Page 83 of Married to the Bratva

Maxim smirks, a rare flicker of humor lighting his features. “Cozy is one word for it. Reckless might be another.”

“Reckless?” I raise a brow, amused. “Because they’re in love or because Victor laughed when Grandma threatened him with that spatula?”

He glances at me sideways, his dark eyes softening. “Both.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “At least they’re happy. Isn’t that the whole point?”

“Is it?” His voice carries an edge of curiosity, as if he’s genuinely pondering the question. “Happiness has never been the endgame for me.”

I stop walking, turning to face him. “Then what is?”

He pauses, his gaze locking with mine. “It used to be power. Control. The city was all that mattered.” He reaches for my hand, his fingers brushing mine before entwining them together. “But now I think everything I want is standing right here.”

My breath catches, the weight of his words sinking deep into my chest. For a man like Maxim, who spent his life guarding his heart, this kind of vulnerability feels monumental.

“You’re such a liar,” I tease, though my voice wavers slightly. “You just don’t want me to ask for a share of your peanut butter stash.”

He chuckles, low and rich. “True. That’s a perk of being a Bratva boss. I get to keep what’s mine.”

We start walking again, the silence between us now tinged with something warmer, something unspoken but understood. My hand remains in his, and I don’t let go.

As we reach the outskirts of town, the cobblestones give way to a grassy path that winds through a patch of woods.

The rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets create a serene backdrop. Maxim stops suddenly, turning me toward him.

“What do you see for the future, Sophie?” he asks, his voice low but steady.

I hesitate, glancing down at where our hands are joined. “I see our daughter growing up with two parents who love her. I see a thriving business where I don’t have to worry about Federico, Evan, or anyone else. And... I see you.”

“Me?” His brow lifts slightly, his expression unreadable.

“You,” I repeat firmly. “Not Maxim Abramov, the Bratva boss. Just you. The man who saved my grandma, who held my hand when I was scared, who hides peanut butter like it's a state treasure.”

I lean up, my lips brushing against his. It starts slow, soft, but the tenderness quickly gives way to something deeper.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against him, and the world around us fades until it’s just him and me.

My chest tightens, tears stinging my eyes. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I decided to trust you. You said you’d save Grandma and you did.”

With that, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me into the shadows of the building.

His lips find mine, fierce and demanding, and I respond in kind, kissing him back with equal intensity. Our tongues clash, battle, explore. It’s raw, primal, and it leaves me breathless.

His hands roam my body, gripping, pulling, molding me to him. I can feel his desire, hard and unrelenting against my thigh. My own need grows, pooling between my legs, throbbing with each touch, each kiss.

"Maxim," I moan, breaking the kiss. My chest heaves with each breath, my nipples hardening beneath my shirt. "Please…"

He smirks, his eyes boring into mine. "Begging already, sweetheart? Didn’t take long."

I bite my lip, trying to hide my embarrassment, but he sees it. He always sees everything. "Just make me yours," I whisper, my voice trembling.

His expression softens, just for a moment, before he resumes his dominance. "That’s what I intend to do, my needy wife."

He spins me around, pressing me against the cold brick wall. His hand slides under my shirt, finding my breast.

He squeezes, fingers pinching my nipple until I gasp. "Do you like that, Sophie? Do you like being controlled?"

"Yes," I pant, arching my back to give him better access. "You know I do."

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