I stare at him, my heart twisting in my chest. This powerful, feared man… had once been a child with no family. No one to protect him. The thought makes something soft and aching bloom inside me.
He gives a small, humorless smile. “Then I was adopted.”
I stand there, completely still, as Maxim begins to speak.
He tells me how he grew up with nothing, no parents, no family, no one to care whether he lived or died. How he was passed from one orphanage to another, always the outsider, always the boy who didn’t belong.
His voice is low, steady, but I hear the weight behind every word. The loneliness. The hunger. The anger that forged him into the man standing before me.
He tells me how even after being adopted by a Pakhan, he wasn't fully accepted in the Bratva, because he isn't pure blood.
“Dmitri and Viktor came from the same life,” he continues. “We got separated after I was adopted. I found them after they had turned eighteen, living on the streets, fighting to survive. I gave them work. A purpose.”
Tears blur my vision. For the first time, I see past the ruthless Pakhan. Beneath it all is a man who once was a scared, abandoned little boy.
A man who turned his pain into power and still reaches back to help children who remind him of who he used to be.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I had no idea.”
He shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want your pity, Calina. The last thing I want from you is pity. Everything I went through, every single thing I suffered made me into the man I am today.”
“I wouldn’t dare pity you,” I say softly, stepping closer. “I’m just… glad I know this part of you now. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“You're my wife, you should know about my past.”
“I'm sorry I went through your things in your absence.”
A small smirk tugs at his lips. “Not only did you go through my stuff, you eavesdropped on my conversation.”
“I was curious. I'm sorry I eavesdropped on your conversation.”
He chuckles darkly. “Curiosity killed the cat.”
“But satisfaction brought it back.”
His smirk deepens. He beckons me with two fingers. “Come here.”
My heart stutters, but I obey, walking until I’m standing between his spread legs as he sits on the edge of the desk. We’re so close. The heat of his body radiates into mine.
His hands settle on my hips, pulling me even closer, until I’m pressed against him.
“You've been such a naughty girl that you deserve to be punished. Turn around.”
I do, facing away from him. He places a hand on my back and gently pushes me forward.
“Touch your toes.”
My breath catches. I bend slowly, reaching for my toes. Wondering what he plans on doing. The short, flimsy dress I’m still wearing rides up high, exposing the curve of my ass and the thin lace of my thong.
I hear his sharp inhale. “Fuck.”
His palm smooths over my exposed cheeks, warm. “I warned you not to come into my office,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “But you did anyway.”
Before I can respond, his hand comes down hard on my right cheek. I jerk forward with a gasp. The sting blooms hot across my skin, sending a rush of heat straight between my legs.
“Hold still,” he growls. “If you move, I start counting from the beginning.”
I bite my lip and stay bent over, thankful for all the yoga that keeps me flexible. His hand comes down again and again, firm, rhythmic spanks that make my ass burn and my pussy throb.
