Maksim even has an army of snipers he barely uses.
Wasteful.I’ve seen every weak spot in his brotherhood and yet, I can’t bring myself to tell Gabriel.
Why should he get the upper hand?
Because this empire could be something.
And I want to be the one who shapes it.
The men are getting use to me, nice even. Pietro is by far the nicest out of all of Maksim’s men, young, sad eyes.
The bike slows.
The engine vibration beneath me shifts—deeper, smoother, then cuts entirely.
Silence swallows the road. I blink and look up.
This place is huge.
Rows of houses stretch across a gated stretch of land, all similar in build but subtly different—clean stone façades, black iron railings, trimmed hedges. It almost looks like a quiet suburban neighborhood.
If suburban neighborhoods came with armed guards at every corner.
The gates behind us close with a mechanical groan. Maksim swings his leg off the Ducati. I slide off after him, pulling the helmet free.
“Where are we?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me as he takes the helmet from my hands.
“The compound.”
My gaze drifts again. This isn’t just a house. It’s infrastructure.
Safe houses. Training grounds. Family quarters.
Everything centralized.
Everything controlled.
The possibilities unfold in my mind faster than I can stop them.
A foundation.
The largest house sits near the center. Three stories. Stone. Wide windows. A long wraparound porch that looks almost warm in the afternoon light.
Almost.
Maksim gestures toward it with his chin.
We walk up the steps.
Inside, the space opens immediately.
High ceilings. Dark wood beams. Massive chandelier dripping crystal light over polished floors. The kind of place that was built to impress allies and intimidate enemies.
He doesn’t slow.
“Sit,” he says, motioning toward the living room.
