4. Maksim
Maksim
I follow Cinder away from the room. I wanted to go in, but Cinder said it was too soon. I’m not one to listen to anyone, but when it comes to Cinder dealing with the women we bring into our operation, I listen. She knows what they need and what they don’t.
We end up in the kitchen. She goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water.
“Well?” I ask.
"She's awake," she says.
"Is she hurt? I mean, worse than we thought?"
“She wasn’t very talkative. I don’t know what she’s been through, but she’s had a rough few days.”
I have to ask. I don’t want to, but I need to know the trauma we’re dealing with. "Was she raped?"
Cinder lifts one shoulder, then lets it fall. "I don't know. I’m not sure she knows, but I do know that she's not telling me everything."
“Do we need to get her into rehab?”
“I don’t think so. She said they drugged her water. She’s only been with them for a few days.”
"Son of a bitch."
"Yeah." She watches me. "She's coherent but still sluggish."
"Whatever she needs. I’ll call the doc and have him run the usual tests.”
"She refused a doctor."
Fucking stubborn.
Cinder shakes her head.
"It was stupid," she says. "What you did last night."
"It worked out."
"It worked out last night." She leans forward. "Maksim. We save who we can. That's always been the rule. We don't pull women out of someone else's deal and bring them home. We're not a shelter."
"I know what we are."
"Do you? Because last night, you kidnapped a girl from a man who is very dangerous and who does not share. Remember what happened the last time someone took a girl from his operation."
"She asked me to help her." The word please comes back to me. One word, barely a whisper, and I haven't been able to shake it.
Something about that word reaches into a place I keep locked. I know why, but I'm not opening that door right now.
"I couldn't leave her there."
"She was high."
"Cinder."
"I'm not wrong, and you know it." She's not angry; she's worried. "I don't care about Bekir. Bekir is a cockroach. Someone purchased that girl before we ever laid eyes on her. That person will not let this go quietly."
I don't say anything. There’s nothing to argue with.
"I'll handle it," I say.
"How?"
"I don't know yet."
Cinder gulps down water. "She's scared," she says, "but she's not broken.
That one's a fighter. She’s beat to hell, but I think she gave as good as she got, which is why they knocked her around.
She's got a cut on her head that should've had stitches, a nasty bruise on her cheek, and a few on her knuckles.
I don’t know why, but I smile. I like that she fought back.
"I'll talk to her,” I say.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I want her to know that she’s under my protection.”
She exhales. "Just be careful what you promise her."
I ignore her and walk back to the bedroom we’ve used in the past. It has a lock on the outside. I hate locking anyone in, but it’s necessary for their safety.
I knock before unlocking the door.
She's sitting in the chair by the window. The tray of food Cinder brought is mostly empty, which is good. She’s pulled her hair back. The bruising on her face is more visible now without all the makeup layered over it. Someone did a number on her. More than one person, probably.
She looks up at me, and I see fear underneath the hostility.
"Good morning." I stay in the doorway with the door open. No quick movements or crowding. I know how this works. "You ate. That's good."
"What do you want?"
"Just checking in." I give her the easy smile that has opened more doors for me than any amount of money or threats. It's my best feature, according to most. "I'm Maksim."
Her eyes move over me once, assessing. They're blue. A pretty light shade that reminds me of the ocean on a calm, clear day. “What do you want?”
"I wanted to tell you personally that you’re safe here. No one will hurt you or ask you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
She says nothing. Just watches me with those beautiful eyes.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Cinder told you."
"I'd like to hear it from you."
A pause. "Lila."
"Lila." I nod. "Okay, Lila. I need to ask you a couple of questions. You don't have to answer them, but it would help me help you."
"I didn't ask you to help me."
“Can I come in?” I point to the chair across from her.
“It’s not my house. I guess you can do anything you want.”
“I won’t come in if you don’t want me to.”
“Whatever.”
I take that as a yes. I leave the door open. I don’t want her to feel trapped with a man in a room with a bed. That’s something else I’ve learned over the years. I’m a big guy, and I’ve been told my size can be intimidating. It’s great for most situations, but not this one.
