Page 9 of Unholy Tsar

3

MAKSIM

I try to focus on Bree's lesson, but my mind keeps drifting to Cecilia. It takes all of my willpower to force the mysterious girl out of my head and into a mental cage.

After the lesson, I get into my car and instruct Louis to take me to a nearby park. From there, we stake out, waiting to catch Bree and her entourage leaving the Hamptons. While waiting, I text Cecilia’s details to Dante, who promptly forwards them to our best investigator.

When they finally head out, I tail them to Bree’s Upper East Side condo and signal my men to stand down. I remain in the car, feeling a strange reluctance to get out, a nagging feeling I can’t shake. Trusting my gut, I stay put. And sure enough, nearly an hour later, my niece and her guest strut out of the condo.

“Where are you going?” I mutter, firing up the ignition on my car.

As I follow them, Dante texts me the results of the search into Cecilia’s background—if that’s even her real name. As suspected, there’s no Cecilia Lombardi, and no West Coast Italian don with the name Lombardi. My investigator even went as far as to research the daughters of the prominent West Coast Italian dons. None matches Cecilia’s profile. So, who the hell is she, and why is she so close to my niece?

Does Bree know her friend isn’t who she’s pretending to be?

I text Dante back to tell the investigator to keep searching just as we pull into one of NYC’s bustling night markets. Parking discreetly, I follow Bree and Cecilia on foot as they frolic around the market. Eventually, they settle at a stall and eat more than their weight in food.

Things get interesting when my suspect separates from the group. Where is she going? I shoot a message to Bree’s head of security, telling him to keep all his men on my niece while I have a little chat with her friend.

Then I shadow the little mouse. Less than ten minutes later, my prey stops dead in her tracks, rubbing the back of her neck and casting wary glances around. I blend into the darkness. Does she know she’s being followed? The thought has hardly formed in my head when she suddenly takes an unexpected turn.

A smirk tugs at my lips. She’s running? Fascinating. Despite her attempts to shake me off, it’s pathetically easy to keep up with her. I’m impressed with her efforts, though. Does she have experience with being followed, then?

I remember the night I first met her. She seemed to be fleeing from someone then too. I was standing in front of my window, admiring my view of the city, when I spotted her dashing into my alleyway. She appeared so small, so desperate, and fragile as she glanced around frantically before eventually tucking herself behind a nearby trash can.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had gone down to the lobby and out the back door into the alley to invite her up. Something about her vulnerability stirred my protective instinct, and then, when I had her in my apartment, she stirred some other primal instincts too.

My pants tighten. My chest turns hot.

I shake my head, bringing myself back to the present. My prey has stopped running. She seems to have backed herself into a pretty little corner. But when she turns to face the alley’s entrance, fear isn’t what I see. Instead, her face bears a determined expression, with a stubborn jut of her chin.

Fascinating.

It would be even more impressive if she seemed like she stood a chance against me. But her stance is all wrong, and the fists at her sides look weak. She’d be no match for a drunken man, let alone an apex predator like myself.

But still, I have to admire her courage.

I watch my little mouse stew in her determination for another minute until she calls out. “I know you’re out there! Show yourself, you coward!” Her fists shake threateningly as she waits for a response.

That stirs my predatory instincts, coaxing my tongue to glide over my lips as I emerge from the shadows. Cecilia swallows hard as I approach, and I imagine the fear she must feel facing the looming shadow of my figure. Yet, she stands her ground, her chin held high.

“Who are you? Who sent you?” she demands.

“Those are the questions I want you to answer for me,” I reply, stepping into a patch of light so she can see my features.

Her pretty eyes widen, becoming luminous with a glimmer of recognition dancing within them… and then she seems to sag in relief. Not a reaction I’m used to getting. Usually, people piss themselves in terror at the sight of me.

I frown, not sure what to make of her. Is this a good thing? My cock seems to think so—the bastard is stirring in my pants.

“Why were you following me, Maksim?” she asks, straightening her back.

My cock twitches as I hear my name on her lips for the first time. I wanted to hear her scream it last week while I pounded her into submission, but we didn’t quite have the time to introduce ourselves.

“You’re not Cecilia Lombardi, daughter of a West Coast Italian don,” I say bluntly, shoving the dirty thoughts out of my head. “Are you?”

Cecilia inhales sharply, her lips parting in a feigned expression of surprise. I don’t know much about the girl, but I can see through her façade. So, she knew I would do a background check on her? Yet she lied to me anyway? She has some guts on her.

I’d like to shift those guts with my cock.