Page 89 of Maxim

I don’t bother asking what he stores in them, although my mind conjures all kinds of awful things, like dead bodies and torture instruments.

Outside, there’s a gorgeous pool and seating area, with a fire pit, hot tub, and kitchen area, as well as a pool house. The gardens are serene and if it wasn’t for the armed guards patrolling everywhere, I could almost pretend I’m staying in a luxury hotel.

“Why are your men all armed to the teeth?” I ask eventually when I can no longer turn a blind eye to the excessive security Max has.

He hesitates, running his fingers through his hair. “I have a few business rivals, some of whom are dangerous.”

I almost snort. That seems like a massive understatement. Pretty sure being a mafia boss means all your rivals are dangerous. Schooling my features, I turn to look at him.

“I didn’t realize running hotels was quite so hazardous to one’s health.” Max doesn’t miss the sarcasm in my voice. He narrows his gaze a little.

“As I mentioned, I have other business interests too.” I wait for him to elaborate, be honest with me, but he says nothing more. Instead, he takes my hand and we walk through the gardens and back into the house through a side door. Just as we reach the kitchen, his phone rings. He glances at the screen and grits his teeth with frustration.

“I have to take this, malyshka.”

“OK. I’m going to nap for a bit.” I’m exhausted, both emotionally and physically. The fact that Max still doesn’t trust me enough to tell me who he really is cuts deep. This, as well as the bomb blast and my injuries, is more than I can deal with right now.

Maybe I’ll gain some clarity after I’ve slept for a bit.

Chapter sixty-two

Max

It’s been a few days and I’ve tried to keep my distance, to give her a chance to heal - physically as well as emotionally - but I’m finding it difficult. She’s barely said a word to me. About the bombing, how she’s feeling, or anything at all.

It’s as if she’s shut down. Built a wall around herself to keep me and everyone out. Her friends have called but she’s not talking to them either. From what Kolya tells me, they’re worried about her. And yes, I am now aware he’s been seeing Amanda.

No fucking clue why he thought that was a good idea, but whatever. My men are entitled to personal lives and I don’t get involved unless there’s a risk to the Bratva. Sasha has checked her out and found nothing, so we’re not worried.

I’m just surprised, that’s all. Kolya doesn’t do relationships. Amanda must have a fucking magic pussy to keep him twisted into knots about her. It’s almost funny watching him puzzling over the text messages she sends because he can’t decide whether she’s being sarcastic or serious.

The house is quiet when I walk in. Greta has left for the day. She’s probably holed up in her cozy little apartment over the garage, watching her favorite soaps. The guards are outside, doing their rounds.

I’ve doubled up security on the perimeter. Sasha’s concerned whoever tried to kill Natalya will try again. I’m inclined to agree.

Kolanski wants her gone so he doesn’t have to worry about bad press, and Uriov is sick enough to like the idea of killing my woman.

I should have known being with me would put her in more danger. It’s not like we’ve been discreet. We’ve been seen together multiple times, and I know Uriov has people watching me from a distance. For the same reason I have guys keeping an eye on him.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Not close enough it seems. Sasha still hasn’t found a solid link between Uriov and the shit that’s been going down lately. We don’t even know who planted the bomb on the car that nearly killed my malyshka.

The cops are supposedly investigating, but they haven’t found a damned thing, so the press has moved on.

The only people who care about this particular incident are the family and friends of Natalya’s colleague, who will all be there for the funeral tomorrow.

I frown. Natalya wants to attend the funeral. The problem is, it’s not safe. I’m concerned someone will try again if she shows up in a public place.

I’m an overbearing asshole, as she’s told me before, but I won’t stop her from going if she wants to pay her respects. I’m not that much of an asshole.

She’s sitting on one of the reclining chairs next to the pool when I walk outside. Low-level lights illuminate the terrace and cast dark shadows beyond the pool. Steam rises from the heated water and there’s a faint smell of chlorine lingering in the air.

It’s peaceful out here. One of my favorite spots. It’s also relatively private, thanks to mature shrubs and privacy screens that surround the adjacent hot tub. To the right, is a pool house, with a changing room and showers.

The property was designed with a family in mind, except my parents only had me and my sister. They might have had more kids but my mother died giving birth to me, and after she died, my father was lost to his grief for too many years.

By the time he recovered, it was too late. I was almost an adult and Vanya was in her early teens, more interested in sneaking out to see boys than making use of the pool.

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