by Renee Rose
Maxim goes still. When he speaks, I’m certain the answer will be the truth. “Because you’re mine,” he says simply.
I blink rapidly. “Even though you didn’t want me?”
He stares. There’s no hint of a smile on his face. None of the casual, flippant charm. “I may not have wanted you when we married. But I want you now,” he says with total seriousness.
I believe him.
“I may want you, too,” I whisper, fresh tears glimmering in my eyes.
He lifts his chin toward the ignition. “Drive your new car. I like to see you happy.”
I smile and start the car back up. “You’re getting the best blowjob of your life tonight.”
“Mmm.” Maxim adjusts his cock in his pants, a smug look on his face. “I do like you on your knees.”
Chapter 16
Sasha
I’m lounging on the couch watching Game of Thrones with Dima, Nikolai and Pavel. Maxim, Ravel and Oleg are off somewhere on business.
I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to Lucy—she’s always either at work or locked in the bedroom with Ravil, so when I see her walking to the door in a bathrobe and carrying a towel, I ask where she’s going.
“To the rooftop pool.” She rubs her belly. “It’s my saving grace these days.”
I shoot an accusing look at Nikolai and Pavel. “No one told me there’s a pool on the roof.”
“There’s a pool on the roof,” Pavel offers.
I smack him with the back of my hand and jump up. “May I join you?”
“Of course.”
“Give me one minute,” I say, shooting off for the bedroom to change into a bikini.
Pavel whistles when I come out with a towel wrapped around my waist, then winces. “I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Maxim I did that. I don’t want my dick cut off.”
“Oh good. Something to hold over your head next time I want something from the kitchen.” I smirk and head to Lucy.
She’s blonde, probably ten years older than I am, and very serious. Not unkind but not the overly smiley type.
As we walk out, I mutter, “I can’t believe no one told me about the pool. I know I’m under lockdown, but wouldn’t that be safe enough?”
Lucy shoots me a sidelong glance. “How are you doing with the lockdown?”
“I’m sick of it.” I shrug. “But honestly, I’m used to some degree of restriction. My father always had people following and watching me.”
She leads me up a short flight of stairs and onto a beautiful rooftop with a hot tub and pool. Shade umbrellas and potted flowers and trees surround the pool, and there’s a patch of fake grass. “And being married to Maxim? I heard that wasn’t exactly your choice.”
Or his. She leaves that part off.
At the side of the pool, she opens a box and pulls out a kick board, which she offers me.
I take it, and she pulls out a second one for herself.
“No, it wasn’t. What did you hear?”
She hesitates. I gather she’s the type who is too polite to speak about private matters. But I want to know what Maxim told the guys. What they think of me.
“I know you’re the daughter of the boss in Moscow. And he arranged your marriage to Maxim.”
“Yes.” I follow her as she wades down the steps into the pool. The water is nice—just cool enough to be refreshing, but not to shock my body or give me a chill. She tucks the kickboard under her chest and frog-kicks through the water. I do the same.
“It sounded like Maxim and your father were once very tight.” She glances at me to verify. “And I understand they had a falling out, but Maxim was still loyal.”
I nod. “I caused the falling out. Did you hear that part?”
“No. Ravil didn’t mention the details, if he knows them.”
Some of the pressure on my chest leaves. I should confess, but I’m too ashamed.
“I heard you didn’t come here willingly, either.”
“No,” Lucy says. At the other end of the pool, she reverses her direction, this time using a flutter kick. “But Ravil grew on me. Maybe Maxim will grow on you, too.”
“He’s overbearing and dominant but actually way more of a gentleman than I expected.” The memory of Maxim showing up in L.A. with a ring and letting me stay and party makes my heart squeeze almost painfully. He’s better than I deserve. “I really thought he would string me up and eat my liver for breakfast.”
“Things were that bad between you two?”
“Yes.”
“Ladies.” I look up to find Ravil standing at the edge of the pool, gazing at his girlfriend with adoration. He takes a seat in one of the chaise lounges to watch us as if we needed a lifeguard.
Lucy swims to the edge of the pool near him and deposits the kickboard. I join her.
“Have you heard from your mother, Sasha?” Ravil asks.
Warning bells go off in my head, and the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. “No,” I lie. I still haven’t been able to buy a burner phone because Ravil doesn’t let me out of the house alone, but my mom has called and texted me from different phone numbers, always warning me to be careful of Ravil and Maxim.
I haven’t spoken much with Ravil. If I’m honest, I’d have to admit he scares me. He’s pakhan, like my father was. Even though he was technically under my father, I believe him to be just as powerful. That means men live and die by his orders.
He could have ordered Maxim to accept me as his bride because he wants control of Russian oil. He could have plans to kill me that Maxim doesn’t know about. Or he and his Fixer could have worked out a plan together.
I don’t want to think that way, but his question about my mother seems pointed.
He studies me in that way my father used to. Like he sees right through me.
I dip my head under the water to hide the fact that his stare unnerves me. When I come up, he’s still watching.
“You don’t know where she is?”
“Nope.” I try to sound casual.
