Page 56 of Fatal Bonds

After loading a small suitcase with my favorite clothes, I get into the shower, taking my time as I let the water’s heat seep into my skin. I have hours to get ready, so I might as well take my time and enjoy the luxuries of Maks’s penthouse while I still can. But every step I take feels like it’s bringing me one foot closer to that invisible finish line, and I’m inexplicably anxious to cross it.

Towel wrapped around my head and bundled in my terry cloth robe, I head back into the bedroom to get dressed for the gala. At some point during my shower, Maks must have come in to retrieve his clothes, because the steel-gray suit he had hanging out is gone, and a Cristallini garment bag now lies across the foot of the bed, a shoe box and a black velvet jewelry box resting next to it. With shaking fingers, I open the velvet case and gasp at the diamond-encrusted ruby teardrop earrings inside. They’re bold and stunning—the perfect accent to my extravagant wedding ring—and they make me even more curious about the dress Maks picked out for me tonight.

Heart in my throat, I set aside the jewelry and slowly drag down the garment bag’s zipper. Flowing crimson velvet spills out, and my breath catches as I hold up the floor-length evening gown. Its long sleeves are fitted, and a smile tugs at my lips because he knows me so well. The fabric is soft and heavy enough I know it will keep me warm, even in the frigid Chicago chill. The open back means I’ll have to wear it without a bra, and as I hold it up against my body, I catch a glimpse of the generous side slit that’s going to reach nearly to the top of my thigh. Sexy but in a sophisticated, classy kind of way since the boat neck and simple sheath cut will give me a certain amount of modesty. Receiving a dress like this makes me feel like Julia Roberts inPretty Woman, and if we weren’t going to this gala with the single purpose of killing a man, I might actually feel like this could be straight out of the movies. But I rein in my excitement because it could be too easy to lose sight of what tonight’s really about.

I finish getting ready, blow drying my hair and taming it into soft waves with the straightener Kira left behind, and while I don’t have makeup here, I bite my lips and pinch my cheeks to give them a bit more color. Then I slip into the form-fitting dress. It grazes my ankles as I finish off the look with the strappy black high heels Maks left for me, and as I turn to the vanity to put in my earrings, I’m momentarily caught off guard by just how beautiful the dress makes me. It must be nearly as expensive as my wedding dress, and it brings out the color in my cheeks. As a final touch, I leave my glasses behind. It’s going to be a handicap, but if I have to wear a mask, it’s not like I could bring them with me anyway, and my eyesight isn'tthatbad.

Glancing at the clock, I take a deep breath. It’s time to go, and suddenly, I’m nervous enough to start sweating. A cool bead of moisture trickles down the line of my back when I think about the dinner I’m supposed to have with Maks. He’s been so cool and distant since we had sex. It makes me wonder how he sees this night unfolding, if he’s hoping we can have a nice last dinner together, or if he’s just doing this so we can hash out the details of what’s happening tomorrow. A flicker of panic squirms in my belly at the thought that he might intend to send me away right after dinner and not let me go to the gala. But I quickly brush that idea aside. He wouldn’t dress me up like this just to go back on his promise—even if he did seem reluctant to let me come with him.

Pull yourself together, Payne.

Taking a last fortifying breath, I grasp the bedroom door handle, and it gives willingly. A sense of deja vu sweeps over me as I step into the entryway and find Maks waiting for me. Rather than a black suit, he’s dressed in a charcoal gray suit, a black dress shirt and a crimson tie tucked neatly beneath the jacket, and he looks as dangerous and appealing as the night I first met him. Those sharp blue eyes sweep down my body, that glimmer of appreciation making my stomach quiver. I can see the desire in his face, and it makes me melt inside.

This undeniable attraction is something we’ll always have, and it makes me giddy—even as it makes me sad. This feels like the finish line, the final moments we’ll be together, and I’m scared that I made the wrong choice. It feels wrong to keep a secret from Maks—especially one as big as the fact that I’m carrying his child. But even if it feels wrong in this moment, when I’m faced with the full force of his attention, I know it’s the right thing to do.

“Maybe I should have picked something a little less eye-catching,” he observes dryly. “Tonight’s supposed to be discrete.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I glance down at my flattering dress. “I think it’s perfect. Thank you.”

