Page 67 of Silent Ties

But he squeezes my hand, continuing to hold it.

Max is stone. Hard to read and stony silent. But he isn’t just some rock. He’s a mountain. Vast and awe-inspiring. He doesn’t chip away under pressure. He remains strong and resilient and perhaps if I can manage it, I’ll eventually start to see more of who he is.

When the waiter comes for our order, Max orders the burger and in a last-minute decision, I ask for the pasta dish. When it arrives I don’t think anybody understands how much of a triumph it is.

At least until I look up and spot Gia Akatov a few tables over.

She winks and I smile back.

Throughout lunch, Max keeps touching me. Running his hand up and down my thigh. When the waiter takes our plate he asks for the dessert menu.

“That’s so unnecessary.” Yelena wrinkles her nose. “And you’ve never enjoyed sweets.”

“The olive oil cake is more savory, sir,” the waiter helpfully supplies.

“A slice of that to go please.” He hands him the menu.

My mouth waters for a slice of the pistachio cake but I wilt, thinking he’s going to leave early.

Yelena senses it too. “Work leaves you stretched thin.”

“Hardly.” His eyes slide to me. “Will you give me a moment with my mother.”

I don’t know who’s more surprised—me or Yelena.

His shoulders remain straight and he smiles softly. But the fire beneath the coal eyes sparks and wariness creeps into my throat.

“It’ll just be a moment, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to the back of my hand, the dismissal clear.

CHAPTER 18

Maxim

Elijah’s wrong if he thinks he won’t pay.

He left the country, and while I’d like to think it’s because he’s smart enough to run, the trip was arranged months earlier.

It doesn’t mean I won’t be waiting.

He landed at a private airfield this morning. It’s why I got up at the ass crack of dawn and drove out to our parent’s house. The estate is quiet on the gray foggy morning.

When my brother arrives from overseas trips, he speaks to our father first. They both prefer face-to-face meetings, hence why he went out of his way to come to the estate, when he normally avoids the place.

Just like Roma. I’m surprised to see his 1964 black Plymouth Barracuda in the garage. If it came down to saving his twin brother or his car, the vintage model would win every time.

The hood is cold, so he’s been here for a while. Strange since Elijah’s flight didn’t land long ago and it’s not that far of a drive from the airfield to the house.

Nondistinctive chatter drifts down the shorthallway leading from the garage to the kitchen. Nothing ever stops my brothers from scrounging around for food.

“I told you not to push so hard,” Roma says, twisting his spine as he searches for something. He picks up a spatula.

Elijah has forgone his tweed for the day, instead pairing a blue button-down with matching trousers. His sleeves are rolled up and he leans against the kitchen island, waiting for Roma to finish making breakfast.

“We had a plan,” Roma goes on, eggs frying in the pan.

“Your plan was stupid.” Elijah lifts a glass of orange juice. His normally combed hair looks disheveled but I doubt it has anything to do with guilt.

“Your plan is going to get you killed.” Roma menacingly points the spatula at him. “And have some compassion for Russet if you’re going to interfere like that.”

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