by Lana Sky
His voice resonates with more vitriol than usual—even for him.
“Let’s see how the rat reacts when presented with a pile of cheese.”
“As you wish, sir. But Ms. Marconi?” Lucius clears his throat, and Maxim flinches at the subtle reminder.
“Bring her to her family,” he commands, returning his attention to me. “Then take me back to the city.”
“Yes, sir.” Lucius nods. “Right away.”
Dawn paints the horizon as the city skyline looms in the distance. Fair Haven, as a whole, looks surprisingly cold when viewed from here. A lifeless jungle of concrete I’ve been stuck in for my entire life. Before Maxim, I think I would have sold my soul to escape from it.
Maybe I did, shedding my old life and neighborhood for something new.
Glimpsed from the perspective of a brutal billionaire, Fair Haven contains a darkness far more terrifying than the prospect of wasting my life as my mother did. It reminds me of Maxim in a way. Beautiful from afar. Terrifying and cold while up close. Impossible to leave for reasons I can’t really explain.
The fact that our destination is beyond the city limits unsettles me in more ways than one. It’s symbolic, in a sense. I’ve craved my freedom from the place for so damn long…
But as it turns out, the world beyond my home is flat, boring, and devoid of the chaos I’ve grown accustomed to. When we arrive at the property, I assume my family is sequestered in, I’m even more unsettled. No one would ever guess the true owner of the quaint dwelling enclosed by a wrought-iron gate. Hell, add in a white picket fence, and the place would look tailor-made for some rich soccer mom and her brood to inhabit.
Not a crime lord with a preference for penthouses.
The only glitch in the façade is a security booth guarding the entrance, staffed by two men dressed in black. They nod solemnly as the car advances past them, down a paved driveway and up to the front of the house.
“The extra security measures are temporary. As for the house, I admit it’s not my usual taste, but it’s secure,” Maxim explains as I take in the white mansion with black trimming. He must sense the skepticism my expression can’t disguise. “Get some rest. Your family is already settled in. I’ve asked the guards to remain out of sight. Lucius will come by later.”
He doesn’t bother to explain what will happen after that. He doesn’t have to, considering that my experience with his controlling nature is enough for me to fill in the blanks—tonight, we’ll be on a plane to only God knows where. Though, to be fair, in Maxim’s world, God himself sits beside me, so convinced of his own power. Any slight violation of his wishes equates to a mortal sin.
Like daring to question him. “What about their school?”
“The arrangements have been made,” he says, prepared for me. My punishment is his thumb tracing my lower lip as if savoring my rebellion. “As for your siblings, they’ve been told you’re going on a surprise family vacation.”
Surprise. Our first trip from the city ever is anything but a “vacation.”
It’s petty to focus on that point. To be irritated by it. After all, what is a trip somewhere new in relation to a pre-designed wedding dress, or a disposable ring? Petty, fucking concerns. It’s even pettier to needle him for no damn good reason. “What if I don’t want to leave?”
A low sound resonates in his throat. “Don’t.” He meets my gaze directly, his stare fathomless. “You feel comfortable enough to question me. I can respect that. But don’t ever doubt me or my intentions toward you. When you are safe, I can turn my attention to Anatoli without any distractions.”
“So, you’re staying in the city?”
“Keep the car running,” he tells Lucius before exiting the car. To me, his tone is far more curt. Another warning. “Come.”
I trail him up the walkway, allowing him to take the lead. Beyond the front door is a layout similar to that of his previous house. Faint noises from various directions betray the presence of other occupants, awake despite the early hour. Running water. A muffled television. High-pitched bickering over toothpaste.
A sense of relief nearly barrels me over, and I forget my annoyance. I’ve spent these past few days so wrapped up in myself. I didn’t have the time to truly fear for my kids—or feel the gratitude for the man who has kept them safe all this time.
