The townhouse felt different in the evenings—quieter, yet alive with possibilities. After dinner, I decided I needed to escape the confines of the house. Maxim was still traveling back from his meeting with the Olivetos, and while Kolya was stationed as my shadow, I wanted to breathe the night air and test out one of the new cameras Maxim had bought for me. They were fancier than I had ever had, and I had no idea how they’d function compared to my trusty old camera.
“I’m stepping out for a bit,” I announced, poking my head into the living room where Kolya sat, ever watchful. Clyde had claimed the couch, sprawled out on a blanket like he owned the place. Maxim would have a baby cow if he saw him on the couch.
Kolya’s sharp eyes met mine. “Where to?”
“Just outside. I want to test a new camera,” I said, holding up the sleek device. It still felt foreign in my hands, the buttons not yet familiar. “I won’t go far.”
He stood without hesitation. “Okay. Let’s go. I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t need to hover,” I teased, slipping on a light jacket. “I’m just going to the courtyard,” I said, knowing he’d insist. I savored my alone time when I took my photos, but I supposed I’d have to get used to it. There was no way I’d be able not to have protection. It wouldn’t be allowed, and there were too many risks.
Kolya didn’t reply, but his presence was answer enough. I gave a resigned shrug and opened the door, letting the frigid evening air wash over me. The city sounds hummed in the distance, but here, in this quiet little pocket Maxim called home, it felt worlds away.
I found a spot near the wrought-iron fence where the streetlights cast a golden glow. The camera’s lens captured how the light filtered through the trees, the shadows stretching long and elegant against the pavement. I adjusted the settings, experimenting with shutter speeds and apertures. Each click of the shutter felt like a small triumph as I began to get a feel for the new equipment.
Clyde had followed us to the door, his tiny face pressed against the glass. I smiled, waving at him between shots. “He’s mad he can’t come,” I said to Kolya, who stood a few feet away, his gaze scanning the perimeter.
“He’ll survive,” Kolya replied dryly.
I laughed softly. “You Russians are not cat people, are you?”
“I prefer animals that earn their keep,” he said, a faint smirk betraying his otherwise stoic demeanor.
“Clyde earns his keep,” I countered. “Emotional support is a full-time job.”
Kolya’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile. “If you say so.”
“I do say so,” I insisted. “And I think you secretly like him. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking him pets.”
Kolya didn’t reply, but his lack of denial was answer enough. I grinned, feeling victorious.
I turned my attention back to the camera, capturing the details of the townhouse—the intricate balcony ironwork and the frost creeping up the brick facade. Each image felt like a puzzle piece, tiny glimpses into this strange, beautiful life I’d stumbled into.
“How long do you think Maxim will be?” I asked, lowering the camera to glance at Kolya.
He checked his watch. “Late. Meetings like this aren’t quick, and this was complicated.”
I nodded, feeling a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t loneliness, exactly. It was more like… anticipation. Maxim and I were still figuring each other out, and every absence felt like an opportunity missed.
“He’ll be back soon enough,” Kolya said as if sensing my thoughts.
“I know,” I said softly, adjusting the camera strap on my shoulder. “I just… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”
Kolya didn’t press me for details, and I appreciated that. Instead, he gave me space to lose myself in my photography again. The night deepened around us, the air crisp and cool. For the first time in days, I felt a sense of calm. The camera’s viewfinder framed the world in a way that made it feel manageable, even beautiful.
Clyde eventually gave up his vigil at the door and disappeared into the house. When Kolya and I finally stepped back inside, the warmth of the townhouse was a welcome contrast to the night air. Clyde reappeared instantly, weaving between my legs as if to scold me for leaving.
I scooped him up, pressing a kiss to his soft fur. “You’re so needy,” I said with a laugh.
Kolya shook his head, a rare smile ghosting across his face. “He’s your cat, all right.”
Later, with Clyde settled on my lap, I curled up on the couch and turned on an episode of The Walking Dead . The show was just the distraction I needed, though Clyde didn’t seem impressed. He swiped lazily at a passing zombie on the screen, his tiny paw batting at the movement.
“Relax, Clyde,” I said, scratching behind his ears. “You’d never survive the apocalypse. Too soft.”
Kolya’s voice came from the doorway. “You wouldn’t last long either, Mrs. Volkova.”
