21. Maksim
MAKSIM
The pain is instantaneous and overwhelming.
Fire explodes through my left shoulder and I curse. It’s the same shoulder that was torn apart by shrapnel from the car bomb. The impact spins me backward, and I’m falling, taking Aria down with me.
We hit the floor hard. My body covers hers instinctively, even as agony rips through my shoulder and ribs. Blood spreads hot and fast across my chest, soaking through my shirt.
Aria is screaming. Her hands are on my face, and in my hair, trying to pull me up.
Above us, chaos erupts. There’s gunfire and shouting along with the sound of boots as guards swarm Alexander.
“Get him down! Get the gun!”
More shots. I hear Alexander screaming and cursing in Russian and English, his voice rising to a shriek as Nikolai’s men beat him to the ground.
But I don’t care about Alexander right now. All I care about is the woman beneath me, protected by my body.
“Aria,” I say breathlessly. “Are you hurt? The baby—”
“Am I hurt?” she asks incredulously. “You just took a fucking bullet! You’re bleeding! God, there’s so much blood—”
I push myself up slightly, ignoring the white-hot agony that lances through my shoulder. I need to confirm she’s okay.
Her face is pale and tear-streaked, but mercifully she’s unharmed. I let my hand drop to her stomach. There’s no blood or injury.
“You’re okay,” I breathe, relief lancing through me. “Baby’s okay?”
If looks could kill, I would be six feet under.
“I’m fine! The baby’s fine! But you—” Her hands press against my shoulder and I hiss through my teeth as pain explodes. “Don’t you dare die on me, Maksim Sokolov!”
“Not dying.” I manage something that might be a smile. “Takes more than one bullet to kill me.”
“You jumped in front of a gun!” she shouts, her hands moving quickly as she tries to put pressure on the wound. “You’re such an idiot! A colossal fucking idiot!”
I probably deserve that. “I’m an idiot who loves you and our children more than his own life.” The words come out rough and strained with pain, but I mean every syllable.
Around us, four guards have Alexander face-down on the floor while a fifth presses a boot to the back of his neck. Blood streams from Alexander’s nose and mouth. Someone hit him hard.
Good.
“Clear the weapon!” Dmitri is shouting, kicking the gun across the floor to where Pavel secures it. “Secure the prisoner!”
Nikolai is on his feet, his face a mask of cold fury. “Search him,” he snarls. “Strip him completely. I want every inch of his body checked for additional weapons.”
“Maksim.” Dr. Petrov is suddenly there, kneeling beside us. His weathered face is calm. “Let me see.”
“Aria first,” I manage, hissing as the pain intensifies. “Check her first.”
“I’m fine!” Aria shouts, her eyes wild. “I’m not the one bleeding! Check him!”
Dr. Petrov’s hands are already on my shoulder, pulling aside my ruined shirt. His fingers probe the wound with practiced efficiency, and I bite down on a groan.
“Entry and exit wound,” he says calmly. “It went straight through the deltoid muscle.” He shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “It’s the same shoulder as the car bomb injuries—you’ve thoroughly destroyed this one, Maksim.”
“Will he be okay?” Aria’s voice is small and frightened.
“He’ll live. The bullet missed the subclavian artery by less than an inch.
He’s very lucky.” Dr. Petrov is already pulling supplies from his medical bag.
“But this will hurt. I need to clean and pack the wound, then stitch both entry and exit.” He gives me an apologetic smile. “There’s no anesthesia available here.”
“Do it,” I say through gritted teeth.
Aria throws me a concerned look. “Maksim—” she starts.
“I’m fine. Do it.”
Famous last words. The next ten minutes are agony.
Dr. Petrov works quickly but thoroughly.
He cleans the wound with antiseptic that burns like liquid fire and packs it with gauze to stop the bleeding.
Every touch sends shockwaves of pain through my entire left side and I grind my teeth, trying to prevent myself from crying out
I focus on Aria’s face. Her dark eyes are wet with tears and she’s holding my right hand so tightly her knuckles are white.
“I’m sorry,” I grit out. “For—holy fuck, ouch—scaring you.”
“I am so mad at you,” Aria says as she smooths my sweat-soaked hair back. “You truly are a stupid, heroic idiot.”