I glance at him only to catch him observing me in return. Dark, his eyes brim with an unknown emotion. One too dangerous to decipher on a whim. Rather than try, I reach out, brushing my fingers along his forearm. “Thank you—”
“Frankie!” I turn to spot a tiny blur of pink and blond racing down the stairs in my direction. “I missed you!” Ainsley declares while throwing her arms around my waist. “Where are we going? I’ve never been on vacation before!”
“Um, it’s as much as a surprise to you as it is to me,” I confess. But I force a smile and try to bite back any doubts. “Are you excited?”
“Why do you look so funny?” She wrinkles her nose and tugs me along. “Never mind. Hurry up. I want to show you my new doll. Are you going to stay over?”
“I think so…” I look back for confirmation, but Maxim is already gone, vanished without a goodbye.
And I barely catch the door closing behind him.
Chapter Six
It’s scary how easy it is to fall into an old routine. To take on another persona as though it’s a well-worn role in a tired play. I’ve been away from the kids for days, but in little over an hour, I’ve broken up two fights and played referee during three shouting matches.
Some things never change. And in Maxim’s world, maybe that’s a good thing.
“Damn, Frankie,” Mikie grumbles from across the living room. He lies across a couch so expensive it probably belongs in a fancy boutique rather than here. His bare feet are propped on one of the armrests, and I nearly rip his legs from their sockets as I knock them off.
“Have some fucking manners,” I snap at him. “We don’t live here.” And I can’t shake that fact no matter how comfortable they seem. The beautiful, priceless furniture serves as a mocking reminder that it’s not truly ours. It’s borrowed.
“Chill,” he says, laughing. “I almost forgot what it sounds like to hear the master utilize ten different curse words in one sentence. Bravo.”
“Fuck off, smartass.” My jaw aches, but when I rub the sore muscle, I realize why. I’m smiling.
Maybe because this feels good in a way I don’t expect. No talk of weddings or gowns. Normalcy.
But there is always an undercurrent that reinforces one thing—this newfound security is possible at the behest of one person. The man who pays the bills. The puppet master who ensures that I don’t have to craft a lunch of burned macaroni and Pop-Tarts like I used to.
In my new reality, a chef appears from nowhere to announce that brunch has been served in a dining room set exactly for seven. In lieu of paper plates, fine cutlery and expensive china adorn each place setting. No roaches are scurrying in the corners to set the mood. Instead, a bay window overlooks a meticulously crafted garden of fancy, colorful flowers.
Trust fund babies, eat your heart out.
“Hey!” Mikie snaps, slapping at one of the twins’ hands as they reach across the table. “Use your goddamn manners and say please. Right, Frankie?”
Something inside me aches as he eyes me as if for permission. While I’ve been gone, I have no doubt as to who had to step up to fill my shoes.
“Right,” I croak.
“Taste this,” Ainsley squeals, shoving a forkful of her food in my face. The menu ironically consists of a fancier version of macaroni and cheese with vegetables on the side instead of sugar.
I choke down a bite. “It’s good.”
“Yeah! I didn’t know anything, but pizza could taste so good,” Ainsley chirps in agreement.
“Pass me the bread, please,” Mikie says while reaching for a porcelain saucer. “So where are we going, Frankie? I never thought we’d be the kind of people w
ho ‘go away’ for summer break.”
I can’t tell if he’s horrified or excited by the prospect.
“It’s a surprise, right, Frankie?” Ainsley pitches in.
“Do I have to eat this? I read in a magazine that dairy isn’t good for your skin,” Daisy muses, eyeing her plate. “Though the sun isn’t either, so if we’re going to a beach—”
“What’s a little more acne, pizza face?” One of the twins snipes.
I sigh and reach for a fork. “Cut it out. Let’s just have a nice, normal fucking…”
Something in the window catches my eye. A shadow, displacing the pretty flowers and manicured lawn. No. A person…running?
“Frankie?” Someone taps my shoulder. “You okay?”
“I…”
Suddenly, two men race into the dining room and lunge toward the window. One of them bites out a shouted command, “Get down!”
And everything goes to shit.
Glass shatters. Screams echo. Something slams into me from the side, knocking me to the floor. I scramble for balance, dazed as a million different things happen at once.
