“What will you do, Maxim?” Mother watches me carefully. She sips her vodka. “Can you keep going like this?”
“No,” I whisper, looking down at my hands.
I see Siena again in my mind, bending over in the bathroom, a shy smile on her face as she pulls on a pair of black lacy panties. I’d do anything to have her back.
Can I do this? Can I really take this risk?
I’ve done harder. My life’s stained with the blood of my enemies. I’ve killed for my bratva and worse. This is a problem that has a solution, and all I have to do is find it. All I need to do is figure out what my father will accept.
The bartender comes over and holds the bottle of vodka in his hands.
Another drink. One more drink to numb the pain.
My mother’s eyebrows raise.
I don’t need to be numb. Not anymore. I wave the bartender away. He shrugs and walks off. I finish the dregs of my drink and suck on a half-melted ice cube. I roll it around my tongue and let the bitter, sharp alcohol and the freezing cold coat my mouth and throat.
“I’m going to find her,” I say to the bar. “You’re right, Mother. I can’t live without her. So I won’t.”
She nods and visibly relaxes. “We’re all on your side, Maxim. However, you should know that even if you do manage to win your father over, he’ll never make you heir again. That will be well and truly gone. If you come back with me now and leave Siena in the past, there’s a chance you can earn your place again.”
“I don’t want it anymore. Let Feliks have it. He’ll be a good Pakhan one day after Father whips him into shape.”
“Good. I’m glad you feel that way.” Mother smiles and stands. “Walk me home, please. We’re in a bad neighborhood.”
“You came here alone?”
She laughs. “I’m joking. Oleg’s outside with the car. We’ll drive you to one of your apartments.”
“That’s probably for the best. I don’t want to get killed on the way home anymore.”
She squeezes me tight. “I love you, Maxim.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
The outside air is sharp and bracing. Mother climbs into the SUV and shuts the door. I hesitate, glancing up at the moon. I want to drive to The Velvet Rope right now, but it’s after midnight and I’m drunk. I need my wits and my strength if I’m going to bring Siena home.
And I’m going to. She’s mine, all mine. I reach into my pocket and hold the ring I bought her tightly in my hand. The diamonds bite into my palm and the pain helps clear my mind.
I’m coming for my princess.
Chapter 26
Maxim
The Velvet Rope is dead on an early Tuesday afternoon.
A dull hangover throbs in the back of my head. A dozen bruises bloom and dot my ribcage where I’d taken more than a few beatings over the last week. I’m sober enough to feel them for the first time, and it’s not pleasant.
I don’t give a damn. I’d gladly take another few kicks to the face if it meant ending up right here, in this parking lot, with the sun rising above the grungy motel with its peeling turquoise paint and the fading door signs.
It’s the only place in the world I want to be.
I wait a few minutes and scan the walkway for the two bouncers. I spot one of them—the guy called Renato—standing at the far edge closer to the office. He’s leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette. Do those guys ever fucking leave? Not that it matters. The other one’s missing, and I consider waiting until I know where they’re both at, but I’m too impatient.
It’s like I spent the last ten days sitting at the bottom of a pool holding my breath. I waited, waited, waited, until my lungs screamed for air and my head was dizzy and my brain begged to breathe—and at the point of no return, I kicked off the bottom and surfaced.
I’m alive and I’m sharper than I’ve ever been.
Thanks to my family.
I pull the gun from my glovebox and hold it in my hands. The weight’s a comfort as I check the magazine and chamber a round. I slip it into my waistband as I climb out of the car and stride toward the building, angling for the back, going the way opposite of where Renato’s standing.
I’ve done this a hundred times in my head since she was taken away. In my fantasies, I killed everyone here, from Zita to the lowest of the whores. I’ve mentally murdered them and tortured them, all to make myself feel a modicum of something—never better, but something more than nothing.
I’m not here to slaughter. I’m not here to maim and draw blood. I’m here for Siena, and that’s it.