I turned, mock-offended. “Excuse me? I’d be the ultimate survivor. Charming the enemy, sneaking supplies, and probably running a black-market trade in cat food.”
Kolya’s brows lifted in faint amusement. “I’d give you a week.”
“A week?” I threw a pillow at him, laughing. “You’re underestimating me, Kolya. I’d be unstoppable.”
Clyde leapt off my lap to chase the pillow as it landed, biting at the corner with ferocious determination. I pointed at him triumphantly. “See? I’d have Clyde as my secret weapon.”
Kolya shook his head, his rare smile making another appearance. “Both of you would be doomed.”
“Rude,” I muttered, turning back to the screen, but I couldn’t help smiling. As strange as my life had become, moments like this—playful, unexpected, and oddly normal—were what made it feel like home.
Hours later, I was still curled up on the couch, though the episode had long since ended. Clyde had claimed the blanket as his throne, and I was absentmindedly scrolling through photos on my phone when I heard the sound of the front door opening. My heart jumped, and I sat up straighter, my pulse quickening.
Maxim was home.
He stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the space. He looked tired but composed, his sharp features shadowed by the dim light. His gaze swept over the room and landed on me.
“You’re still awake,” he said, his voice low and slightly surprised.
I smiled softly. “I wanted to wait up for you. How was your trip?”
He hesitated, his expression unreadable. “Long.”
“Come sit,” I said, patting the spot beside me on the couch. “You look exhausted. Did you eat? I can make you a sandwich, and there are leftovers.”
Maxim gave a small nod and crossed the room, his movements deliberate. He sat down, and the couch dipped slightly under his weight. Clyde lifted his head briefly before deciding Maxim’s arrival wasn’t worth leaving his blanket for.
“Yes, I ate zayka.” He leaned in for a kiss. “Did you miss me?”
I inhaled that scent of his, lifting my hands to his cheeks. “Yes.”
“Clyde and I missed you too. It was a long day.” I indicated the tiny fur ball, who hadn’t noticed Maxim was gone at all.
“Did the little monster miss me,” he sounded skeptical. “I doubt it.”
“How did the meeting go?” I asked, my voice gentle. “It must have been important to travel all that way.”
Maxim sighed, leaning back against the couch. For a moment, he looked as though he might brush off the question, but then he spoke. “It was productive, but… tense. There are several Italian families in New York that are mafia. We’d had some suspicion that one of them could have been involved in the fire at the club, but it seems we were wrong.” He chewed his lip a little.
“Who are the families?” I asked instead. “If I’m going to be in this life, I’d like to know who the players are. Even if it is just to follow the conversation when you talk to me.”
He examined me closely for a moment and nodded. “The Italian families are old,” he smiled. “Even more old-fashioned than the bratva. The Olivetos, the Vallones, the Scarpatos, the Santellis, and the Cardonis.”
I nodded, trying to commit the names to memory, reciting them over in my head. “The Santellis is Angelo, right?”
“Yes. The Vallones and the Cardonis are still run by dons that go back a generation,” he hedged.
“Those dons worked with your father? With my father?” I clarified.
Maxim got to his feet, paced a little, and poured himself a whiskey. “We learned today from Cosimo Oliveto that the blood oath agreement wasn’t a secret.” He turned to face me, and I could see that this had upset him.
“It was supposed to be?”
“We had thought it was just between the four of them. We hadn’t thought it was common knowledge. Now that we know that others know about it, it is even more important that the others hold up their end of the bargain,” he paused. “But some weren’t happy about the original agreement.”
“Because they didn’t get included or what?” I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Conall said the whole thing was about trafficking. That’s what the gross assholes were into, right?”
I picked up Clyde, who grumbled as I pushed him up against my chin, taking comfort from his limp body. One of the things that I loved about cats was how they let themselves hang like little dishrags when they trusted you.
“They were all involved in it. They wanted to make sure they got the best deal and that their business with each other thrived. With the agreement, nobody could back out. Not only were they trafficking other people’s children, but they sold their own with that blood oath,” he said with disgust. “Now Oliveto tells us that it was known and that some people have a grudge about how it shook out.” Worry lines creased his eyes.