“He was aiming for you and our baby.” My jaw clenches as Dr. Petrov starts the first stitch. “I’d take a thousand bullets before I let that happen.”
“So cheesy.” She brings my hand to her lips and kisses my knuckles.
Dr. Petrov finishes the stitching in what feels like a million years. There’s fourteen on the entry wound and twelve on the exit. He wraps my shoulder in layers of bandages until I can barely move my left arm.
“You need to rest,” he says firmly, fixing me with a piercing glare. “No strenuous activity. No lifting. I would prefer bed rest for at least a week.”
Yeah, that’s not happening. I’m already pushing myself to my feet, ignoring Aria’s gasp. The room spins slightly, but I force it to steady. “Where’s Alexander?”
“Maksim!” Aria grabs my good arm. “You need to rest. Let Nikolai handle it all.”
“No,” I snap. “I need to see this through.”
Nikolai approaches. He looks slightly relieved to see me in one piece but he’s still seething. “He’s in the basement holding cell with four guards.”
Excellent. “I’m coming with you.”
Nikolai looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “What? Maksim, you were just shot—”
“I’m. Coming. With. You.” I meet my brother’s eyes. “Am I understood?”
Nikolai studies me for a long moment, but then he nods, looking resigned. “Fine. But if you pass out, I’m having you dragged back to the compound.”
The basement is cold and damp, with concrete walls that sweat moisture.
The holding cell is a reinforced cage in the corner.
Alexander is inside, naked except for his underwear.
They’ve clearly searched every inch of his body for hidden weapons or suicide devices.
His burn-scarred left hand is visible now, the skin mottled and twisted.
He’s sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, blood still dripping from his broken nose.
When we enter, his blue eyes track our movement. There’s no fear or remorse on his face.
“Nikolai.” His voice is hoarse from screaming. “Come to gloat?”
“I’ve come to hear the truth.” Nikolai’s voice is deadly quiet. He pulls up a chair outside the cell, and sits down like we have all the time in the world. “You’re going to tell me everything. Every detail. Every name. Every operation.”
Alexander laughs and it’s a wet, pained sound. “Why? You sentenced me to death, so what benefit do I have to talk?”
“True.” Nikolai’s expression doesn’t change. “But I can make it quick with one bullet to the head. It’ll be over in a second. Or…I can make it last days. You know there are ways to keep someone alive and conscious while causing unimaginable pain. Pavel is quite skilled at it.”
Pavel steps forward from the shadows, cracking his knuckles. His face is expressionless.
Alexander’s confidence wavers slightly. “You wouldn’t.”
“You poisoned my seven-year-old son.” I step forward, my shoulder on fire but I ignore it.
“You tried to murder my me and my brother. You’ve spent fifteen years destroying this organization and you just tried to kill the woman I love and my unborn child.
” I glare at him with hatred. “There is nothing we wouldn’t do to you. ”
For the first time, real fear flickers in Alexander’s eyes.
“So talk,” Nikolai continues. “Or we start cutting pieces off and see how long you last.”
The interrogation lasts hours. At first, Alexander tries to hold out and maintain his defiance. He claims we have no proof and the evidence is circumstantial
Then Pavel goes to work. Eventually, Alexander fucking breaks.
“Fine!” He’s sobbing now, his earlier confidence completely shattered, and all I feel is disgust to see a grown man sobbing like a baby. “Fine! I’ll tell you everything! Just stop! Please stop!”
Nikolai signals Pavel to step back. “From the beginning then.”
And Alexander talks.
He confesses to working with multiple Corsican families for over a decade. Union Corse initially, then branching out to the Guerini clan, the Francisci network, and smaller operations in Marseille and Nice.
He confesses to undermining the Bratva from within and feeding intelligence to the Corsicans. He acknowledges funding through Cyprus and Marseille and recruiting moles within our organization.
He also admits to planning Nikolai’s assassination.
The original plan was to kill me first with the car bomb, shake Nikolai’s confidence, and make him vulnerable, just as Nikolai suspected.
Then there would be a coordinated series of attacks on key operations while Nikolai was distracted and grieving.
“And when Nikolai was weakened, I’d have stepped in,” Alexander says, his voice flat and emotionless.
“I’d offer support, stability, and leadership.
The council would have turned to me. I’d have consolidated power, and the Corsicans would have moved in to help secure territories.