“It seems nobody knows where Galina went to,” he tells me. “She disappeared at the same time Vladimir died.”
My mouth goes dry. My heart pounds. I keep my lips pressed together to keep from filling the silence between us with information I shouldn’t spill.
“Some people think she had something to do with his death.”
“What?” This takes me by surprise. “That’s ridiculous. Why—because she’s gone? Of course, she’s gone—it wasn’t safe for her anymore without Vladimir’s protection.”
“His murder was strange. None of his enemies or potential successors claimed credit for it. And he was killed with poison—not really bratva style. Our form of murder is usually more… overt.”
Lucy makes a sound of disapproval and swims away. I want to do the same, but I feel caught in Ravil’s ice blue gaze.
“My mother didn’t kill Vladimir,” I say.
“You heard from her once, though, didn’t you?” Ravil presses.
So Maxim has shared with him. Goosebumps prickle my skin, and I get queasy. I climb out of the pool. “I’m getting chilly,” I say, not answering his question.
I grab my towel and wrap it around my shoulders. “Is Maxim downstairs?”
Ravil shakes his head. “No. But he’ll be back soon.”
More warning bells go off. I have to bite down to keep my teeth from chattering. I stuff my feet into my flip flops and manage to wave to Lucy before I make my escape.
I stumble down the stairs and into the hallway, stopping to lean against the wall outside the penthouse door. I wait for my heart rate to slow, but even when it does, even after I knock on the door to be let back in the suite, I can’t shake the cold that’s seeped into my veins.
Sasha
It takes me four days before I can get a moment unsupervised. Maxim, Ravil and Nikolai went to some kind of meeting. I waited twenty minutes, then picked up my purse and headed for the door.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dima say
s, catching Oleg’s eye.
Oleg lumbers to his feet.
I hate the resentment that pops up toward them at keeping me prisoner. I like these guys. I felt like their equal. But now I have to ask permission to leave. Stuffing down my temper, I use my acting chops and hold up my hand like it’s no big deal. “Just running to the drugstore on the corner. For girl stuff.”
I don’t know why talking about periods always makes men uncomfortable, but Dima and Pavel both look away. Oleg stands five feet away from me, clearly still ready to follow.
“Oleg should go with you,” Dima says. He shrugs. “Maxim would kill us if we let you go out unprotected.”
Again, I hide my irritation and shrug. “Suit yourself,” I say to Oleg, holding the door open for him. We’re silent in the elevator.
Well, duh. I’m silent. I do have the urge to make chit chat to fill the void, but I resist. I didn’t ask for him to come along. I don’t have to entertain. I walk to the corner drugstore. I turn and put a hand on Oleg’s chest when he tries to follow me. “A little privacy?” I use my bitchiest bratva princess voice, but I’m instantly sorry, remembering what Ravil had told me. These guys don’t work for me—they’re his brothers. “I’m sorry, it’s just… girl stuff.” I wrinkle my nose. “Kind of embarrassing.”
Oleg steps back and angles his back to the store, like he’s going to guard the whole place while I’m in there.
“Thanks. I’ll be out in a second.”
He doesn’t nod or acknowledge that I spoke at all.
I go in, quickly grabbing a pack of tampons and a few random cosmetics to fill a bag, and then I head to the electronics wall for a burner phone. It requires me getting help from an employee, which makes me nervous as hell because it takes me a minute to flag one down, and the wall is visible from the door. If Oleg looked in, he’d see us.
I keep my eye on his back, but he never turns.
Heart pitter-pattering, I make it through check out, the phone buried in the bag under my girly stuff.
I step outside, almost lightheaded with my success.
Mission accomplished.
“All set. Thanks for coming with me,” I say, suddenly feeling quite chatty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It just wears on me feeling like I never get space. But I know you guys are just trying to keep me safe, and I appreciate that.”
Oleg slides his gaze over my way, but that’s his only acknowledgement of my words.
“Do you need anything?” I ask, suddenly realizing how hard it must be for Oleg to function in this world. “Can I buy you a coffee or tea or anything?”
Oleg’s brows come down and he shakes his head.
“Okay. How do you communicate when you want something, Oleg?” I come right out and ask him. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it up. I blink, unclear what he’s telling me. He obviously can’t talk on the phone. Does he have some kind of app? “You text it?”
He tucks the phone away.
“Is that a yes? You can nod, you know.”
His brows get lower.
“Sorry,” I apologize. I know he won’t hurt me, but he is pretty terrifying, just in sheer size and intimidation factor. The silent thing makes it even worse. I’m sure Ravil and his cell merely have to trot Oleg out with them and people piss their pants. “Was it a yes?”
He actually nods this time.
“Do you have my number?”
He frowns some more.
“So you can text me if you need something.”
He shakes his head, but it’s dismissive, like he’s saying no fucking way he’d text me for anything.
I want to remind him that I’m the one who introduced him to his fantasy-girl, but that would be pushing it way too far. Befriending Oleg will probably be a long term project.
Back at the apartment, I go into the bedroom and then the bathroom, closing the door and running the bathtub for background noise. Then I call the last number my mom called from on the burner phone.