He gives a single nod and presses the call button before offering me his arm. Heart palpitating, I take it, and we ride down to the lobby in silence. Again, the tension pulsing between us reminds me of our wedding day. But tonight, Maks looks more distracted, like his mind is on Don Costanzo and what’s supposed to happen.

I glance around as the car door closes behind us and our limo pulls away from the curb. It’s the first time I’ve been in one, but it would feel girlish and silly to gush over the experience when I’m sitting next to Maks. Everything about him exudes casual indifference. No doubt he’s ridden in limos countless times, and I don’t want to give him any excuse to not bring me to the gala.

“Are you nervous?” I ask. “About tonight?” He hasn’t told me any of the details—probably to ensure I can’t mess them up, and the mystery of it all makes me feel that much more jumpy.

“Nervous, no. But I have been waiting for this for a long time.” His fist clenches as he looks out the window, then he schools his expression into a smile. “Let’s not talk about it. I was hoping we could have a nice dinner together.”

Stomach fluttering, I nod and return his smile. “Okay.”

When the limo pulls up outside the building that holds the Skyline Lounge, I glance up at the towering skyscraper as Maks opens the door and steps out. He offers me his hand, and my pulse jumps nervously as I take it, a spark of anticipation racing across my palm and up my arm. As I straighten, he tucks my fingers into the crook of his elbow and leads me inside.

“Have you ever been here before?” he asks as we ride the elevator up to the top floor.

I shake my head no, and Maks smiles, a twinkle lighting his eyes. The strained feeling lingering between us seems to soften as the doors slide open and he ushers me inside. Two of his guards lead the way, scoping the restaurant as Maks steps up to the host stand.

“Mr. Yashkov,” the hostess says, her expression brightening as she unleashes a charming smile on him, and an intense rush of jealousy makes my chest tight.

It feels oddly similar to a first date, that uncurrent of uncertainty as I watch Maks interact with the people around us. Since he hasn’t dared to take me out in public before now, it’s a jolt to the system to be reminded that other women find him so attractive—my work friends were perfectly vocal about it the night I first met Maks, and the reality hits me now that, once I’m gone, there will be nothing stopping Maks from moving on.

“Your table is ready if you follow me.” Tossing her long black ponytail over her shoulder, the hostess struts out from behind her host stand, showing off her form-fitting black pencil skirt and black patent leather pumps.

Satisfaction floods me when Maks hardly seems to notice. Instead, he glances down at me with a smile and places a warm palm on the small of my back. Butterflies come to life inside me at the intimacy of the touch, the way his thumb brushes lightly across my bare spine, and my uncertainty melts away with the subtle gesture.

The restaurant is fancy, with walls of windows wrapping around the open space and looking out across the city and Lake Michigan. Each table has a crisp white table cloth draped across the surface. Fine crystal and expensive silverware are set at each place, and silver satin napkins have been folded into intricate shapes that fan from the wine glasses. A baby grand piano sits on a raised platform in the center of the restaurant, a man dressed in a classy black tailcoat and white dress shirt tickling the keys. Glass prism chandeliers drip from the high ceilings, and I try not to break my neck as I take it all in.

The hostess stops at a two-person table tucked in a quiet alcove of the room, and she brushes the corner of it with her fingertips as she turns back to us. “Here you are. Please, enjoy your meal.” Her smile turns strained as I take my seat and she hands me my leather-bound menu. Then she gives Maks one last flirtatious glance before leaving us to it.

“I think this is the nicest restaurant I’ve ever stepped foot in,” I murmur, leaning over my menu to get closer now that we’re alone.

Maks’s lips curl into a devilish grin, and he leans in conspiratorially. “You like it, then?”

“I mean, what’s not to like? If the food’s anything like the atmosphere, I think I might have died and gone to heaven.”

He chuckles, the low sound soft and inviting. “The chef will be thrilled to know.”

“What are you best buds?” I tease, and when Maks tilts his head, his eyebrow quirking, my jaw drops. “Wait, this isn’t going to be another of those ‘I’m the owner’ situations, is it?”

“Is that a problem?” he asks.

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