13. Maksim
MAKSIM
She tried to take my son.
In the middle of the night, while I was sleeping, she tried to steal Daniel and run. Again.
After everything that’s happened over the last few weeks. Of her sleeping in my bed, sweet mornings watching sunrises and family dinners and moments where I thought—I actually fucking thought—we were becoming real.
She showed me photos of Daniel’s childhood and cried in my arms and admitted she never stopped caring about me.
After all of that, she tried to run.
I make it to my office before the fury boils over. I grab the first thing I can reach and hurl it against the wall. The crystal tumbler shatters, glass exploding across the hardwood, and the sound is satisfying but not nearly enough.
Daniel’s face flashes in my mind. He was sobbing and clinging to me, asking why Mama was scared. My son who was fucking happy here and was finally growing into the strong boy he’s destined to be.
And Aria was going to drag him back into a life of poverty and fear. Because of what? Her paranoid delusions about Alexander?
I pour myself another drink and down it in one swallow. It burns, but not enough to drown the rage. She told me Alexander threatened her and our children. She said he knows she was at some warehouse eight years ago, that he’s going to kill her if she talks.
It’s bullshit. It has to be bullshit.
Alexander has been nothing but dedicated and trustworthy and Aria expects me to believe he’s threatening to murder our children? I shake my head in disbelief. She’ll say anything to justify what she did.
I pour another drink.
I don’t go near her door on day one of her confinement. Instead, I spend the day with Daniel, who’s still shaken from last night. We go riding on the beach, and I let him ask questions.
“Why did Mama want to leave?” He’s small on the horse in front of me, my arms around him keeping him secure.
“I don’t know, solnyshko. I’m trying to understand.”
Daniel curls into himself even smaller. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I pull him closer. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did I. Your mama is just…scared of something. And I need to figure out what so I can make it better.”
“Is she coming back?”
The question breaks my heart. “She’s not gone, buddy,” I say, trying to soothe my son while irritation courses through me. Dammit, Aria. “She’s just in her room for a little while.”
“Can I see her?” Daniel asks hopefully.
“Not yet. But soon. I promise.”
That night, after Daniel is asleep, I stand outside her door. I can hear her moving around inside. She’s pacing, probably. I know her well enough to know she can’t sit still when she’s upset.
“Aria.” I lay my hand flat against the wood. “We need to talk.”
Silence.
“I know you’re awake. I can hear you.”
More silence.
I grit my teeth. “Fine. Don’t talk. But you’re going to listen.” I lean my forehead against the door. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish. Running in the middle of the night with our son, making up stories about Alexander—what is the endgame here?”
Nothing.
I switch tactics, deciding to appeal to her motherhood.
“Daniel asked me today if you’re coming back,” I say, knowing this is a low blow. “He thinks you left him. Do you understand that? Our seven-year-old son thinks his mother abandoned him because you tried to run.”
I hear a sound that might be a sob, but she doesn’t speak.
Growling, I slam my hand against the door. “Talk to me, goddammit. Tell me what’s going through your head. Help me understand why you’d do this.”
The silence stretches so long I think she’s not going to answer. Then, she says quietly, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Oh, she finally speaks. “Try me.”
“I did try you. And you called me a liar.”
Because what she said was so egregiously false, I had no choice but to call her out on her shit.
“Then give me a reason to believe you,” I say. “Stop hiding behind fear and actually tell me what happened. What changed between two days ago and last night that made you try to run?”
Silence again.
I slam my hand against the door in frustration again. “Talk to me!”
Nothing. Instead, I just hear the sound of crying on the other side of the door.
I walk away before I break the door down.
Day two is worse.
Daniel won’t stop asking about her and he refuses to eat properly. He keeps going to her suite and knocking on the door, calling for her.
“Mama? Mama, please come out. I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”
I have to physically carry him away, and he sobs in my arms while I explain again that he didn’t do anything wrong.
My guard reports that Aria hasn’t eaten since I locked her in. She won’t touch the trays we leave outside her door.
“Force the issue if you have to,” I tell him. “She’s pregnant. She needs to eat.”
That afternoon, I try again.
“Aria. You need to eat something. For the baby if not for yourself.”
No response.
“I’m not trying to punish you. I’m trying to keep you safe. Keep our children safe. But you have to work with me here.”