I sit and get a better look at her. The anger I feel at the marks on her body is unexpected. I’ve seen worse, but this catches me off-guard. That doesn't happen.
She’s young. Nineteen, maybe.
“Do you work for Bekir?”
“Who the hell is Bekir?”
“The man you were with.” It’s not a surprise she doesn’t remember his name. “Do you work for him or one of his men?”
She sits up straighter, and her pale baby blues darken and flash with fury. "Excuse me?"
"It's not an accusation. I just need to know what to expect, and what kind of help you need.”
"Are you calling me a prostitute?" Her voice has gone very quiet and dangerous, which surprises me. I expected tears or panic. "Is that seriously what you think?"
"I would never call anyone a prostitute, and I don’t think you want to throw that word around too much, either. Sex workers. SWs. No shame, but I need to know."
"I was taken." Her words are filled with venom. "I didn't choose to be there. I didn't choose any of this." She takes a deep breath. "I'm not anyone's woman."
"Okay." I keep my voice calm. "I believe you."
"I don't care if you believe me. I don’t know who you are. I don’t want to know any of you.”
If she was kidnapped, her anger and fear are warranted. She has no reason to trust any of us.
"The drugs," I say. "I need to know what they gave you. If you need to detox, we can do that here. Cinder's done it before, and she's better at it than most doctors. But it’s important we know. Coming off too quickly can be dangerous."
"I don't do drugs!”
“Okay,” I hold up my hands. She looks healthy under the bruising. Tan. Strong. “I know Cinder asked, but do you know what they gave you?”
“No. I'm fine now. The food helped."
"That might be one layer of it. There could be more in your system that you can't feel yet."
"I'm fine," she says again with more conviction.
I let it go. “Okay. Can I please have a doctor—”
“Stop! I don’t want to see a doctor. I don’t need you people to be my heroes. I just want to go.”
"I understand, but I'm going to be honest with you. Whoever Bekir was delivering you to, that person will not just let you walk away. If you walk out of this house with nowhere to go, no money, and no phone, in a city you don't know, it’s not if he’ll find you, it’s when.”
"I can take care of myself."
"I don't doubt that you believe that."
Her eyes narrow. "Don't patronize me."
There's something about the way she’s sitting here, still fighting. She’s lost whatever fight there was. I know it, but I don’t think she does. She's not soft. Lila seems like the type who will fight until there’s nothing left. A warrior.
"I'm not patronizing you, but this is my city, and those are now my enemies, whether I like it or not. You're safer here."
"Safe." She scoffs.
"Lila." I hold her gaze. "If you want to leave, I will personally drive you wherever you want to go. I'm not keeping you here against your will. That's not what this is. But I promise you, staying here is the right move.”
She stares at me, searching for the truth. I watch her running through her options. She's smart.
"I want to leave," she says finally.
She doesn't trust me. I think on some level, she knows staying is the smart thing to do, but she's too proud to admit it. I understand that.
I nod. “Okay. But please stay one night. Let your body heal. Cinder said you were still weak from the drugs.”
I see the fear in her eyes. She must know that leaving in her condition would be the wrong move.
“Will I be locked in here?” she asks quietly.
“No. The door will be unlocked. You’ll see guards around the house. They work for me, and I promise that none of them will touch you. This is a large house, so you can ask them to take you to the kitchen or living room. Wherever.”
Her eyes are glassy. It kills me that I can’t pull her into my arms and promise I won’t hurt her. But that’s not what she needs.
I stand slowly and step back to keep from towering over her. She looks up at me. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I walk to the door and pause. “Do you want me to close this?”
“Please.”
I see the tiny bit of satisfaction that gives her. Her choice to have the door closed.
“She’s allowed to roam the grounds,” I tell the guard stationed just down the hall. “Give her space but keep an eye on her.”
I don’t believe she’s a plant working for the Albanians, but one can never be too careful.
“Maksim,” Damien calls out just when I’m about to head into my office.
He walks toward me with a look on his face that says my day is about to get very violent.
“Where?”
