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Real sons? I frown at him, confused. “I don’t understand.”
Feliks’s eyes light up. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Maxim is adopted. He’s my mother’s brother’s kid. Poor, dead Uncle Ilya or whatever the fuck his name was. Maxim was a lost, unwanted fucking orphan from cold mother Russia that my parents took pity on. Oh, they think of him as their own, but one day they’ll see. Maxim’s not part of our family. Not really.”
I blink rapidly. I had no clue Maxim was adopted. There’s nothing wrong with being adopted—in normal circumstances. But in a family like this where bloodlines are everything, I can only imagine how badly the truth of his relationship to the other members of his family weighs on him. I noticed that he didn’t quite look like everyone else, but I just assumed it was genetics. He seemed similar enough that it didn’t matter.
But I understand why. He’s a cousin on his mother’s side. He has some of her blood, some of her looks—but he’s not a direct relative of his father at all.
“This is none of my business.” I inch to the door. Feliks doesn’t move to let me pass. He keeps grinning and staring at me, and I’m afraid of what he’ll do.
“Remember what I said here.” He taps his temple with one finger. “Think about the implications. You’re hitching yourself to the wrong wagon, mafia girl. Maxim’s on the way out, and if I have to use you to bring him down, I’ll do it.”
“I don’t want anything to do with your family’s twisted game.”
He laughs and turns. “Too late for that.” He walks away, heading down the hallway.
I collapse against the wall, breathing hard. My heart’s racing and fear’s lodged in my stomach so tight I think I might throw up.
Games in games in games. Feliks wants to take down Maxim, and Maxim is adopted, which somehow makes him vulnerable. Some things Maxim said snap into focus all of a sudden, and I understand why Maxim acts like he’s an outsider even though he sits at the heart of this family. I can’t imagine what it must be like living with people that take bloodlines so seriously when he’s not a genetic relative to anyone but his mother.
I hurry back to the room. I should grab something to read, but I’m too flustered. I bolt the door and lean against the wall, shaking. I pick up the phone—no new texts—and type up a list of clothes I’ll need. I send it to Maxim and tap out another message.
Siena: Saw Feliks. He’s an asshole. I don’t know how you stand it.
Maxim: Are you okay?
Siena: I’m fine. He just talked shit is all.
Maxim: Words can turn into actions. Just like what I say to you will manifest in the real world. Think about that.
I have to bite my cheek to keep from releasing a deep whimper from the back of my throat.
What is wrong with me?
I’m a prisoner in this house. Feliks literally just said he plans to use me against Maxim, and I know for sure that their father doesn’t really want me around at all. And yet the alternative isn’t much better: getting whored out by Zita back at The Velvet Rope, or thrown into one of my father’s other businesses which are all much worse than what I’ve gone through so far.
I can either play this game or spread my legs for strangers. Feliks thinks I’m Maxim’s whore—but if I leave here, I’ll be one for real.
It’s a nightmare. There’s no solution to my problems. Maxim wants me to submit and accept his rules, but I’m tired of being dragged around and given no choices.
I want something good for once in my life.
Maxim: I’ll be home soon, princess.
Why does that text make me feel so good when it sounds like a threat?
Chapter13
Maxim
Idrop bag after bag of designer clothing onto the floor of my sitting room. Siena watches from the couch, her mouth hanging open.
“This is too much,” she says, slowly standing. I can see the eagerness in her gaze and the hesitancy. I like that she’s excited but not sure if she should be. She’s afraid this is some kind of trap.
I decide to put her at ease. “One of my men was recently married. I had his wife pick up everything on your list, and apparently she has expensive taste. I almost regret giving her my black card.”
