The Fixer (Chicago Bratva 2)

“At last, you’ve come,” my father rasps, laying his free hand on Maxim’s shoulder like a priest giving a benediction. “I have a dying request, Maxim.”

“What is it?” Maxim’s voice is low and respectful. Watching them, you’d never know my father banished Maxim, not only from his side but from this country.

“You have followed the Code of Thieves?”

Maxim nods.

“You have not taken a wife or family?”

“Nyet.”

“Good. You will break it now to marry Sasha,” my father says.

Even though I half-expect it, the words still hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over me, washing me in panic.

Maxim’s broad shoulders and back are to me, so I can’t see his face, but he must be as horrified as I am.

He slowly rises from his kneeling position, slides his hands in his pockets and waits, not offering a response.

“I will leave my interest in all the oil wells to Sasha, only so long as she is married to you. You will manage her financial interests and protect her from threats. If she dies before she bears children, the interest transfers to Vladimir, who is charged with leading the Moscow cell and carrying for Galina, her mother.”

“You’re selling me,” I choke from the corner.

He is—just like he sold my mother.

“Silence!” My father throws up a hand in my direction, not even deigning to look my way.

Maxim turns, though. He gives me a long, considering look, probably reminding himself how I ruined his life. He could have Vladimir’s place at the helm of the bratva now if it hadn’t been for me.

I press my lips together, so he won’t see them tremble.

“She is not a virgin,” my father says, like he’s apologizing for delivering flawed goods.

I want to puke.

“She had a wild period out of my control when she went to college in America. But then, you are used to American women, no?”

Still, Maxim says nothing.

“You will do this for me,” my father says. It’s not a question, it’s an order, but he watches Maxim’s face intently, looking for clues. “Take her back to Chicago with you. Keep her out of the fray—protected and safe. Enjoy her money.”

Maxim scrubs a hand over his face.

“You can punish her for the lie she told about you. No hard feelings, eh? You’ve done well for yourself in America. I hear Ravil lives like a king, and you enjoy the benefits.”

I go still, hearing that my father knew I lied.

“And if I die first?” Maxim asks, all business. This is a transaction. My father’s offering a dowry for my hand. “Who holds the interest in trust for Sasha?”

“Vladimir,” my father says.

Maxim gives his head a small shake. Vladimir’s in the room, but Maxim doesn’t look his way. “Make it Ravil,” he says. Ravil is the boss of the Chicago branch of bratva and Maxim’s boss since his banishment.

My father considers, then looks at Vladimir. “Make the change,” he orders. “And send in the clerk.”

Vladimir immediately leaves the room.

“You will do this for me,” my father repeats, looking at Maxim.

Maxim bows his head. “I will.”

“Do not disrespect my name by disrespecting my daughter.”

“Never,” Maxim says immediately. He turns again and studies me. Something flutters in my low belly at his dark gaze. If my father has his way, I will belong to this man. He will control me completely. My entire destiny is in his hands.

But I’m not going to lie down and play the submissive, doting, always available mistress my mother did.

Screw that.

I’m going to fight back.

Maxim

Fuck. Me.

There’s no way I would refuse Igor his dying wish—or order, as the case may be. But this one is a fucking doozy.

I have to marry Sasha, his mafiya princess brat. The one who ruined my life. Not that I regret leaving Moscow. Igor’s right—life is so much easier in Chicago under Ravil’s rule. I don’t constantly feel like a knife’s about to go into my back the way I did here. But now I will again.

Of course, that’s why he needs me to marry her.

Igor’s oil well interests are worth at least sixty million. And his colleagues are unsavory, at best. We are the brotherhood of thieves, after all. So I have to presume at least thirty men will have their eyes on stealing that fortune in whatever way they can—killing Sasha, killing me, or even taking out the entire Chicago cell.

But I’m the fixer. Like Ravil, a master strategist, I have a reputation for outthinking my opponents. Igor knows his friends and enemies alike will think twice before they try to steal his fortune if it’s in my care.

I take a good look at my unwilling, manipulative bride. She’s even more beautiful than she was at seventeen, when I found her naked in my bed, set on seducing me.

She’s drop-dead gorgeous, like her mother. Long, thick red hair. High cheekbones, porcelain skin. She has bright blue eyes and Cupid’s bow lips. Her narrowed gaze is filled with hurt and rage.