They would get the East Coast drug trade, and I get control of the Bratva. ”
“The car bomb,” I say. “The poison. All of it.”
“All of it.” He looks at me with dead eyes. “The car bomb was planted by a Corsican operative I’d recruited. The poison for your son was a neurotoxin from a Marseille supplier.”
Hearing him admit to trying to murder Daniel—saying it so casually and matter-of-factly—makes my blood run cold.
“Why Daniel?” My voice shakes with barely-controlled rage. “He’s a child. Why target him?”
“Because killing you wasn’t enough.” Alexander’s smile is cruel. “I needed to break you completely and destroy everything you loved. Your son dying would have shattered you and made you weak. Nikolai would have been vulnerable through you.”
I want to kill him. But Nikolai’s hand on my good shoulder stops me. “Not yet,” he murmurs. “We need more.”
“What more is there?” Alexander laughs bitterly. “I’ve told you everything. The embezzlement, the assassination attempts, the conspiracy, everything. All of it. Are you happy now?”
“Why?” Nikolai asks quietly, but there’s pain underneath. “We grew up together, Alexander. I trusted you. Fifteen years of loyalty—or what I thought was loyalty. Why betray everything?”
Alexander meets his eyes. “Power,” he says simply. “You were never going to step aside, Nikolai, or give me the position I deserved. I was your second for fifteen years, and I’d be your second for fifteen more. Always in your shadow. Always waiting. So I decided to take it by force.”
The naked ambition in his voice is chilling and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“That’s all?” Nikolai asks incredulously. “Ambition?”
“That’s everything.” Alexander smiles bitterly. “Power is everything and I was willing to do whatever it took to get it.”
The council reconvenes in the main room. Alexander is dragged up from the basement, blood smeared on the ground.
Nikolai stands before the twelve council members.
“Alexander Mikhailovich Morozov has confessed to all charges. Treason against the brotherhood. Conspiracy with enemy organizations. Attempted murder of brotherhood leadership. Murder of brotherhood members. Attempted murder of a child. Embezzlement.” He pins Alexander with a cold stare. “Fifteen years of betrayal.”
He pauses, letting it sink in.
“The sentence for treason is death. The method is our choice.” Nikolai’s voice is hard as iron. “I vote for a bullet to the head. It’s more mercy than he deserves.”
The council members nod. One by one, they voice their agreement.
“Alexander Mikhailovich Morozov,” Nikolai says formally. “You are sentenced to death for crimes against the brotherhood. Your sentence will be carried out immediately. Do you have any last words?”
Alexander starts laughing and the hairs on the back of my neck rise again. It’s a terrible sound—high and manic and wrong.
“You’re all so stupid,” he says between laughs. “So fucking stupid. You think this ends with me? You think killing me solves anything?”
“Your conspiracy dies with you,” Nikolai says coldly.
“My conspiracy?” Alexander’s eyes are wild. “I told you—I have people embedded everywhere. Other Bratva families. Other organizations. People you’ll never find. And they know what to do if I die.”
“You’re lying,” I snap, but doubt creeps in.
“Am I?” His grin is manic. “Powerful people are coming for you. For all of you. The Santoros. The Brennans. The Sokolovs. All of you. My partners—they’re coming. And they won’t stop until everyone you love is dead.”
Nikolai signals to Dmitri. “Enough. Execute him.”
Dmitri raises his gun and presses it to the back of Alexander’s head.
“You’ll all burn,” Alexander says, still grinning. “Every last one of you will—”
The gunshot cuts him off.
Alexander’s body jerks forward then collapses to the floor. Blood pools around his head, spreading across the hardwood.
I stare at the corpse of the man who tried to kill my son and terrorized my family for months. I feel nothing but relief and a grim satisfaction that he’s finally dead.
The threat is over.
Suddenly, Nikolai’s phone rings, startling everyone. My brother fishes it from his pocket and frowns. He opens the message and his face goes white.
“What is it?” I ask, my heart thumping erratically.
Nikolai turns the phone so I can see. It’s a text message from an unknown number:
“Alexander Morozov’s death will not go unanswered. We’re coming for your families. The Corsicans never forget.”
Everyone in the room goes tense.
Alexander wasn’t lying, and his partners are coming for revenge.