Maks’s eyes water but tears don’t fall. He clears his throat. “You did that for me?”
“Yeah, man. You deserve to know. You deserve some peace.”
He gets up and disappears upstairs but comes back down with his laptop, fired up, screen lit. He takes the drive from his pocket and shoves it into the thing, setting it down on the coffee table.
I shake my head. “You don’t have to watch it with us.”
“I don’t think I can watch it alone if they did… do something to me.”
“Okay,” I reply, turning off the TV and then sitting back as he clicks the little triangle and the video begins with him being brought into the room, drugged up. They chain him up and keep him there for hours. It’s speeds up, and then Kane enters the room. Sabrina tenses between us. It goes on like this over and over again, just like Aleksi said.
In the beginning, every now and then, Kane comes into the room Maksim was kept in and punches him repeatedly, then leaves. Every nurse and doctor that comes in is just doing their minimal due diligence to verify he’s alive. Smoke fills the room, and his heart rate on the monitor spikes. Over and over again he screams for Sabrina, and at some point in times… he screams for me.
“I can’t watch this,” Sabrina groans, leaning into me, silently sobbing. I take her in my lap and shield her. She puts her hand in Maksim's,showing she’s still here for him. His eyes are glassy, but they don’t move off the screen.
In the video, he wakes up, lucid for just seconds before people in white scrubs and what looks like tight hazmat suits come in like he’s fucking diseased. Then it goes again. He’s starved. On the days Alice shows up… she checks around the room and pulls something out of a bag. She shoves a large barrel syringe into what looks like a cup and moves in front of the camera, but it doesn’t shield enough of what she’s doing to Maksim. She lifts the large syringe to his lips.
“She… she’s feeding me,” he says, swallowing thickly. “There were times… there were times I swore there was an aftertaste of broth. Chicken. Beef.” He swipes his hand over his face and rests his chin on his fist. Sabrina switches from my lap to his to comfort him.
We missed the ball drop, Sabrina is soundly asleep strewn across both our laps, her thighs in mine, her head resting against Maksim’s chest. He doesn’t let go of her, holding tight. Even when he wants to look away and the exhaustion is wearing on him, he and I watch the video until the very end.
“They didn’t… touch me,” he says quietly, sitting with that information.
I sit with him in the silence, listening to Sabrina’s breathing pattern fluctuate then change, relaxing.
“So why do I feel like they did?”
I run my hands over her thigh and calf, squeezing at times, massaging her in her sleep. “Sabrina had psychosomatic symptoms due to high stress and cortisol levels. I’m no Damon, but… maybe it has something to do with that? I’m sure he can help you out a bit more.”
He huffs out a scoff. “Yeah, more therapy.”
“But therapy that works, Maks.” I shake my head and tilt it to look at him. “Getting the help you need doesn’t make you weak, man. Wanting to do and be better makes you strong. And it makes you a good man.”
“A good man with seventy-four kills on my soul.”
“I said agoodman. Not aniceguy. Sabrina doesn’t need aniceguy. Our kids won’t need a nice guy, either. They’ll need a good man.”
“What’s the difference?”
I smirk. “Ever sit down and watch those true crime docs with Bri? First thing they say about any serial killer— ’Hewas such a nice guy,’” I mimic in falsetto. Maksim chuckles at this. “Nice guys aren’t good men. Nice guys get serial killer documentaries made out of ‘em. Nice guys end up saving themselves, covering their own ass. Nice guys are whiny bitches that feel entitled to pussy because they bought a girl dinner…
“But good men are usually only kind to the people they love, fuck all the rest. They know when to fight and who to fight for. They make hard decisions even if it endangers them, as long as the people they love get out alive. You’ve proven yourself to be a good man time and time again. You put Sabrina above all else, same as I do.”
Maks’ lips tip up at a corner then his nose twitches, brows rising and falling quickly. He clears his throat, “My father and my grandfather, Alessio, were like that. My Nonna, Caterina, was my grandfather’s world. He protected her so much that the people that worked for him didn’t even know he was married. Which was difficult. He owned Inferno just outside of Boston. Won it in a poker match from a Syndicate member in 1955. When he restored it and made it into a show, half the money he made came from patrons. Dahlia Collins? Sabrina’s favorite singer? She was the first singer he ever employed. She went by something else back then, I think. But Alessio had dancers around him at all times, and only two ever knew he was married. You only knew something personal about him if he wanted you to. So Caterina always came as a surprise to people. He came home to her every night. He never stepped out on her.”
“How’d that work out for them?”
He hums, “Two sons, both still alive. One son each, also still alive. Nonna lived until she was ninety-one.”
“And him?”
“Died the day after she did at ninety-five in the villa in Verona. As much as I at times want to resent my father for handing me this crown, I can't. Not when I am of his and Alessio’s blood.” He cradles Sabrina up and puts her fully in my lap, then stands and strides to the sidebar. “Every lesson my grandfather taught me, I’ve applied to every aspect in my life. My father, too. If I am a good man, it’s due to them.” He grabs the skull decanter and pours two tumblers, neat. “And now my wife, who only makes me better. And it is not because she is at my side. It’s because she leads me. Fuck, watching her with David was… eye-opening. She has surpassed every Capo dei Capi’s wife. She didn’t stutter. She didn’t shake. Didn’t even flinch. She took care of business without a bat of an eyelash.” I rearrange her so her head is on a pillow when he comes back with a tumbler for me. “To the new year,” he says.
I take it, tip it to his, and we sip. The rich whiskey smooths and settles over my tongue, I let out a breath through my nose then swallow. “Fuck, that’s smooth.”
He nods and we both sit in silence, taking more sips, watching the fire. He glances at Sabrina, leans forward, pulls out the memory stickfrom his laptop, gets up, and throws it into the fireplace. He places a hand on the wall by the mantel, staring down into the flames. Shadows dance and crawl along his naked torso, highlighting every muscle, tattoo, and scar. He watches until I'm sure it’s melted and then he faces me. “Let’s get her to bed. We’ll tell her everything tomorrow.”
I hook my arm under her knees and one around her back, bringing her to my chest before standing.
