Chapter 21
Maksim
This is my second glass of vodka, and I still can’t stop thinking about her.
The office is dark, with only the desk lamp on, and I should be reading the report Yuri left about the activity in Tallinn. It’s been open in front of me for an hour, and I haven’t read a single line.
Because every time I look down at the paper and try to focus, my mind drifts to her. Svetlana sprawled on our bed, legs spread, both hands working to pleasure herself, her eyes locked on mine.
Blyat.
I drain the glass in one gulp. Nothing. It doesn’t help.
I could have stayed. Fuck, that’s what I should have done.
Every part of me wanted to close the distance between us, replace her fingers with my mouth, then sink into her hot pussy and put an end to this maddening need.
Instead, I told her to go to sleep and went to relieve myself alone in the bathroom like some idiot teenager who doesn’t know what to do.
This pride is killing me.
A knock at the door makes me adjust my posture before it opens and Olga walks in. Even with the desk between us, I don’t want to offend my housekeeper with my obvious hard-on just from imagining my wife touching herself.
She’s carrying a tray, crossing the office with short, determined steps before setting the food on the edge of the desk, right on top of the report I wasn’t reading.
“You didn’t make it in time for dinner.”
“The meetings at the construction company ran longer than expected.”
I don’t need to explain myself to Olga. Technically, she’s just the Pakhan’s housekeeper, but in reality, she’s more like a grumpy mother. She likes to know where I spend my days, so I tell her—when it involves the legitimate business, of course.
“There’s stuffed cabbage and bread. Eat.”
Anyone with sense knows it’s useless to argue with Olga, especially when it comes to food. I pull the tray closer and stare at the plate.
“Did she eat dinner?”
Olga gives me a reproachful look that makes me feel eight years old again.
“She did. In her reading room, as always. But she barely ate. Seemed distracted.”
My chest tightens at the thought that she must be lonely.
“Is she okay?”
“She’d be fine,” Olga replies, already heading for the door, “if her husband would stop hiding from her in every corner of his own house.”
I freeze with the fork halfway to my mouth.
“Olga.”
“Don’t ‘Olga’ me.” She stops at the door and turns to face me. “I raised you better than this, Maksimka. That girl wasn’t made to sit around locked up, waiting for you to decide whether you deserve to be happy.”
“Things aren’t that simple.”
“I was married long enough to know how hard it is. But you can’t run from God’s plans.”
“God has nothing to do with this.” I roll my eyes.
“You blaspheme, boy. But you decided to marry her. So now be a proper husband.”
With that, she walks out, closing the door behind her and leaving me more irritated than before.
Olga is right, as always. It’s infuriating to admit. I’ve been stubborn my whole life. Ever since I realized my father was a monster—even before he gave me this scar—I knew that someday I would kill him.
I spent my entire life waiting. Waiting for the right moment to take his place, to create the Circle, to strike the enemy at the most opportune moment. Patience is the only weapon that’s never betrayed me.
Until now.
The longer I wait under the guise of strategy, the worse things get. I’m being betrayed within my own organization. My enemy laughs behind my back. They call me weak. My wife is longing for a husband who only pushes her away.
There’s nothing patient left in me. This has become cowardice.
I push the tray away, stand, and walk to the window. Down below, the back courtyard is blanketed in fresh snow, untouched, blue under the moon. Somewhere near the tree line, Ivan sleeps.
Tomorrow there will be no operation, no meeting, no Circle. I won’t let another day pass being passive. I don’t know what’s happened to me lately, but I’m not this complacent man pretending to be Pakhan.
It’s time to be ruthless again.
And I’m going to start at home.
Anya
Maksim is in the kitchen when I come downstairs.
I stop dead in the doorway, trying to make sense of a scene that doesn’t compute. Maksim Nikiforov, the Man in the Mask, my elusive husband, is in jeans and a t-shirt, leaning against the kitchen counter and chatting with Olga at eight in the morning. He’s never home at this hour.
“Good morning,” I say, equal parts cautious and suspicious.
“Good morning, Svetlana.” He slides a second mug across the counter toward me with a small smile. “Your coffee.”
I look at the mug, then at him, then at Olga. This is all very strange, and it gets even stranger when the housekeeper who never budges from the kitchen walks out with a basket of bread in her hands, muttering something I can’t make out.
“Why aren't you at work?”
“I'm not working today.”
