I drive west. The city feels like a hunting ground as I pass through its streets, but depending on how I’m picturing my father, it changes whether I’m the hunter or the hunted.
Parking in front of the mansion, two cars pass by. The traffic is getting heavier as people start heading home. And, under the most complicated and precarious circumstances, this mansion has become my home.
I walk up to the house, bringing Lily to the forefront of my thoughts in order to discard any nerves when it comes to talking to Maksim. He can be as angry as he wants about the fact that I didn’t leave the city yet. He can despise me for printing that article as much as he despises my father. It doesn’t matter. He cares about Lily and he will protect her. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind right now that he will put her first.
As I walk up to the house, the front doors burst open and Katia rushes out. Katia is one of Maksim’s assistants. I’ve only seen her in passing since she’s normally running from one place to another, but she’s always been cordial with me.
When she’s a few inches away from me, she spits on me.
“You have to be one arrogant bitch to come back here,” she seethes. Her dark brown hair is nearly vibrating as her body trembles with rage. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted, but I wasn’t going to question Maksim. And you screwed us all over. For what? For money? For fame? So you could get a little gold star from your newspaper? You’re worthless. Get the fuck out of here.”
“I’m not here to fight—”
She takes a step closer to me, our bodies nearly touching. “That decision won’t be up to you.”
“Is Maksim here?” I ask. I look back at the mansion. The door is open and a few more members of Maksim’s house staff are standing in the doorway. They all appear to be fuming like Katia.
“No,” she states. “He’s not. And you better not be here either.”
There’s an erratic rage in her eyes. In my research, I found out that she was close friends with Bogdan—they could have been more, but those were just rumors. And he’s dead.
Bratva business is inescapable and brutal. I thought I could escape the Mafia, and here I am, in the middle of a mess, but staying here could have been worse. I could be like Katia or Maksim, clinging to vengeance because it’s inevitable and it’s all I have left.
And if I don’t get Lily back, it will be all I have, too.
“I was wrong,” I tell her. “I know. But I need to talk to him. It’s important. He will want to know what I need to tell him.”
“He’s not here.”
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Why? So, you can print it in your little newspaper?” she snarls. She grabs onto the front of my shirt, shoving me backward. “I’m not telling you shit.”
“You know Maksim and I have been visiting the foster home, right?” I ask hurriedly as she prepares to shove me again. She stares at me for several seconds before letting her arms drop and nodding nearly imperceptibly. “Do you know why we’ve been going there?”
“I don’t need to know why,” she says, but she doesn’t move.
“It’s because we’ve been visiting my daughter,” I say, my hand over my chest. “And Maksim might hate me, but he’s fond of her. He needs to know the truth. He needs to know my father kidnapped her and I need his help to get her back.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “That sounds like your problem. Get the hell off this property before I have Alexander drag you off.”
I glance over at the crowd in the doorway. She must be telling the truth—if Maksim was here, he would have dealt with me personally. No matter how much he doesn’t want to see me, he wouldn’t leave this confrontation to his assistant.
“If he comes by, just tell him to call me,” I say. “Please, Katia.”
I walk away, my mind bouncing to where else I can go. My father wouldn’t return to any location I would know. He’d need a place where he could keep a child without anyone becoming suspicious. He’d need a place devoid of anyone who isn’t a Balducci.
“Cassandra,” Katia calls out as I reach the end of the driveway. I spin around. “Maksim has gone underground. He’s hiding somewhere while he’s strategizing how to save his men. I don’t know exactly where he is, but you’re not going to find him soon enough to help your daughter.”
I nod. “Thank you for the information, Katia.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
I turn around, heading to my car again. “Investigate.”
I comb through newspaper articles. I look for anything concerning the Bratva or Maksim.
I click on a video titled “Best Companies to Work for in 2018: Akimov Suites.” I watch Maksim guide a reporter through his hotel. He’s smiling and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he’s clearly proud of his company. He talks in technical detail about the hotel’s architecture and introduces each of his employees that he runs into, praising them in one distinct way or another—Cathy Boyd, who brushed off all of the cars’ in the parking lot in the winter; Benjamin Jones, who prepared a special wedding cake for a bride and groom after their baker became preoccupied with personal issues; and Michelle Knapp, who managed to talk down two drunk men who were preparing to brawl in the foyer. I’m nearly ready to click away when I see Michelle—who is so vibrant and full of life in the video—but I stop as Maksim reaches the hotel’s restaurant and he introduces a beautiful woman. She is the epitome of femininity—her sleek blonde