“Southern port. Sergei’s man called. Fucking Italians are trying to charge a tariff on one of his shipments.”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously? When will they learn that my brother doesn’t put up with that shit.”
Damien smiles. “I guess we’ll have to teach them another lesson.”
“Slow learners.”
“Sampson is waiting,” he replies.
I hate coming down here. It’s always a bullshit power play. My brothers are the main bratva guys. The heir, the spare, and then there’s me. They don’t need me until something like this comes up, and I have to step into the role of bratva prince.
So fucking annoying.
Two guys stand outside a warehouse that isn’t ours, but the tracking on our shipment says the product is here.
They’re young, maybe mid-twenties, wearing expensive leather jackets that scream new money.
Definitely Italians. Probably nephews or cousins of someone who thinks they can muscle in on Sergei’s territory.
They’re not dumb enough to hijack Sergei’s shit, so they have expendable minions standing out here.
I step out of the car and adjust my jacket. The weight of my Glock in the shoulder holster rests against my ribcage.
“Gentlemen.” I flash an easy smile. “I hear we have a misunderstanding.”
The taller one, his dark hair slicked back with too much product, crosses his arms. “No misunderstanding. Your brother’s shipment goes through our territory now. Twenty percent tariff. That’s the new arrangement.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” I keep my voice pleasant and conversational. “There is no new arrangement. There’s the arrangement my brother made with your boss three years ago, and that arrangement stands.”
“Things change,” the shorter one says. He’s got a scar running down his cheek that he probably thinks makes him look dangerous. “New management, new rules.”
I feel my patience wearing thin. Usually, I can do this dance for hours. Negotiate, charm, and threaten politely until everyone walks away thinking they won something. But today, all I can think about is getting back to the house.
What if she leaves while I’m gone? What if she walks out the door and disappears into Miami with no money and Bekir’s people hunting her?
“Listen.” My smile slips. “I don’t have time for this. You will release my brother’s shipment, apologize for wasting everyone’s time, and then go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and tell your boss that the Sokolov family does not negotiate with children.”
Slick Hair laughs. “Or what? You’re outnumbered, Sokolov. We got ten guys inside that warehouse.”
“And I’ve got my brother, who will burn this operation to the ground if his shipment doesn’t arrive on time.” I take a step closer. “More importantly, I’ve got shit to do today, and you’re really starting to piss me off.”
“Tough talk from—”
I pull out my gun and shoot him.
The sound echoes across the dock. Slick Hair drops, clutching his shoulder, screaming. It’s not a kill shot; I aimed low on purpose. But it gets the point across.
I turn to Scar Face, who’s gone pale. “I have shit to do. I am not in the mood. Are we going to have a problem, or are you going to be smarter than your friend here?” I aim my gun at his knee.
His hands go up immediately. “No problem. No problem at all. The shipment is yours. No tariff.”
“That’s what I thought.” I tuck my gun back into the holster. “Damien, make sure it’s all there.”
Damien moves past me with Sampson behind him. I stand over Slick Hair, who’s writhing on the concrete.
“You’ll live,” I tell him. “But next time someone from the Sokolov family shows up, maybe just do what we ask. You’re lucky it’s me. My brothers are very into torture. I don’t like how messy all of that can be, but when I’m forced to resort to such measures, I do like to play.”
Five minutes later, we’re back in the car, with the shipment secured and on its way to Sergei’s warehouse. Damien is laughing as he pulls out onto the main road.
“What?” I ask.
“You should’ve just shot him first. Could’ve saved us twenty minutes.”
“I tried talking.”
“For about thirty seconds.” He glances at me. “You’re distracted today.”
“I’m fine.”
“Is it the girl?”
I don’t answer, which is answer enough.
“You pulled her out of Bekir’s hands in front of half the city. You brought her to your house. Your house, not one of the safe locations. That was a choice.”
“It was my choice.”
Damien shakes his head. “Just be careful. We don’t know anything about her. She could be working for them.”
“She’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
But I do. The fear in her eyes wasn’t an act. Lila is what she appears to be—a survivor who got caught up in something she doesn’t understand.