The Fixer (Chicago Bratva 2)

“He’s my husband,” I insist, as if that will mean something to Nikolai, who is already three-quarters of the way down the hall to the elevator.

“He’s a widower.” Nikolai doesn’t even turn as he speaks the words. And then he steps into the elevator and is gone.

Dammit.

I’ve never hated myself so much in my life. I did everything wrong with Maxim. My stupid, cruel lie about him trying to force me into sex as a teenager. Acting like a spoiled brat when he brought me here.

And I don’t know what I could’ve done differently with my mom, but I wish I’d done it. I shouldn’t have bought the burner phone and told her about my acting class. I shouldn’t have let her sow all that doubt about Maxim. I should have told her—convinced her—that I was happy with him. Then she wouldn’t have made this desperate move.

The one that just ruined my life along with hers.

I choke back a sob as I wheel my suitcases into the hotel room. “I have to see him,” I say.

My mother blocks my path. “We don’t have any money, Sasha. No credit cards, no cash. Nothing.”

“How did you get here?”

“Viktor,” she whispers.

Right. Viktor. Who is dead. My credit card—courtesy of Maxim—was blown up with my purse.

I have no phone. I can’t even take an Uber to the Kremlin.

“We need to use those plane tickets and get back to Moscow. Then we can get your money and a fresh start.”

Here she goes again with her big plan.

“Mama, it takes months to transfer property after a death. Maxim didn’t even have access to Igor’s money yet.”

Her face goes pale. “That’s our only hope.”

It’s hers.

But not mine.

My hope is Maxim. My life is Maxim. I just have to get him to see me, so I can make him believe.

I open my suitcase and change out of yesterday’s clothes and into a pair of capri jeggings and a cute top. I opt for practical shoes.

“I’m going to see Maxim,” I declare. I don’t care if I have to walk across Chicago, I will get there, and I will see him

I ignore my mother’s dire warnings and protests and leave the building. It takes me all afternoon to get to the Kremlin on public transit.

The moment I walk through the front doors, the guard shakes his head. “Get out. You and your mother are forbidden from entering.”

“Please, I just need to speak with my husband.”

“Get out, or I throw you out. I’m on strict orders,” he tells me. “If you come back, I’ll call the police. And you wouldn’t want that, would you? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

And that’s when it hits me. I definitely don’t want to be dead.

And if I’m not dead, then Maxim has control of my money. Which means his obligation to Igor will still be in place. Unless he believes I nullified it.

Either way, it’s a good place to start. I nod. “Please call the police. I want to report myself not dead.”

Maxim

I’m on the couch working on drinking myself into oblivion again when my phone rings. It’s the security guard downstairs.

“Fuck off,” I mutter and dont answer.

He calls Ravil next.

“Huh. Well, call her bluff. Call the police on her,” Ravil says.

My head snaps up. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Ravil shrugs. “She says she’s going to report herself undead unless you come down.”

I settle back and nod. “Call her bluff. She has to stay dead if she wants to control her money.”

“I was going to wait a few days to tell you this, but—” Nikolai starts.

I hurl my glass at his head. It misses but smashes against the wall, shattering.

“Right. I’ll wait a few days.” Nikolai has the grace to look unaffected by my attempted assault.

It shouldn’t be so hard to go one day without hearing her goddamn name.

Without thinking about her. Imagining I smell her. Wondering how I could be so stupid as to get played.

Forty minutes later, the asshole guard calls again. This time I answer, ready to chop off his fucking head. “What is it?” I snarl.

“The cops want to talk to you.”

“What?” Fuck. She actually went through with it.

I don’t want to admit what that does to me. She just gave her fortune back to me. But I can’t do this. I don’t know what kind of game she’s playing, but I won’t let her play me again. No fucking way.

“Yeah, I think you might be a suspect in the bombing,” the guard says in Russian.

Ah. Now I see her angle. Or do I? Fuck, I have no clue. I can’t think straight.

I’m supposed to be the Fixer, but I can’t fix a goddamn thing right now.

I head for the elevator, and Ravil, Nikolai and Pavel get in with me. At least I know they’ll always have my back.

Brothers you can trust.