Nothing.
I’m trying so hard to keep my temper in check but her goddamn stubbornness is going to be the death of me. “Something changed. Two days ago you were here—we had breakfast as a family and everything seemed fine. Then suddenly you’re trying to escape in the middle of the night. What happened?”
The silence is maddening.
“Was it something I said? Something I did? Because if I hurt you somehow, if I scared you, I need to know so I can fix it!”
Suddenly, I hear footsteps approaching the door. My heart jumps—maybe she’s finally going to talk.
“You can’t fix this,” she says, her voice raw through the door.
“Let me try,” I tell her urgently. “You have to let me try.”
She laughs hoarsely. “You’ll just call me a liar again.”
“Then prove you’re not lying!” My frustration is mounting. “Give me something—anything—to work with! Right now all I have is you trying to run with my son after making wild accusations about one of the most trusted men in this organization!”
“They’re not wild accusations,” she says angrily. “He threatened our children, Maksim. He told me he’d make Daniel have an accident and that pregnancy is dangerous and things could go wrong with ‘the right encouragement.’ Those were his exact words.”
This is all so unbelievable. I run a hand over my face. “And you expect me to believe Alexander Morozov suddenly decided to threaten you in the garden while I was out riding? For what purpose? What possible reason would he have?”
“Because I know what he’s planning!” Aria snaps.
“What he’s—” I stop and take a breath. “What are you talking about?”
But she’s done. I hear her footsteps retreating and then nothing.
I stand there for another ten minutes, but she doesn’t come back.
That night, I can’t sleep.
I keep replaying our fights and the things she said. I can still hear the terror in her voice when she told me someone would kill her for telling me what she saw.
“Because saying it could get me killed!”
“Alexander knows! He knows I was there that night!”
“There that night.”
What night?
I sit up in bed, my mind racing. She mentioned a warehouse, didn’t she? What did she say exactly? I close my eyes and think back to the night when she tried to run off again.
“He told me he knows I was at the warehouse!”
My eyes fly open. The day she had that panic attack in the garage. That wasn’t because she saw a spider. Something in the garage triggered her. Some smell. Something that would smell like a warehouse.
And just now— “I know what he's planning.”
What if—what if she’s not lying? What if she actually saw something that made her run eight years ago?
My stomach seizes and I throw myself out of bed, heading to my office. If Aria witnessed something at a warehouse eight years ago, there should be security footage. We keep everything documented and archived.
It takes me two hours to narrow down the timeframe. Aria disappeared in early December eight years ago. I was devastated and threw myself into work, barely functional.
I pull up the files from that month. And there it is—the Red Hook warehouse. The accountant who’d been skimming from the Cyprus accounts. Alexander and I handled it ourselves.
I click on the security footage, and my stomach drops.
The timestamp shows 9:25 p.m. I remember leaving soon after to get the van, leaving Alexander to finish the cleanup. I was gone maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes.
The footage shows the execution with two shots to the head. The accountant slumps in the chair, and I watch myself and Alexander start the cleanup process.
Then I leave. The timestamp shows 9:33 p.m.
Alexander continues working. He’s wrapping the body in plastic. And then—
I lean closer to the screen.
There. In the background. Behind the crates near the east wall.
There’s a shadow. It’s small and feminine. Someone hiding in the darkness.
My blood runs cold.
I rewind and watch again. The shadow is there the whole time witnessing everything.
When Alexander and I execute the accountant, the shadow flinches. I can see the movement even in the grainy footage.
After I leave, the shadow stays frozen, watching Alexander finish the cleanup.
Then another man enters. My nose is so close to the screen it touches it. I don’t recognize him. My mind flies through all the men in the Bratva. He’s no one I know and I have an excellent memory.
I turn up the audio, but there’s nothing. The system wasn’t great back then so all I have is footage of movements and shadows.
But I can see enough.
I watch the sequence again. The execution. Me leaving. Alexander continuing the cleanup alone. The man arriving. He and Alexander talk for several minutes, their body language suggesting a business discussion. Then the man helps Alexander with the body before they disappear from view.
And in the background, barely visible, the shadow moves and runs for the exit.
Aria.
I sit back, my mind racing.
She was there. She witnessed the execution. She saw me kill someone.