19
Maksim
Morning is breaking over the city, but my thoughts are overflowing with crimson blood from last night. I’ve seen as much death as the average soldier, but this cut me much deeper. This was something I had half a dozen chances to prevent, but I was too shortsighted to see the bloodshed coming.
It started at 10:54 p.m. I received a phone call from Bogdan. The sound of gunshots dominated the conversation, but I knew from his tone that the night was going to end in a massacre. He was a man who knew he was going to die.
At 10:57 p.m., I received another call from Bogdan, telling me that Fedot had arrived to provide support for his brothers. I told Bogdan to tell Fedot to stand down. He agreed.
At 11:08 p.m., I passed by the bookstore, but I heard the crescendo of police sirens, so I kept driving. I let the anger grow. When the police stopped at my front door to question me—since I’d given sizable donations to the bookstore and it was named in Cassandra’s article—they were aiming for the kill. They desperately wanted to be the ones to bring in Maksim Akimov, but we played our parts—them, the diligent police officers, squared off against me, the philanthropic millionaire.
Afterward, I called Dr. Lisov. He told me everything he could. I said I’d be there later in the night to pay my respects.
The rage came in waves. To keep it at bay, I threw myself into planning my retaliation. Marrying Cassandra would accomplish three objectives simultaneously—reminding Gianluigi that he doesn’t have as much power over me as he thinks he does, reminding him that though he might kill my Bratva brothers, I can tear apart his whole family, and proving that my lapse in judgment concerning Cassandra was temporary.
I park the truck in front of Cassandra’s apartment. “You don’t want me to stay at your mansion?” she asks.
“No. I want you to get out of the city,” I reply. “Pack your shit and go.”
The way she looks at me makes me want to take her back to the mansion and pretend that everything is the way it used to be, but I know I can’t. She looks away, opening the door and sliding out, nearly slipping in her heels. She keeps her hand up over the top of her dress to stop it from falling off. I wait until she’s inside her apartment building before driving away.
A deep sorrow grows in me the farther I drive from her. It’s a deeper sadness than when Natalie was killed, which doesn’t make any sense. I loved Natalie. She was my wife. She was a perfect woman—a model, always eager to please, never plagued by melodrama, and knew when to stay out of my way. She was more than most men dream of.
So, why does the most infuriating, difficult, contentious woman draw me in and turn me into a sentimental idiot?
I slam my fist against the steering wheel before pressing my foot against the gas pedal, tempting fate and the police. I slow down as I pass by the shipping dock and I remember all the men who have died to serve the Bratva and how I’m the one they look to for leadership. I can’t lose my head over this.
Fatigue sends me into autopilot. I should be rushing home to deal with the fallout of the attack on Dunlop’s Bookstore, talking to all my deceased soldiers’ loved ones, or preparing to show Gianluigi my ace card, but I’m driving away from all of those things. I don’t know where I’m heading until I park in front of the small brown house with the peeling paint and the kids’ toys scattered in the front yard.
And, there, doing toe taps on a soccer ball, is Lily.
I get out of the truck. Kimberly Neal sits on the front steps, flipping through a magazine. I wave at her as I approach the two of them.
“Mr. Maksim!” Lily yells, ditching her soccer ball to fling herself into my arms. I pick her up, lifting her high enough that she squeals in surprise. When I set her back down on the ground, she’s grinning as her dark hair sways in front of her eyes. It’s hard to believe I ever felt that type of carefree joy, not hindered by the weight of the world, but her happiness gives me a trace of how it might feel.
“Mr. Akimov,” Kimberly calls out. I nod at her, taking a step closer.
“I was just passing through,” I say. “I saw you two out here, so I thought I might stop.”
“Ah well, we’re always happy to see interested couples being so deeply invested in getting to know the kids,” she says, standing up. “Do you mind if I run to the restroom for just a moment?”
“That’s not a problem.” She gives me a quick smile before turning around and walking into the house. I look down at Lily.
“Where have you been?” she blurts. “Your wife said that you were busy, but I didn’t think somebody could be that busy.”
Your wife. Our lie has become a fact.
“Well, sometimes life gets really, really crazy,” I tell her. “And it drives us crazy. It drove me so crazy that I thought I could disappear from your life for a little bit without you noticing. Did you notice?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Yes, I did.”
“Will you forgive me?”
She considers me carefully. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”
A negotiator. I knew I liked this kid.
“That’s fair,” I say. “What are your terms?”
She runs over to her soccer ball. “You have to beat me at soccer. You try to get it between the garbage cans.
