Page 40 of Lust and Honor

His dominant tone returns. “Just to be clear, you’ve got a better chance of outrunning a bullet than getting away from me. But I won’t lie; your constant plotting to bolt, lumping me in with your father, trying to cut me out of my daughter’s life, it gets under my skin. It might sound crazy, but if by some miracle your dumb plan works one day, I want Aurora to lose a friend, not her father.”

He grabs my arms, his voice firm. “Look at me, Ava. Get to know the real Maxim. Only when you’re certain I’m nothing like that so-called father of yours, when you’re sure I can be a good dad to your girl, when you’re ready to put down roots here without tricks or lies—then tell her to call me Dad.”

A spark ignites in my heart, burning away the last scraps of doubt and cynicism. This man, built like pure muscle and violence, who could kill with his bare hands or take anything he wants with muscle or a gun, is leaving it up to me to decide if his daughter calls him Dad. I lift my head, meeting his dark eyes, the same eyes I see in Aurora’s face every day.

Each breath I take douses the fire of my resolve to hate him. How can a man who’s saved me time and time again, who treats my daughter like a princess, be bad? He can’t. I’m sure of it. His gaze locks on me, and he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, sending a jolt straight to my core.

I place my hands on his warm ones, about to speak, when Aurora’s voice cuts through the electric tension.

“Mama, Bear’s hungry!”

Maxim lets me go, and I, dazed, scoop Aurora up, head to the kitchen, and settle her in the bear-shaped chair. I’d already set the table. Maxim joins us, sitting across from me. Spaghetti’s the only food Aurora eats without a fuss.

I drop my fork, unable to eat, and turn to her. “Sweetie, would you like Maxim to be your daddy?”

The forks in Aurora’s and Maxim’s hands freeze at the same time. He gives me a stunned look, then softens, his eyes fixed on Aurora. Her wide, curious eyes dart between us, landing on Maxim.

“Daddy?” she murmurs hesitantly.

Maxim gently caresses her tiny fist and smiles. “Would you like me to be your daddy, baby?”

She eyes him warily for a moment. I stroke her cheek, explaining, “Like Gabriel and Luca have a daddy, Maxim could be yours.”

This time it clicks, and she nods eagerly. “I’d like that.”

Maxim exhales, calm and slow, then lifts her tiny hand, spaghetti strands and all, and kisses it. A long, tender kiss.

But when he lifts his head and looks at me again, there’s no softness left.

His eyes burn.

It’s the same fierce, primal look from the night he pinned me down and planted his seed deep inside me—raw lust, carnal hunger, and the ruthless promise that he will take me again, harder, soon.

Ten

Maxim

Without taking my eyes off the tall green prison gates, I flick the burnt-out cigarette butt out the car window. It’s a cloudy, heavy day, the air thick with the noise of the crowd, honking cars, and a train rumbling right past the prison. Sure, showing up here is a risk. There’s always a chance someone will recognize me. But I couldn’t help myself. I had to be here when he walked out.

The last name on my list of seven. The bastard where this whole vendetta started with. Fifteen years ago, I could’ve killed him clean, silent, and without consequences. But death was too merciful. I wanted him to suffer. So when I made sure he was carrying enough dope to get locked up for a long time, I tipped off the cops.

His freedom, his high life, his bullshit bravado—all of it got buried inside a concrete box. Sure, his ties to Bruni’s family and keeping his mouth shut kept him under Don Fernando’s wing, but I got what I wanted. I stole fifteen years of his life. Now, like a hunter lying in wait, I’m ready to bag my prey.

Finally, a smaller door in the massive gate creaks open, letting another parasite crawl back into society. My hands clench the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ache. Every nerve in my body focuses on analyzing him.

He’s got a leather jacket over a tight t-shirt, hair neatly trimmed, muscles twice as bulky as the last time I saw him. His walk, his gaze, his every move still reeks of that same smug arrogance. An arrogance I’m about to crush real soon. He scans the street, and his grin splits wide when he spots the guy waiting for him. Nicola Canali, another sadistic psycho cut from the same cloth.

They hug like long-lost brothers before climbing into a black SUV parked a few feet ahead. As I start my engine, my blood hums with the thrill of what’s coming. I’ve been dreaming of this day for years.

The car weaves through Naples’ grimy, traffic-choked streets, heading straight into one of the most dangerous neighborhoods on the south side. Their destination’s an old two-story house tucked under a massive bridge linking two highways. The SUV pulls up in front of it, and they head inside through a crumbling brick façade that screams one thing loud and clear: Criminals live here. Mind your business.

I can’t risk parking here; within an hour, every dealer in the block will be sniffing around, wondering who’s prowling their turf. If my cover’s blown, this whole thing gets complicated. So I memorize the address and pull away.

The bastard is finally mine. I’m damn sure he’s crashing here tonight.

***

I put on rubber gloves, screw the suppressor onto the barrel of my pistol and test the door’s lock. No surprise, they didn’t bother locking it. With the kind of reputation they’ve got, no one’s dumb enough to stroll into their territory. I cross the crumbling landing and head up the stairs. The thump of music mixes with the roar of traffic outside. The apartment on the first floor, as expected, is empty.