“A grudge? Because?” I was confused. “I know that Conall had something to do with my father’s death…” I trailed off. I knew that Maxim killed his, but I wasn’t sure it was common knowledge among the other mob families. I didn’t care that he had killed his father. Sounds like he was a scumbag.
“We all didn’t exactly have the best upbringing. I’ve told you that mine was hard, zayka. My father was a cruel man. Bratvas are run with blood and cruelty as a rule in the old country. He viewed Dimitri and me as property to be trained. It took me a long time to gain enough power to extricate us. Too long, but I was able to bring enough soldiers to my side and take over eventually.”
“All four of us had vowed to stop the lines of flesh peddling that had happened under our fathers, but it seems like there is some resentment that we didn’t anticipate.”
“You met with Oliveto. He’s not the one upset?” I asked, petting Clyde and eyeing my husband.
“The Olivetos are cautious. Cosimo mentioned that Vallone has been resentful this whole time about the deal that was made. That he could be a viable threat. Maybe behind the arson and your hit, or it could have been Oliveto’s man Caruso.” Maxim’s jaw tightened.
I frowned, tilting my head thoughtfully. “Does Oliveto agree with you about Caruso?”
“Caruso is a made man. Do you know what that means?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “What does it mean?”
“Once you’ve paid your dues and you’ve pledged to your don or your pakhan, then you are ‘made,’” he held up quotes.
“Meaning they’re untouchable?” I ventured, watching his expression for confirmation.
“In theory,” Maxim replied, his voice cold. “A made man is supposed to be under the protection of their family, a symbol of loyalty and obedience. Dante Caruso has been giving me quite a bit of trouble lately, but I’ve been reluctant to take him off the board since he is part of the Olivetos. Cosimo has agreed to take him out, but he wants to do it.” He watched me carefully with his toffee-colored eyes. “Cosimo believes he might be playing two sides. If he is, his status doesn’t protect him. Betrayal erases all oaths.”
I nodded slowly, processing this. “So, if Caruso is involved in any of this—be it the arson or this supposed grudge—he could be eliminated without retaliation from his family?”
Maxim sipped his whiskey, his gaze narrowing. “Yes. Cosimo won’t have any worries about taking him out. He’s promised us information about what Caruso has been up to.”
“And Vallone?” I asked. “If he’s the one holding a grudge, what does he gain from picking a fight with all of you?”
Maxim hesitated, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Angelo claims that Vallone has always been power-hungry. Maybe he sees an opportunity. It could be that his resentment over the original agreement isn’t just about what he didn’t get—it’s about what he sees as having been taken.”
I let out a slow breath, the weight of his words settling over me. “So, this isn’t just about the past. It’s about what Vallone wants now. He was part of trafficking then,” I guessed. “Or still part of it.”
Maxim nodded. “Exactly, and that makes him dangerous. Cosimo may be cautious, but Vallone is bold, reckless even. If he sees an opening, he’ll take it.”
Maxim moved back over to the couch and sat down next to me. “We believe he wants to expand his paltry schemes again, and our current operations are impeding him. Oliveto doesn’t hold with trafficking, either.”
I shifted, the cat squirming in my arms as he hopped back onto the couch. “So, what’s your next move? I’m sure you’ve got one.”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes remained serious. “I need to shore up our alliances. Make sure Oliveto stays on our side and keep a close watch on Vallone’s movements. Conall will also need to get a move on with his marriage deal with Angelo’s side of the family — Francesca. If Vallone thinks there’s a crack in our foundation, he’ll exploit it.”
I nodded, my heart twisting at the thought of what was at stake. “And what about you? You’ve been handling so much. Are you—are we okay?”
His gaze softened as he set his glass down and leaned forward, taking my hands in his. “Zayka, we are solid. You are my home. Everything else is noise. I handle it because I must, but never doubt where my heart lies.”
I smiled faintly, the tension in my chest easing as his words sank in. “Good. Because I’ll be right here, doing what I can to help.”
He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement breaking through the weight of his worry. “And what do you think you can do to help?”
I grinned, leaning closer. “I’ve got Clyde, and I’ve got questions. Maybe I’ll interrogate them both until they crack.”
He chuckled, his deep laugh rumbling through the room. “The Italians don’t stand a chance.” He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Maybe there’s something else you can do to help.”
“Hmm, what’s that, Mr. Volkov?”