Maksim takes a long sip of his coffee, keeping his eyes on me over the rim of the mug.
“Don't you have teeth to yank out or people to beat up or something?”
The laugh he lets out makes me happier than I'd like.
Stop being charmed by your runaway husband, Anya.
“You have quite the imagination about what I do.”
I shrug and pick up the coffee. It's exactly how I take it—a little milk, no sugar. I appreciate the gesture. Even if Olga prepared the cup, it's nice to think he cared.
“You're not exactly chatty, you know? Especially about your work. All I have to go on are movies.”
“It's pretty boring and bureaucratic most of the time,” he says, heading over to sit on one of the stools in front of a selection of rolls and sliced fruit.
“I have legitimate businesses too, most of them in construction. I spend most of my day reviewing reports, giving orders, and sitting in meetings.”
“No teeth-pulling and torture?” I joke, going to sit beside him.
“Only on special occasions.”
His smile is breathtaking, and it irritates me how easily I give in to him. I take a sip and reach for a sweet roll to mask my discomfort and give my hands something to do. Without my noticing, he pulls his hand from his pocket.
“Hold out your hand.”
“Why?”
“Svetlana.”
I roll my eyes and obey. I like how he says my name to get my attention—deep, low, and sexy as hell.
I feel the weight of something soft in my palm. It's a long velvet box, the kind meant for expensive jewelry. Before I can protest, he opens it, revealing a beautiful bracelet. It's silver, thin and delicate, with minimal ornamentation and just a few sparkling stones here and there.
“It was my mother's,” he says.
The confession leaves me speechless. I lift my eyes to find his face impassive, but not exactly calm or irritated. I study him a moment longer and realize he's waiting to see if I like the gift.
“Maksim.” My voice comes out strange, low. “This is too much, I…”
“It's yours. I want you to keep it. To wear it.”
And then I understand the weight of what's in my hand.
Maksim isn't the sentimental type. He doesn't talk much about his parents or the past, and that alone tells me a lot.
It tells me, mainly, that whatever he went through wasn't good.
This bracelet is a memory of the mother he lost as a boy, and he wants me to keep it.
I could thank him, but saying “thank you” wouldn't capture half of what I'm feeling, so I set the mug on the counter, take the two steps between us, and wrap my arms around his enormous torso in a hug.
It's the first time I've taken the initiative. Every time we've touched, Maksim made the first move, and now I feel comfortable enough to invade my enormous, intimidating husband's personal space.
With my cheek pressed against his chest, I can hear his breathing, feel the warmth radiating through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and sense the unsteady, strong beating of his heart.
I hide a smile, pressing my face harder against him, too happy that I'm causing this reaction, and taking the opportunity to breathe deeply, inhaling his scent.
Damn, he smells good.
Maksim stays motionless for a full breath.
Rigid, surprised, as if no one has hugged him like this in God knows how long.
Then he slowly wraps his broad arms around me.
One hand on my back, the other rising to my nape, sending a shiver through me.
With his chin resting on top of my head, I hear his chest vibrate when he says:
“We're going to spend the day together.”
I pull back enough to look up.
“What do you mean?”
“No work, no Circle, no interruptions.” His gray eyes hold mine. “Just you and me.”
My heart warms with anticipation. We're walking into unknown territory, and surprisingly, I don't feel cornered or insecure. Being with Maksim has made me happier than I imagined.
After breakfast, he takes me to see the places I haven't explored yet, and I realize just how immense this property is.
There's a winter garden at the end of the west wing corridor with several plants that shouldn't survive the Russian winter.
The room is quite large, with floor-to-ceiling glass walls and a door that opens onto the edge of the woods.
“I thought it was a storage room,” I say, because whenever I tried to open the door to explore, it was locked.
“Ivan sleeps here sometimes, when it's too cold outside. It's not wise to open it without knowing if he's inside.”
I look around more carefully and spot an enormous blanket crumpled in a corner.
“You have a bear that sleeps in the winter garden when it's cold,” I say, stunned.
“We've already established that I have a bear, Svetlana,” he replies with a half smile.
“You have to admit it's kind of surreal.”
The corner of his mouth curves up, and I silently celebrate once more. Every time Maksim smiles and shows me his relaxed side, I feel privileged and special.
We spent the entire morning talking and walking around the property, until we settled in the courtyard where I used to dance during my first days here. Even with the icy wind blowing, the weather is much more pleasant than yesterday.