Chapter 23 Maksim
MAKSIM
Since the day I stepped foot back in Moscow, I’ve been in a daze.
I knew rebuilding the Bratva would be a pain in the ass the first time after finally crushing Anton’s coup.
Our ranks had been fractured, brigadiers scattered, loyalties frayed thin.
Men who once cowed to my name like it was law had been left to mutter in the shadows, counting the cost of their allegiance now that they were ostracized or thrown back to the bottom of the totem pole.
I expected it. Hell, I planned for it.
What I didn’t plan for was the gnawing emptiness that clings to me like a second sin.
Ivy.
It’s always Ivy.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her face, twisted with regret, and hear her voice telling me she no longer wanted a life with me.
I could fight armies.
I could outlast coups.
But I can’t fight the echo of the woman I love telling me she wishes she hadn’t.
So, yes, my head isn’t in the game. Some mornings, I wake up like my body is chained to the mattress.
Some nights, I walk the halls of my family’s estate until dawn’s light tires my eyes.
I’m haunted, imagining Leo’s cries when Mikhail pressed the barrel of that gun to his head, and the aftermath it brought me
My inner circle notices my absent mind, Lev most of all.
He watches me quietly, the silent questions staring me down that I have no answers to give.
Roman is quieter than usual, giving me more space than he ever has after our last talk.
Even Katya with her bloodthirsty, sharp tongue bites her remarks down before they can reach me.
They’re wise to keep their mouths shut.
But not everyone shares that same wisdom.
Alisa and Luka, for example, seem determined to test the limits of my patience. Every meeting, every report, every minor disagreement, they needle me relentlessly. Luka with his smug smirks, Alisa with her biting commentary.
It’s almost like they want me to break.
And today, I actually do.
We’re in the council chamber, the long table lined with papers, dossiers, ledgers of names of the contacts we’re establishing connections with.
The topic is straightforward—rebuilding our ranks.
So many men were lost in the fallout between factions, some killed, some fled, some defected to Anton’s loyalists before the tide turned and they were crushed too.
We need new blood, new training, new systems in place to prevent weakness from taking root again.
It should be routine.
But apparently, that is a luxury I can’t afford anymore.
Lev is speaking, steady as always, outlining options for recruitment.
My head aches, my temples pounding as the words around me blur into a dull hum.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting to stay present.
It’s a wonder I’ve made it this far at all, let alone had any semblance of opinion whenever addressed.
That’s when Alisa opens her mouth. “Perhaps this would go smoother if our Pakhan were actually paying attention to the matters at hand instead of daydreaming.”
The room stills.
My eyes snaps open. Every muscle in my body goes tight, heat roaring through my chest.
“What did you just say?” My voice is low and dangerous, the kind of pissed off that usually makes most rethink their life choices and recalibrate.
But not her.
Alisa smirks, leaning back in her chair, arms crossing over her large chest as she tilts her head in a curious way. “I said, perhaps your mind is elsewhere. Maybe mourning leaving your little girlfriend back in the States is distracting you from the work that needs doing.”
The words detonate something inside me. Before I even think straight, I’ve drawn my gun and stood up from my chair. The metallic click of the safety disengaging echoes through the chamber, making everyone freeze in place.
I aim it straight at her forehead.
No one moves. No one even breathes. The only sound is the faint hum of the lights above us and the rapid pounding of my own blood flooding through my ears.
“Say that again,” I snarl. “I dare you.”
Alisa tilts her head, her smile widening though there is a slight visible sliver of fear reflecting in her eyes.
They dart down to the gun and to where my finger hovers over the trigger.
Her shoulders grow rigid with unease. “That your little whore has ruined your focus. I suggest you figure out a way to get rid of her to help ease that burden.”
My finger tightens on the trigger, nearly pulling it. I mean it—one twitch, and her blood will paint the table. I’m so tempted to, just to see the look on Luka’s face when I take out his oldest confidant before turning it on him next.
It would be a satisfying end for the both of them.
“Pakhan,” Lev hisses in warning.
I barely hear him.
Alisa’s mouth twitches. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
She wants me to break and show the others that I can be rattled.
Unfortunately for her, my other five lieutenants are well aware of my shortcomings.
They saw it firsthand while we were overseas and were all smart enough to decide to take the knowledge to the grave with them.
Lev suddenly slams into me from the side, hard enough to knock me off my feet. The gun jerks out of my hand but not before a shot explodes from the barrel. It hits harmlessly into the ceiling. Plaster rains down as Lev wrestles me to the ground, his weight crushing me before I can flip us over.
“Out!” he bellows to the others.
Chairs scrape, boots pound across the hard floor.
No one hesitates as they scramble to leave, clearly anxious to get away from their unstable leader.
Not to mention, no one wants to be caught between the Pakhan and his second when fists are about to fly.
The room empties in seconds, the heavy door slamming shut behind them.
Then Lev and I are left alone.
I snarl, shoving against him, my fist connecting with his jaw.
He grunts but doesn’t falter from keeping me pinned to the floor.
His own fist slams into my diaphragm, the air bursting out of my lungs in one solid pull.
I cough hard, forcing my lungs to inflate as I’m twisted around to roll me on my back.
I drive my knee up before he can get me there, though, catch his thigh hard enough to make him stagger.
We trade punches, each hit ringing through my bones, each impact another outlet for the rage that’s been festering for weeks inside me.
Lev doesn’t hold back—he never has. His fists are blunt instruments, punishing and relentless as they strike me. His knuckles split against my cheekbone, his lip bleeds from a sharp jab I elbow him with, but he keeps coming.