She doesn’t answer at first, so I text that it’s me and try again, and she picks up. “Sasha! How are you, darling?” she asks in Russian.
“I’m okay. Where are you?” I don’t know why I fired that question off first. I guess it’s because Ravil asked. Everyone seems to want to know her location.
“I’m somewhere safe.”
“Why is she asking?” a gruff male voice rumbles in the background. The hairs on my arms stand up.
“Is that Viktor?”
“Yes. Where are you, Sasha? At Ravil’s penthouse?” Later I would wonder how she knew about Ravil’s penthouse, but my mind is already trotting forward to my most burning question.
“Yes. I’m in the bathroom with the tub running. That’s the noise you hear.”
“Where is Maxim?”
“I don’t know—out on business. But he has roommates. They all live together on the top floor of a building. Mama… “
“What is it, Sasha?”
“Um... “ Asking your mother if she killed a man is harder than you’d think. “Who poisoned Vladimir?”
“Oh, probably Leonid,” she says dismissively.
“But he hasn’t claimed responsibility for the death. Ravil thinks that’s strange. He made it sound like people think you did it,” I blurt.
“Th-that’s because he probably gave the order,” my mother says, sounding flustered. I know her well enough to hear the thread of tension in her voice.
Warning bells go off, but I ignore them.
I don’t want to believe my mom would do such a thing.
“Ravil has backed Leonid. He’s responsible for him taking the helm in Vladimir’s absence.”
That chill that I felt in the pool returns.
“Don’t you see why, Sasha? If Vladimir’s dead, he’s one step closer to taking control of the oil wells. That’s why I’m in hiding. As long as they can’t find me, you’re safe. You see? Because if you die, your money passes to me. But if we’re both dead, Maxim and Ravil have it all. They take control of the money and the bratva. It’s exactly what your father feared would happen to us.”
I shake my head. “I-I think you’re being paranoid, Mama,” I tell her, but I can’t stop the trembling in my hands.
“Have they asked about me? Did they ask you to find out where I am?”
I suck in a ragged breath. “They asked, but I said I didn’t know. Which is true. So...I guess don’t tell me. So I don’t have anything to hide.”
“I won’t tell you. But how are you doing, darling? Are you a prisoner there?”
I think of what I just had to go through to buy the phone to call her. I expel a measured exhale. “It’s a gilded cage, but yes. I’m a prisoner.”
“Has he hurt you?”
“Maxim?” Guilt seeps in through the cold. Am I wrong to listen to my mother? Maxim takes very good care of me—sexually and otherwise. How could I even think he planned to murder me? Besides, why would they need to murder me when they alraedy control my money? I’m the one who should do the murdering around here. My father treated me like the spoiled princess he created, not trusting me to manage my own funds. Giving them to Maxim to divvy out to me as he sees fit.
It’s ridiculous, really.
“No,” I tell my mother. “He’s good to me. I think you’re wrong about them.”
I hear Viktor say something in the background, but I can’t make it out. “I have to go now,” my mother says. “Call me again next week. I’m working on a plan to see you.”
“You are?” I can’t decide if that makes me happy or not. “Maxim said you could come here, and he’d protect you.”
“I’d be crazy to trust him,” my mother answers. “No, don’t tell him you spoke with me.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“Promise me. It could mean my life.”
Another wash of fear runs down the front of me. “I promise.”
“I love you, daughter mine.”
“I love you, too, Mama.” I hang up
, fighting the urge to burst into tears.
My mother is wrong.
She’s wrong about all of it.
She has to be.
Chapter 17
Maxim
There are three things I adore about my new wife.
I love the sex. Da, that had to be first because nothing moves me like watching her surrender. Watching the walls and barriers between us crash down in a torrent of hot, brutal passion.
I also love the show. I love when she gets dolled up and turns her natural female magnetism way up. She’s not afraid to talk to anyone. She loves to be the life of the party. She’s the type people might call “too much,” but I love every bit of it. In the week she’s been here, she’s already won over my roommates—even Lucy, and the two of them have very little in common, other than being female. She’s won over the soldiers in the building—the doormen and guards. She’s made friends with the baristas at the coffee shop on the corner. She knows how to work a room.
Most of all, though, I love when she shows me what’s really beneath it all. When she fell apart over acting. When we get real about her father. She’s proud as hell, so I figure if she’s showing me her weaknesses, it means something.
That she’s mine in more than body and last name.
It still isn’t all the time. She’s mercurial. At times, I find her reserved and cagey—especially after I leave her alone for too long, but hopefully with time, she’ll learn to trust that my attention won’t be withdrawn the way her father’s was.
Tonight she’s all about the show. After our talk last week about theatre, she found a play to attend tonight. She’s dolled up in a gorgeous open-backed blue designer dress, looking far more Hollywood star than her usual nightclub diva look. All the guys whistle when we emerge from the bedroom suite, and she tosses her red hair like a model on a runway.
“Where are you two headed?” Lucy asks from her stool at the breakfast counter. She’s eating beef and potato perogies—her constant pregnancy craving.
“The Chicago Temple of Music and Art,” Sasha answers. “Chicago Stage is doing Cabaret.”