Racing footsteps. Another monstrous, echoing sound. Noise. More screams, high-pitched and deafening. I can’t see. Think.
Then a hand comes from nowhere, yanking me to my feet. “This way,” someone commands into my ear, their tone familiar. Lucius. He throws his arm around my shoulder, pinning me to his side. “Keep your head down. I’ve got you.”
He nudges me toward the exit, but I turn back, barely recognizing the room behind me at all. Glass decorates the table like confetti. One of the chairs is broken, and flailing bodies clamor for the doorway. It looks like a fucking bomb went off.
“Ainsley?” Panic breaks my voice into a hollow rasp. “Daisy?”
“Come!” Lucius grabs my arm. “Everyone is safe, but we need to move. Now!”
I follow him blindly. Wherever we go, we move too quickly for me to track our progress. All I know is that when Lucius finally stops, we’re in an enclosed space illuminated only with fluorescent lighting. A basement?
One by one, the kids stream inside, flanked by several men I don’t recognize. They’re dressed in black, each openly sporting a weapon. Guards.
“What’s happening?” Ainsley demands. I look down to find her clinging to my waist. Her eyes are wide, staring blankly. “Frankie, what’s happening?”
“A minor gas leak,” Lucius explains calmly. “It most likely caused a small pipe explosion. Nothing to worry about. Ms. Marconi, if you don’t mind, may I have a word?”
He heads into the hallway, past the guards. The second we’re out of earshot, I reach for his hand, forcing him to face me. “What’s really going on?”
“Someone just tried to kill you,” he explains, his tone eerily blunt. “It was a lazy attempt to be sure. A warning more than anything, but Mr. Koslov will want you brought to him immediately.”
“No.” The world spins. I have to hunch over and cradle my head in my hands just to keep standing. The floor sways beneath me as a tattered giggle escapes my throat. Maybe I’m in shock. From here, I can hear Mikie demanding answers amid a thin, terrified cry. Ainsley. God, she’s never sounded so frantic before. Standing upright, I start in their direction. “I’m not leaving them—”
“Trust me, it will be for the best,” Lucius insists, grabbing my hand before I even make it a step. Frowning, he withdraws a handkerchief from his suit pocket. “You’re bleeding. If I may—” He dabs at a patch of flesh above my left eye, but I don’t feel anything. The cloth, however, comes away red. “Don’t be alarmed,” Lucius says, stowing the stained fabric within his jacket. “It’s merely a superficial laceration. Nothing too serious. Still, I’ll have a physician meet you at the club.”
“The club?” My thoughts congeal within my skull like jelly. He’s speaking too quickly. I can’t keep up.
“Yes.” Lucius nods. “I need to get you to Mr. Koslov immediately. And I know you’re concerned for your siblings. I will stay with them. And, if I may be blunt, they’ll be safer apart from you for now. Tomas?” He directs his attention to one of the men dressed in black who steps forward. “This is the head of security,” Lucius explains to me. “He will bring you to Mr. Koslov. Now go.”
But I never have a choice. Tomas takes my arm and steers me into another room before I even realize what’s happening. I start to protest, but one last look from Lucius makes me go limp, resigned.
It’s the same way he looked at me in the car after dispensing his ‘advice.’
Without judgment or irritation. No anger, either…
Just pity.
Tomas drives me to the club in a vehicle I don’t recognize. Rather than a sleek sportscar, I find myself in the back seat of a bulky van with tinted windows that paint the world beyond in dark obscurity. Rather than to portray luxury, its purpose is far more utilitarian—safety.
And urgency.
Forgoing about a million traffic laws, Tomas whips the van over the courtyard of the club and parks mere feet from the entrance. A heartbeat later, he’s already at my door, moving to shield my body with his. “This way, Ms. Marconi.”
We barely enter the building before Maxim appears as if conjured from thin air. Wild with rage, his eyes trace my face, narrowing over the blood drying on my forehead.
The next second, I’m in his arms, my head on his shoulder. His pulse hammers madly beneath his skin as he carries me down a darkened hallway and into the secluded bedroom, I know to be his.