Finally, he lands one square against my temple, hard enough to send stars bursting across my vision. I collapse back onto the cold floor, dazed, my chest heaving.
Lev slams his knee down into my chest, pinning me to the floor. His breath is ragged, his expression a storm.
“What the fuck is going on with you?” he snaps. His hands fist in the collar of my shirt, jerking me an inch off the floor before slamming me back down again.
For a long moment, I don’t answer.
I can’t, I’m too fucking dizzy. The edges of the room are blurring in and out like a warped photograph. My hands flex uselessly at my sides. The only sound in the room is our breathing, his sharp and furious pulls of air and my ragged and wheezing gasps.
Eventually, when I blink the dark spots from my vision and manage to rasp, “I’m… sad.”
Lev blinks down at me, his brows lifting in disbelief. “Sad?”
“Yes,” I grind out. “It’s… I can’t—I can’t stop thinking about her.”
Lev exhales through his nose, his shoulders sagging. He runs a hand over his face, smearing the blood from his lip, and then leans back just enough to allow me to pull in a full breath. “Of course it’s about that woman.”
I glare up at him, my pride prickling, but he rolls his eyes before I can speak.
“Maksim Antonov, Pakhan of the Antonov Bratva, scourge of Moscow… taken down by a broken heart. I should have seen it coming.” For a second, Lev is quiet. Then he sighs, the sound heavy with exasperation.
My jaw tightens.
I want to hit him again, but the fight has drained out of me. All that’s left is the hollow ache of my broken heart.
Lev shifts over me, his voice calmer now. “What do you want to do?”
I stare at the cracked plaster above us as my face twitches in pain, sighing. “I don’t know.”
“You’ve got two options,” he says, blunt as always. “Kidnap her and the boy and bring them here. Or… try to mend the bridge before it’s too late.”
I close my eyes.
Kidnap her? Drag Ivy back into my world against her will again?
After everything that happened? After seeing the look on her face when she told me she refused to come back to Russia with me?
She already hates me. Or if she doesn’t yet, she will if I force her hand like that.
Taking her and our son against their will would burn the last fragile thread still tethering us together.
Whatever’s left of us wouldn’t survive that.
The thought of it makes me feel sick.
But the alternative? Try to mend what’s broken?
That runs the risk of being met with another slammed door, another heartbreak that ends with a hollow ache that’ll take root inside my chest and never leave.
It means setting myself up for rejection all over again, hoping she'll meet me halfway when she might’ve already walked miles in the opposite direction.
I drag a hand through my hair, digging my fingers into my scalp until it stings.
“I don’t know anything anymore,” I mumble.
There’s silence for a beat, long and weighted.
Even though my eyes are shut, I can feel Lev watching me. Lev’s not the type to comfort, or the type to offer kindness with open hands, but I know him. He’s cataloging the cracks in my facade, the way my words sound like they’ve already surrendered, and calculating how to fix his broken leader.
“I never thought I’d see the day that the great Maksim Antonov would be reduced to ashes over a woman,” he finally says. His voice is quieter now, stripped of its usual harshness.
“She’s not just a woman,” I mutter.
“Then stop treating her like she’s some abstract problem to solve.
You love her? Then fight for her. You want your son safe?
Then make it so. But pick a path, Maksim.
You keep sitting in the middle of the road like this, you’re going to take us all down with you.
We need a leader, not whatever this is.”
I open my eyes finally, lifting them to meet his.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Think about it. Once you decide, let me know.”
He leaves me with that, gets up and walks out of the room without waiting for a response. The door clicks shut behind him. Silence wraps around me like a vise, suffocating me.
I lie there sprawled out on the floor for a long while, my body aching. The anger has drained from me, leaving only emptiness in its wake. Then, without thinking, I slam my fist down against the cold stone beneath me. Pain shoots up my arm, white-hot and grounding.
Finally, something real.
I hit the floor again.
And again.
And again.
Until blood stains the stone and the bridge of my hand is raw, split open, flesh peeled back and red.
It hurts, but I need it to hurt. I need something to scream louder than the echo of Ivy’s voice in my head.
Louder than the sound of her shutting me out.
Louder than the finality of “go back to Russia” stabs me with.
I sit there for hours, slumped on the floor, knuckles seeping crimson, my vision vacant. The room is dark now, only faint moonlight spilling through the windows overlooking the back gardens.
Eventually, I move.
I peel myself up off the ground one limb at a time, shaking, teeth clenched against the fresh waves of pain as I brace against the wall and stand. I look down at my bloodied hand, at the smeared stain on the floor, and I breathe.
Enough.
I can’t stay down. I may be shattered, humiliated, rejected, and stripped to nothing, but I am still Maksim Antonov. I didn’t claw my way out of a blood-soaked civil war to fall apart now.
I lick my wounds, I suck up the last bitter dregs of my pride, and then I go looking for Lev.
I find him exactly where I expect him to be—alone in my study, one hand nursing a glass of vodka, the other scrolling absently through his tablet. He doesn’t look up when I enter, doesn’t flinch when I shut the door behind me. He simply lifts the glass to his lips and swallows slowly.
“What did you decide?”
I cross the room, drag a clean rag from the bar cart, and begin wrapping my hand in silence. My blood stains the linen red as I tie it off tight. When I’m done, I pour myself a glass and collapse into the chair across from him.
I down half of the liquor before saying, “I need a plan.”
He sets the tablet down immediately. His brows lift in a quiet show of surprise.
“I’m going to get my family back. One way or another,” I say.
He nods, the faintest trace of a smile curling at the edge of his mouth. “Good. Then let’s get to work.”