“Boss?” Paul asks, waiting for my instructions.
“Let the cowards go for now…” I tell him. “Take us back to the estate.”
I guide Constance to the SUV with my palm on the small of her back. She’s visibly trembling, and my heart needs a minute to find its rhythm again. Besides, broad daylight in the city streets is not the ideal place for a shootout.
“Max…” she starts but I just shake my head, and she climbs into the backseat.
On the ride back to the estate, I keep my eyes on the road ahead, not on Constance. If I look at her right now, I’ll break.
I don’t even trust myself to speak, not until we’re halfway back to the estate. I’m too wound up, too likely to explode. I don’t want the violence of my mood to damage our relationship.
“You can’t keep doing this,” I finally say. “I’m not being overprotective or unreasonable, Constance. If you walk into one more trap like that, I might not be there to pull you out. And that would fucking destroy me.”
She softens a little at that, and I can feel some of the tension ease between us. Still, I can tell she isn’t done fighting me on this. “How did you know he would stand down if you threatened him?” she asks.
“I didn’t. I was ready to blow his fucking brains out in the street. I would have executed every one of them before I would let him take you away from me.”
“You can’t be that reckless, Max.”
“I can when it comes to you,” I say as I throw an arm over her shoulders and pull her to me, holding her close and placing a kiss on the top of her head. “I’d burn this whole city down before I let him put a hand on you.”
The rest of the ride out of the city passes in silence, broken only by the muttering and moaning of our victim in the rear. Constance eventually pulls away from me to look into the back seat. “Who the hell is that?” she asks, nodding toward the Bratva lieutenant.
The Russian lifts his swollen face just enough to smirk at her. Even half-broken, he radiates the kind of arrogance only the Bratva breeds.
“Nobody, just some Bratva scum that Kirill was using to bait me away from the estate.” I glance back to see his cold, swollen eyes glaring at me. “He may still know something useful, especially about our rat. We worked him over a bit today and didn’t get much out of him. I think with a little more encouragement, though, by tomorrow he’ll be ready to sing for us.”
At least I hope he will.
Whatever Kirill started at Monroe’s isn’t finished, not by a long shot.
24
Constance
I’ve never been soterrified in my life. Even at the club, I didn’t feel so powerless. Maybe that’s because today, it wasn’t just me in danger, but Maximo was in the line of fire yet again.
And I don’t know how much my heart can take.
The moment we step into the house, the scent of garlic and herbs hits me, helping calm my frayed nerves. The warm, savory air wraps around us like a welcome home hug, almost enough to make me forget everything that just happened, including the gagged and restrained Bratva lieutenant Maximo’s men are dragging between them.
“Get him downstairs,” Maximo tells his men. “Keep working on him. I want him ready to talk later.”
The two soldiers haul the Russian off, his boots scraping the floor. Maximo watches them go before turning to me. “Dinner should be waiting, and I expect our guests have already arrived.”
In the dining room, Chef Francis has laid out another masterpiece. There’s a perfectly seared lamb, roasted vegetables, and fresh bread that’s probably still warm from the oven. As we enter the room Leonard pulls out the chair at the head of the table for Maximo. A middle-aged woman with brunette hair, graying at the temples, is sitting on the left-hand side.
“Constance, this is my mother, Adeline Luciani,” Maximo introduces us as Leonard pulls out the chair on his right-hand side and gestures for me to sit.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I reach across the table and take her offered hand.
She gives mine a quick squeeze and says, “Oh, Maximo, you said she was stunning, but I think you undersold her. It’s so nice to meet you, dear. This is the first time I can remember my son bringing a woman to our family dinner!”
She motions to her left, to a bald, portly middle-aged man. “This is my brother, Maximo’s uncle Phillip. Beside him,” she adds, waving a hand towards a young man I recognize, “is his son, Maximo’s cousin Luca.”
“And down here,” Leonard draws my attention as he sits down to my right actually eating with us for once. “This is my oldest daughter, Cindy, and my son Enzo, who you know well.”
“Where is Donna?” Maximo asks his uncle Phillip, as he pours a glass of wine for me, then one for himself from the bottle by his plate.
