The leverage alone is priceless. She’s Carlo and Cesare’s only feasible angle from what I can tell, and she’s with me, just out of their reach. Yet, she’s something tangible I can point to whenever my brothers inevitably ask why I’m pulling my punches. Because, as much as I don’t want to concede, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
I know Roman, and I know he’ll need answers, so that’s what I’ll tell him.
This is strategy, even if I can’t bring myself to pull away from her.
Given the way Mila looks at me like I’m just a ghost and not made of flesh and bone, she knows me. Or, she likely just knows my name, and something about that strokes my ego all the same.
The fear is obvious in her eyes, yet she isn’t completely shrinking away. She’s putting on a brave face, and from what I can glean, she wants answers.
“This is a mistake,” she murmurs, pulling me out of my thoughts and diffusing that assumption immediately.
“No,” I say a touch faster than necessary. “Running back to them would be a mistake.”
A flicker of irritation moves through her features, as if she wants to retort something but knows I’m right and comes up short. She huffs out a hard breath and stands. “Two things can be true at the same time.”
Leaning back, I watch as she paces the length of the living room like she can’t stand being in her skin right now. Those quick, restless steps would be amusing to me in a different context, but right now, I have to focus.
“They were going to marry me off like it was nothing,” Mila blurts out as she takes another pass across the floor, shoulders tensing. “That’s why I ran.”
My focus narrows in on that fact, and my jaw tightens. That, I didn’t know, even if I had an inclination. “Did they say who they had in mind?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, stopping to gesture vaguely. “Someone named Max…Maksim Balakin, or something.”
The name hits with the same impact as a bullet right between the ribs, and I freeze. Everything in me goes entirely still while I process the name.
It’s the second half that catches me more than anything. I don’t know who the hell Maksim is, but if he’s the same kind of Balakin that we’ve been trying to take down for years now, then that’s something to put a pin in.
“Cesare said it would be beneficial, like I should be grateful for the opportunity,” Mila says, continuing to talk like she’s finally getting the chance to ramble to someone who might understand. “I don’t even know him. I don’t know anything about him except that he’s supposed to help them with the Lukov problem…or, your family, I guess.”
I’m listening to her, yet the rage in my chest coils up and burns too hot for me to ignore.
Maksim Balakin.
Whoever this person is, her brothers are under the impression that he can somehow help them get rid of us. I can’t tell if they truly are that mistaken, or if this Maksim managed to convince them of his apparent influence to such a far-fetched degree.
Forcing my expression to remain as neutral as possible, my head is anything but neutral as the pieces come together with an irritating amount of clarity.
This must be what they’ve been working up to during all these months. They’ve been keeping to themselves, and now, they really are preparing to use Mila as their trump card. And depending on how significant Maksim is, an alliance between him and the Grimaldis could shift everything.
Maksim wants her, and that thought makes my vision go red at the edges.
“They said it would protect me, and that it’s for my own good,” she continues, tone both bitter and disbelieving. “I justwant to live my life. To play music and sing…is that really so much to ask for?”
Her pacing finally stops as she looks at me, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, as if her world is moments away from falling apart. “I don’t want any of this, but I don’t know where else to go, or what I’m supposed to do.”
Something about the desperation in her eyes, along with just how lost she seems, has me wanting to rage. Though not at her.
Slowly and deliberately, I stand, giving myself the chance to leash the longing for violence under my skin before it scares her.
“Maksim isn’t going to touch you.”
Mila looks at me a bit confused, and her brows knit together.
“He doesn’t get to marry you, either,” I say, both low and entirely confident. “It’s not happening.”
“How do you know that?” She asks, seemingly torn between wanting to believe me and not wanting to give me that satisfaction. “You don’t know what they’ll do to make it happen.”
“I know what men like Maksim and your brothers are capable of. I’m not concerned.”