“You’re bleeding… Damnit.” He makes me sit on the edge of the mattress, his focus on my forehead. “Are you alright?”
“No,” I croak, but the blood dripping down my chin barely fazes me. In fact, the only thing I can seem to care about is a simple statement Mikie said. “It’s almost summer break.”
Maxim frowns, scanning my face. “How do you feel? Is your head—”
“I mean, my kids should be in a fucking amusement park or something.” My hands are shaking. Balling them into fists isn’t enough to stop the tremors wracking me from head to toe. My teeth chatter, breaking my words into a series of jagged syllables. “They deserve a normal vacation. School. A real home. Not getting s-shot at—”
“Breathe,” Maxim warns, stroking the uninjured side of my face. “You’re in shock—”
“You think I want protection?” I’m babbling. I can barely make sense of my own damn words—but I can’t shut up, either. “I want normalcy! I want my sisters to grow up in a normal fucking environment, and my brothers shouldn’t see me covered in bruises... I want them to have bedtimes, and allowances, and take walks in the park. Shit normal people do. I want them to have what I didn’t. Not this.” My eyes burn, and moisture spills from them the second I blink. “Not borrowed mansions, and fucking fear.”
Maxim watches me cry, his expression unreadable. Then he crouches before me, and his heavy sigh ruffles my wayward curls. “You were right to question me,” he admits, bringing his mouth against my ear. “Separating you from me was foolish. It won’t happen again.”
“Who was it?” I ask as the chaos replays in my mind over and over. “Was it your grandfather?”
His upper lip pulls back from his teeth. “I don’t know,” he snarls. “But I will find them. They will pay—”
“Sir?” The door opens, and Tomas enters.
“What the hell is it?” Maxim whirls around, but before he can utter another word, Tomas approaches him and whispers something into his ear. Whatever he says makes Maxim’s entire body stiffen. The next second he’s barreling into the hallway, and I have to run to keep up.
At first, I don’t know what makes him stop at the edge of the club floor. His erect posture is alarming, but nothing compared to how I’d assume he’d act in the face of an armed intruder. For one, he doesn’t draw a weapon. Instead, his body ripples with barely concealed tension—but that’s the odd part. He’s trying to hide it.
I discover the answer to the mystery once I spot the
lanky figure leaning against the bar, admiring a bottle of liquor. He’s tall and alarmingly thin. His body barely shapes the gray sweatshirt he wears paired with light wash jeans. Wild dark hair obscures his face from this angle, but his pale fingers betray an unusual grace as he twirls the bottle between them.
“I hear you’ve been looking for me,” he says without turning around. “Well, you’ve found me, little Maxi. What do you want?”
Maxim observes the other figure in a way that can only be described as hostile. His fingers flex at his sides as if he has to consciously keep them from forming fists. “It’s about damn time you’ve crawled out of hiding, Vadim.”
“Oh?” Vadim cocks his head, still facing away from us. “Unlike you, I don’t dwell in the lap of luxury. I am, in the open, as they say. Easy to find.” He has an accent as well, though it’s less pronounced than Maxim’s and harder to place. British? Russian? French? He speaks with a blend of several different inflections. “And it’s funny that you sought me out. Considering you threatened to kill me if I ever set foot in your precious city again. I took your sudden change of heart as an invitation to visit. Nice place—”
“You know what the fuck I want.” Maxim advances a dangerous step, but Vadim doesn’t seem to notice. Or care. He lazily tosses his bottle into the air, catching it one-handed.
“Enough games,” Maxim warns. “Let’s cut to the heart of it. Stand with me against Anatoli. You know I will make it worth your while.”
“Is that so?” I jump as Vadim barks out an unexpectedly harsh note of laughter. Compared to the musical quality of his voice, the sound rings like an off note in an otherwise pretty piece of piano music. “You think I give a damn about your money?”
“No.” Maxim flexes his arms, adjusting the fit of his suit. “But did I say anything about money?”
