5. Aria #2
“Your best wasn’t good enough!” Maksim snaps and I flinch like I’ve been slapped.
“He’s almost eight years old and he’s never been to a museum, seen a ballet, or gone on a vacation.
He doesn’t know his own history. He doesn’t know he’s descended from one of the most powerful families in Brighton Beach.
He doesn’t know his grandfather was a brigadier, that his uncle runs an empire, that his blood is—”
“Is what?” I’m on my feet now, fury propelling me forward. “Russian mob royalty? You think that’s something to be proud of? You think I should have raised him to be like you?”
“Like me?” His eyes flash. “You mean successful? Powerful? Able to provide for my family?”
“I mean dangerous.” I’m close enough now to see a small scar on his jaw. His pupils dilate when I get near. “I mean violent. Exactly what I was running from.”
“And what was that, Aria?” He leans down, bringing his face level with mine.
I can see every detail now—the thick lashes framing those winter-gray eyes, the slight bump on his nose where it was broken, the stubble shadowing his jaw that’s more silver than brown these days. “What exactly were you running from?”
I press my lips together.
“Right.” He steps back, and I hate that I feel the loss of his proximity.
“You and your fucking secrets. Keep pretending you had noble reasons for what you did. But we both know the truth—you ran because you were scared, and you stayed gone because you were too proud to admit you couldn’t do it alone. ”
“Fuck you.” The words are out before I can stop them.
“Already did that.” His smile is cruel, and it transforms his handsome face into something sharp. “Multiple times eight years ago. Remember? Or have you forgotten what it felt like when I actually gave a damn about you?”
I can’t help but flinch, the air rushing out of my lungs.
I remember. God, I remember. I remember the way he used to touch me.
He’d pull me into his lap and bury his face in my hair before kissing down my neck.
He’d make love to me like he had all the time in the world and wanted to spend it learning every inch of my body.
This Maksim—hard and cold—is a stranger wearing the face of the man I loved.
“Get out.” My voice is shaking. “Get out of my rooms.”
“Your rooms?” He moves closer again, and suddenly there’s barely any space between us.
I can feel the heat radiating from his body, and I can see the pulse jumping in his throat.
“Nothing in this house is yours, Aria. Not the rooms. Not the clothes. Not even Daniel anymore. He’s mine.
You’re only here because I’m allowing it. ”
And there it is. It feels like icy cold water has been dumped on me. “He’s my son,” I say fiercely, panic clawing at me. He’s trying to take my baby from me.
“He’s our son.” His voice drops to something barely above a whisper, and it’s somehow more terrifying than when he was shouting. “And he’s finally realizing what he’s been missing all these years. A real parent. One who can provide for him. Protect him. Give him everything he needs and deserves.”
“I protected him,” I gasp, feeling tears pool in my eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry. My hands are fists at my sides. “I gave him everything I had.”
“And it wasn’t enough.” Maksim gives me a look of such disgust it makes me want to curl into a ball and hide.
“Your love wasn’t enough to keep him fed.
Your determination wasn’t enough to keep him in one school for more than a year.
Your pride wasn’t enough to give him the childhood he deserved.
Face it, Aria. You failed. And the sooner you admit that, the sooner we can move forward. ”
He leaves before I can respond, the door closing behind him with a decisive click.
I stand there shaking with rage and shame and something that feels dangerously close to despair.
Because he’s right.
I failed. I failed to give Daniel what he needed. I failed to provide adequate food and stability and safety. I failed to be enough.
And now I’m paying the price.
The days blur together.
Daniel spends every morning with Maksim.
They’ve started working through a Russian language workbook together, and Daniel is picking it up with the quick mind of a child.
He’s started calling Maksim by his first name more comfortably, though sometimes he slips and says “sir” before catching himself.
But never Papa.
Or Dad.
And that fills me with delight because I know that’s what Maksim is looking for.
I spend my days in the library or the sitting room, pretending to read, and pretending I’m not slowly losing my mind. The estate is beautiful.
It’s forty acres of manicured grounds and ocean views, with every luxury imaginable, but it’s still a cage.
I can’t leave to go into town. I can’t call anyone.
I can’t do anything but watch my son fall more and more in love with his father while I become an afterthought.
