The Fixer (Chicago Bratva 2)

Maxim’s phone rings, and he strides out of the bathroom, beautifully naked, gloriously tattooed.

“Da.” He answers in Russian. “Who did it?” Then, “Blyat.” He ends the call and looks at me through the bathroom doorway. “Vladimir is dead. The Moscow bratva is in chaos. You need to locate your mother.”

Chapter 12

Sasha

The curtness in Maxim’s voice makes my pulse scurry.

My mother.

“What do you mean? Is she missing?”

Maxim nods as he quickly pulls on his clothing. “Yes.”

I grab my clothes and also get dressed. “Do you think she’s been killed?”

Maxim hesitates, making my adrenaline kick in, but then he shakes his head. “No. If whoever killed Vladimir wanted her dead, they would have taken care of her at the same time. She’s worth something alive if they’re interested in your money.”

My money.

My heart pounds faster. But that would mean killing me first.

It’s the first time since my father’s death—actually, the first time ever—I’ve felt real scared-for-my-life fear. Maxim was trying to warn me about this, but I’ve lived my whole life as bratva royalty with security guards breathing down my neck. The threat of real danger never sank in before.

My fingers tremble as I dial my mom’s number.

I haven’t spoken or communicated with her since I left. It’s only been a few days, but it strikes me that I should’ve checked in with her. She just lost my father, afterall. I was too busy feeling pissed off and sorry for myself and my situation, I didn’t have any brain space left for her. I’m a spoiled, shitty daughter.

My mother picks up with a suspicious tone of voice. With an even deeper stab of guilt, I realize she didn’t even have my new U.S. phone number.

“Mama,” I gasp in Russian. “Are you all right?”

“Tell her to come to Chicago where I can protect her.” Maxim’s expression is dark and serious. “Give her your credit card number.” The urgency in his voice makes my heartbeat ratchet up another notch. Like he’s afraid something will happen to her.

I step into the bathroom for some privacy, not that I’m trying to keep anything from Maxim. I just want to be able to focus on my mother.

“Sasha, you heard the news?”

“Yes, are you safe?”

“I am safe, yes. I am with Viktor.”

Viktor, her longtime bodyguard. The one I’d only just realized had feelings for my mother. Thank God. He’ll protect her.

“Where are you?”

“I can’t tell you. Somewhere safe.”

“What happened? What’s happening? Mama…”

“It’s a coup. Viktor got me out of there before it happened. There’s a power struggle now to see who will rise to the top.”

“Maxim says you should come out here where he can protect you. I can put the ticket on my credit card.”

“He would say that,” my mother says drily.

The hairs on my arms stand up. My fingers go cold. I lower my voice. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it, Sasha. Do you remember your father’s will?”

“Yes.” Vaguely. I remember that my money wasn’t really my money because it went to Maxim. And my mom’s money went to Vladimir.

“Who gets the oil well if you die?”

I try to remember the conversation at my father’s deathbed. “Vladimir?”

“Yes. But if he’s dead, it goes to me. So of course your husband wants us both under his wing. We’re the meal tickets.”

Queasiness runs through me and my knees go weak. “He wants to protect you,” I insist. But I’m suddenly not so sure. How well do I really know Maxim?

Not at all.

“Viktor will protect me. And my staying hidden ensures your safety, too. With Vladimir gone, the pathways to owning that oil well have shortened. We can’t make it easy or obvious for anyone to try to seize it. Understand, my dearest?”

“Yes.” I’m cold all over.

“Good. Is this your new phone number?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be in touch—from a new phone. Be careful, my darling. Play nice with that husband of yours. Make him fall in love—it may keep you alive.”

My eyes prick with tears. Does my life really mean so little?

Maxim doesn’t want to kill me.

I open the door to the bathroom and find him standing at the window, texting. He doesn’t appear to be eavesdropping.

I’m shaky all over, searching his face for some kind of sign. Does my husband want me dead? Is he biding his time in order to find my mother and then planning to kill us both?

A shiver runs down my spine.

No. My mother’s just paranoid because Vladimir got killed. It doesn’t mean people want to kill the two of us, too.

“She’s all right?”

I nod, my head wobbling a bit on my neck. “Yes.”

“Is she coming here?”

“No. She says she’s safe.”

“Does she have protection?”

“Yes.” I’m terrified to say anything more.

Maxim nods. “Good. Does she need money?”

“I don’t think so.”

I wait, but that’s the end of it. He doesn’t press me or try to convince me to get my mom out here. It sounds like he would’ve sent her money if she needed it.