Page 53 of Bound to the Bratva
“Yeah, well, Maxim made sure he’ll never be putting his hands on me ever again. If he does, I’m sure he’ll lose his other hand.”
She nods, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Good. He needed to be put in his place. It was long overdue.”
I take a deep breath, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. “This might sound crazy, but I’m just so relieved I married Maxim. It’s refreshing to have someone in my life who truly has my best interests at heart. When we were first matched I didn’t think any of this could be possible, and look at the great relationship we’re having right now.”
My mother’s expression softens, and she reaches across the table to give my hand another squeeze. “I can see it, Aria. The way you talk about him, the way your entire demeanor has changed—Maxim is exactly the kind of man you need. I think he’s good for you, and he’s obviously making you happy. Maybe, you can embrace your bloodline now instead of being angry about it. You’re a Zuyev, which means you have a place in the Bratva, and I know you’ve hated it since you were a child. Just…embrace it now. Feel your power. After all, you’re going to be the Bratva queen at some point.”
As much as I never wanted to accept that fact, it’s the truth. “I know, and honestly my perspective is changing.”
My mother’s eyes gleam with a knowing smile. “And I must say, he is quite easy on the eyes as well.”
I feel a flush rise to my cheeks as I let out a soft laugh. “That he is. I’ll admit, I was put off by his arrogance at first. But the way he’s worked to win me over...” I trail off, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Ah, yes, the infamous charm.” My mother leans back in the booth, taking a sip of her drink. “I always did think you needed a man with a firm hand to tame that fiery spirit of yours.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Whoa, no one can tame my fiery spirit. And you really think Maxim is the one who’s going to do that?”
She nods decisively. “Without a doubt. The way he so swiftly dealt with your father’s transgressions? That’s the kind of protection I want for my little girl.”
A small shiver runs down my spine at her words. “When he told me that, I didn’t know what to think. But now, I can’t deny I feel safer knowing Maxim will go to such great lengths to protect me.”
My mother reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine. “Then he’s exactly the kind of man you need, Aria. Someone who will stop at nothing to keep you safe.”
I would never have agreed with her in the beginning, but I do now.
Maxim is the man for me, even if I didn’t want to believe it at first.
Eighteen
Maxim
The dim, pulsing lights of the empty club cast an ominous glow, shadows flickering across the dance floor. I sit alone at the manager’s desk, the leather chair creaking as I shift my weight. The place reeks of stale booze and cheap perfume—a familiar, comforting scent.
I used to spend my early twenties in clubs like this, surrounded by women, drinking my nights away, partying until the sun came up. But, those were the days before I had any true responsibilities. Now things have changed.
My fingers drum impatiently on the polished wood, eyes trained on the door. Where the hell is Bruce? I grind my teeth, patience wearing thin. This is his domain, his turf. I’m the intruder here, waiting in the shadows like a predator.
The click of the lock makes me sit up straighter. It’s about damn time. The door swings open and Bruce stumbles in, reeking of cigarettes and bourbon. He freezes when he sees me, eyes going wide.
“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” he snarls, hand going to his belt.
I lean back, affecting an air of casual indifference. “Relax, Bruce. I’m not here to cause any trouble.” I let my lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. “I just want to have a little chat.”
“Who the hell are you?” He asks yet again.
I watch the fear ripple through Bruce’s body as I introduce myself. “So glad you asked. I’m Maxim Volkov. You know who I am, don’t you?” He does, but I can’t help fucking with him a little bit.
His eyes dart around the dimly lit office, looking for an escape. He can look all he wants, but there isn’t one. “Volkov? Shit.” He swallows hard, the bob of his throat betraying his nerves. “What do you want?”
I prop my feet up on the desk, casually examining the space. “I’ve been hearing some...interesting rumors about you, Bruce. Seems you’ve been running that mouth of yours, bragging about knowing who was behind the hit on my wife. Is that true?”
Bruce pales, the blood draining from his face. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammers, edging toward the door.
I let out a bark of humorless laughter. “Don’t play dumb with me, you fat fuck. You’ve been flapping your gums all over town, and you honestly think I wouldn’t hear about it?” Keeping my voice deceptively calm, I stand and advance on him, towering over his portly frame. “So, how about we try this again—what have you been saying, Bruce?”
He cowers, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I-I didn’t mean nothing by it, Volkov. Just talking, you know? Trying to...impress people.”
His eyes dart around the office, searching for any avenue of escape. He already knows he doesn’t have one. Hell, I already know it too.