Maksim barely speaks to me anymore except to deliver cutting remarks about my parenting. Every interaction is designed to make me feel like the failure I am.
And I fight back. Every time.
“Daniel needs structure,” he says one morning.
He’s wearing running clothes and I hate the way I notice his fitted shirt clings to his muscular chest and arms. He’s clearly just back from his morning workout.
His hair is damp with sweat, and I hate that some traitorous part of me finds it attractive.
“Daniel needs his mother,” I snap back.
“Daniel needs both of us not tearing each other apart.” He looks at me like I’m something distasteful. “But you can’t seem to manage civility for his sake.”
“Civility? You want civility?” I step closer, fury making me reckless. “You kidnapped us. You’re holding us hostage. You’ve taken over my son’s life and pushed me to the margins. And you want me to be civil?”
“I gave you both everything you were lacking.” His voice is hard. “A home. Safety. Education. Culture. Everything a child needs to thrive.”
“I gave him love—”
“Love doesn’t fill empty stomachs.” He cuts me off, and there’s something vicious in his tone.
“Love doesn’t teach a child languages or expose him to art and music.
Love doesn’t erase the damage of eight years of poverty and instability.
You loved him, Aria. I don’t doubt that. But love wasn’t enough.”
I blink back tears. “It was all I had to give,” I whisper.
Maksim’s face doesn’t show any sympathy. “Then you should have given him to someone who had more.” And by someone, he means him. “If you truly loved him, you would have done what was best for him. Not what made you feel better about your choices.”
Hatred fills me. I want to hurt him so bad and tell him exactly what I saw that night that made me run.
But I can’t. The truth is too dangerous. If he knows I saw what I did, he might decide I’m too much trouble and get rid of me. And then what happens to Daniel?
So I swallow the words and turn away.
“That’s what I thought,” Maksim says behind me. “No real answers. Just anger and accusations. Just like always.”
He leaves, and I’m alone again.
Always alone.
It's been exactly four weeks and five days when everything falls apart.
I’m in the library on the first floor curled in an armchair with a book I’m not actually reading. It’s nearly ten p.m., and Daniel went to bed an hour ago after another day of adventures with his father.
The library is one of my favorite rooms in the house, despite everything.
It has floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a marble fireplace with a fire crackling softly, and deep leather chairs.
It should feel pretentious, but instead it feels safe and quiet. A place where I can pretend for a few hours that I’m not a prisoner.
I hear footsteps and look up. Maksim is in the doorway, and I wrinkle my nose. I can smell the vodka on him from across the room.
He’s wearing dark slacks and a dark gray button-down with the sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons undone.
His hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it.
There’s a looseness to his movements, a lack of the rigid control he usually maintains.
He’s been drinking.
He’s not drunk, but he’s definitely not sober.
“We need to talk,” he says.
“We have nothing to talk about.” I turn back to my book, even though my heart is suddenly racing.
“Wrong.” He walks in, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounds ominous. The firelight catches on his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw. “We have eight years to talk about. And I’m done waiting.”
“Then you’re going to be disappointed,” I tell him dryly, refusing to look at him. “Because I’m not telling you anything.”
“Why?” His voice is rough with alcohol and frustration. I can hear it in the slight slur of his words, the way his accent is more pronounced. “What are you so afraid of? What did you see that night that was so terrible you’ve kept it secret for eight years?”
“I saw enough.” My hands tighten on the book. “Enough to know I had to leave.”
“That’s not an answer.” He’s right in front of my chair now, looming over me.
This close, I can see the tension in his shoulders, and the barely leashed violence in the set of his jaw.
The smell of vodka mixing with his cologne creates something intoxicating. “That’s deflection. You’re hiding behind vague accusations instead of telling me the truth.”
“The truth?” I look up at him, and I can see the anger in his eyes and the frustration of weeks of fighting. The vodka has loosened his iron control. “The truth is you’re exactly what I thought you were. And I won’t apologize for protecting Daniel from it.”
“From what?” His voice rises. "What exactly did you fucking see?”
“I saw you!” I snap, unable to help myself now. “I saw something that made me realize I didn’t know you at all. It made me understand that the man I loved was just a mask for what you really are.”
He goes very still. “What did you see me do?” he breathes.
“It doesn’t matter.” I stand, trying to move past him, but he blocks me with his body.