“The police is still looking for information in the brutal execution-style murder of Marcus Jameson,” the reporter says. “If you have any information…”
My hands shake as I grab the remote to turn it off. Suddenly, the walls of this beautiful place feel like they’re closing in on me. I need to get out of here. Need to come up with a plan that doesn’t involve staying Mrs. Nikolai Maksimov forever. Moving quickly, I go to my purse, pull out my phone, my heart hammering, and dial my friend Maya.
“Hey, Maya.”
“Girl, where the hell have you been? I went by your apartment, and your building manager said you moved out. I even went to your work, and they said you quit. What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain over the phone, but I need help. I need somewhere to stay for a few days while I figure things out.” There’s a pause.
“Of course, honey. You know you can crash here as long as you need to. Are you okay?” “I’m…” I start to say I’m fine, but the words stick in my throat. “Can you come pick me up? I’m at…” I rattle off the address of the building.
“That’s Russian Hill, Z. What are you doing in that neighborhood?”
“It’s complicated. Can you just…”
“Mrs. Maksimov.” I spin around to find one of my husband’s men standing in the doorway. Just as intimidating as I remember, tall, broad, with cold eyes that miss nothing. “I’m gonna have to call you back,” I whisper into the phone and hang up.
“Mr. Maksimov asked me to keep an eye on you while he was out,” the guy tells me. “Make sure you have everything you need.”
“I was just… I was calling a friend.”
“I heard.” He moves closer, and I back up. “Your friend Maya Rodriguez. Lives on Mission Street with her boyfriend, Carlos.” My blood turns to ice.
“How do you…”
“We know everything about you, Mrs. Maksimov.” His eyes hold mine. “Mr. Maksimov is very thorough when it comes to protecting what’s his.”
“I’m not his.” He doesn’t answer, just pulls out his phone and shows me the screen: it’s security footage of Maya.
“This was taken ten minutes ago. Your friend is safe… as long as she stays out of business that doesn’t concern her.” The threat is crystal clear.
“He’s been watching my friends?”
“He’s been watching everyone who might help you do something foolish.” The guy pockets his phone. “Your old job has been informed that you relocated for family reasons. Your landlord received a very generous payment to cover breaking your lease. Your bank account…” He pauses. “There were some irregularities that required freezing your assets pending investigation.” I gasp, each word hitting me like a punch.
“He can’t do that.”
“He can do whatever he wants, Mrs. Makismov.” His expression softens a bit. “But he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He just wants to protect you.”
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, the reality of my situation finally hitting me. He didn’t just marry me; this psycho dismantled my entire life.
“There’s nowhere to go,” I whisper.
“No,” he agrees. “There isn’t.”
“He’s trapped me.”
“He’s claimed you. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” He considers this for a moment.
“Mr. Maksimov could have killed you that night in the alley. It would have been simpler. Cleaner. But he didn’t. He married you instead. That should tell you something.”
I scoff, feeling my throat clog. “That he’s insane?”
“That he cares about you, Miss.”
I want to laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a sob.
