“I’m not going to have my father do any favors for you. Either you want to take down the Bratva or you’re too afraid of them to say something. Anything you say isn’t going to screw them over any more than they’re already screwed, so they won’t come after you unless I forget that your name isn’t meant to be in the article.”
“You wouldn’t …” he breathes.
“I know about the money laundering through the hotels,” I interject. “I know about how they use Mexican businesses to traffic drugs. I know they killed Albion Castillo, Dane Hunt, Jimmy Becker, and Isiah Ratliff. I’m certain they’ve killed some of the Irish Mafia too. This is your chance to get revenge. Take it or tell me to fuck off right now.”
We stare at each other. His lips slowly curve up into a smile.
“I’m not quite ready to let ye go,” he says. “My fantasy includes watching ye stretch, so you better get ready for the long haul. What do ye want to know?”
As we delve into his stories—some of them questionable, some of them following the same narrative I’ve heard from the other people I’ve interviewed—I’m not surprised by anything he says. Maksim is in the Bratva, so the violence and crime is par for the course. But it’s good that I’ve been researching this whole time, getting every scrap of information that I can, because it serves as a constant reminder that I can’t let myself fall for him. It’s gotten more difficult every day that passes and I know I need to remember exactly who I’m dealing with.
I am not my father. I am not my family. And I won’t let myself be pulled back into the Mafia world over a man.
Not even a man like Maksim Akimov.
I wait in front of the Fifth Avenue Journal’s office. Maksim pulls up in his black F-150. I hoist myself up into the passenger seat.
Being beside him again, it’s easy to forget all the promises I made to myself. His hair is combed back, and he’s wearing a button-up white shirt—possibly the one I was wearing yesterday—with a black sports jacket and a black tie. All his tattoos are covered up. It’s restrained for him, the perfect cover-up for a Bratva boss trying to fool people into thinking he’s normal.
And yet, my body still hums for him, craving him endlessly.
“Are you going to tell me where she is now?” I ask. “Or are you going to make me wait until we’re at my daughter’s house?”
“It’s on Carriage Street,” he says.
“I don’t know where that is.”
“And her name is Lily,” he adds.
I play with the name in my mind. I don’t know what I expected, but Lily definitely wasn’t on my mind. A flower. Simple, but not too common.
“I like it,” I murmur.
“We need some ground rules.” He brakes at a stoplight, but he doesn’t look at me. “You won’t say anything that might reveal that we’re not who we seem. If you ever want to see Lily again, you have to be on your best behavior.”
“Who are we supposed to be pretending to be?” I ask. I look down at my clothes. I’m wearing black slacks and a red blouse. Innocuous enough, I’d guess.
“Potential adoptive parents,” he says, his grip briefly tightening on the wheel.
I scrunch up my nose. “You’re joking.”
He starts driving again. “No.”
“I need some of our backstory. I can’t make it up on the spot. I’m not that great of a liar, Maksim,” I say.
“Of course you are,” he says. “You’re a journalist. You have to be able to lie to get information. That’s how everyone gets information. You just have the career title to hide behind.”
I cross my arms over my chest and say nothing. I’m not going to be taking his bait, not today. “Where are we going, anyways? House or apartment?”
“Lily lives in a foster home.”
“What?” I blurt out. My heart is racing a lot faster than it should be. My body is panicking before my brain comprehends what he said. “Why? There’s no way she wasn’t adopted right away.”
My phone starts to ring. I glance at it, strongly considering ignoring it. But it’s Tom. I look over at Maksim. If he’s not willing to give me more information now, I’ll have to figure it out once we get there. I tap answer on the phone screen.
“Hey, Tom,” I say.
“Cassandra,” he barks, his voice clipped. “Why have I only seen you dart in and out of here recently? I hope you aren’t dodging me in order to avoid telling me that your story is a bust.”
“No,” I say. I peek over at Maksim. He seems focused on the road. My instincts tell me not to say anything more in front of him—I specifically had him pick me up in front of the office, so he wouldn’t figure out how close I am to exposing him—but I can’t refuse to answer Tom. “I’m just chasing a big story.” I cover the mouthpiece. “Why do you men always insist on being up my ass?” I ask, trying to sound lighthearted. “You always want something.”
“I will ignore the leading question there,” he mutters as I uncover the mouthpiece.
“Tom, I have to go. One of my sources is coming,” I say.
“Don’t disappoint me, Cassandra. You know what will happen,” Tom warns.
“I won’t,” I promise. “I’ll see you later.”
“Goodbye.”
I hang up. I tuck my hair behind my ears, uncomfortably shifting my weight in the seat.
“You seemed to lie just fine there,” Maksim says. “Unless I’m your source?”
“That was a simple lie,” I bite back. “It’s completely different.”
I fix my hair again, pinch my bottom lip, rap my fingers against the center console. One nervous tic after another.
“Are you having a seizure?” Maksim asks.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go see her yet. I thought this was going to be a meeting with her parents and we’d pretend to be … I don’t know, new neighbors or something. I don’t think
