Maxim lowers his phone and sighs. Then he pulls a strip of fabric from his jacket. “Formality.” When he leans toward me, I hold out my hand.
“I’ve done this before,” I say sweetly.More times than I can count.
“Sorry. Can’t trust you to do it tight, Annika.”
I lower my hand, but oblige, sliding across the fine leather seat until my thigh slides against his. I meet his eyes, and detect only the slightest waver. “Go on, young wolf,” I coo, closing my eyes. “Make it tight, then.”
He wraps the blindfold on, and I could swear, as his fingers touch my skin, they tremble.
* * *
The drive is long, and after so many sleepless flights, I let myself drift off. When I wake, it’s to Maxim’s stern voice, and my head on his shoulder. I drop my hand to his thigh, playing at surprised and half-asleep, relishing the way he quickly steps out of the car.
Outside the fresh air is punishingly cold.Delicious, my mother would say. She’d spent winters with her father in Montreal, and laughed at Americans who couldn’t set foot outside during those long, black months. It is delicious, I think, breathing deeply.Mountain air.I’ve spent enough time in the north to know the difference.
“Come.” Maxim’s hand is at my elbow. We track through thick snow, and the moment a door swings open, I’m struck by a wave of fragrant heat. Inside, whereverinsideis, someone is cooking. Butter and garlic and vinegar—my stomach growls in immediate answer. I obediently kick snow off my heels and let Max guide me in.
Warm light touches through the blindfold, but we don’t slow. I’m led up several sets of carpeted stairs, down a hallway and then another, before finally reaching a set of double doors that are opened and closed for me in a way that almost feels like ceremony.
Maxim unties the blindfold, and I soak in my new location: a sprawling, opulent room replete with arched windows, a canopied four-post bed, and a gold-marble tiled en-suite.
“Jesus,” I say, before I can stop myself. When I find Maxim watching me, his face is shuttered and unreadable. “What is this, the fucking Kremlin?”
This earns a small, dark smile. “I was going to kill you, you know.”
He tosses the blindfold on an ornate bistro table, dropping into a low cushioned chair beside it. He looks expectant, almost—like a king at his feast table. I unwind my scarf and remove my coat, hanging them beside the arched double doors.
Primly, I go and sit opposite him, pouring vodka from the crystal decanter waiting elegantly on the table. Maxim’s smile stays in place.
“But you don’t kill old friends?” I press when he says nothing else, passing him a glass. I slide off my shoes and tuck my feet beneath me, making myself as small and unassuming as possible. “Your morals are questionably progressive for the boss of an organized Russian crime syndicate.”
The smile drops. He drinks his vodka. “The kids.”
“Hm?” I lift a brow, smiling coyly as I, too, drink.
“They’re mine.”
I give him a satisfied, acidic smile. When I speak, I lean toward him conspiratorially, voice lowered almost to a whisper. “Do you really think you’re the only man who was fucking me in Moscow three years ago?”
His eyes narrow, mouth drawn back in a grimace. “Why would I trust you?”
“Because in your black, romantic little heart, you know how unlikely it is.” I lean back, gazing up at the vaulted ceiling. The moldings are gilded, and a beautiful, cracking fresco depicts cherubs with bows and pink smiles adrift in a blue, blue sky. “We had sex twice,protectedonce, and you think you knocked me up? Trust me, there were others. More…regularothers.”
Maxim watches me measuredly, but I see the flush in his cheeks and the furrow between his thick black brows for what they mean—he thinks I’m low enough for this to be true.Good. The further away the twins are, the safer they are.
“So,” I say, swirling the vodka at the bottom of my glass. “Feel free to kill me.”
“You’re valuable alive,” he says. “Very valuable.”
“Am I? Father and I have been out of touch the last three years. Like I said, I doubt he’ll be knocking at your door or blowing up your phone looking for his disgraced, estranged, half-Russian daughter.” And all of this is true. I cut off my father, changed my name, and fled Stateside as soon as I learned I was pregnant.
Maxim may have a soft side. At least, hedid. But a lot can change in three years, and a man who’s risen as high as he has has a lot to lose.More valuable alive—I know what he means by that.
Torture.My mouth dries. I spent two years in a prison outside the city. I know torture. And as strong as I am, it’s been a long time since I was hurt or threatened as seriously as I am being now. I wonder if I’ve forgotten how to be strong.
“We’ll see,” Maxim says simply. He finishes his drink and stands. “If you need anything, knock twice.”
I narrow my eyes at his back. “I need a plane ticket back to the US and never to hear your name again.”
