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I had responsibilities. Responsibilities to my mother’s name to ensure that her charities carried on. To do that, I had to put on a brave face and re-enter society, when all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry.
I never felt the vehicle stop when the door opened, as a cool breeze rushed into the cab. “Come with me, Moya Lyubov. I want to show you something.”
Taking his hand, I allowed him to lead me from the vehicle as we walked in silence, hand in hand, along the bank of the Gold Coast in Chicago.
“Sit with me,” he said, stopping near a bench overlooking the cool waters of Lake Michigan as he sat. Standing, looking at the calm water, I whispered, “Sometimes I want to get on a boat and sail away into the darkness where there are no more parties, social niceties or any of this.”
“My yacht is yours, Moya Lyubov. Say the word and we can leave tonight.”
Turning, I smirked, “You mean that, don’t you?”
“For you, I will do anything.”
Sighing, I sat next to him, snuggling close as his arm came around my shoulders. “I miss her.”
“I know.”
Sniffing, I whispered, “Thank you for rescuing me again.”
That night, Max sat with me as I talked about and cried for my mom. He stayed with me, holding me as the sun started to rise.
He never complained.
He was there for me when no one else was.
Chapter Fourteen
Maxim
Looking at my watch, I noted the time.
I was late. I had somewhere I needed to be and sitting with my drunk friend while he wallowed in his drunken misery wasn’t that place. Had all kinds of love and respect for the man, but he really needed to grow a pair.
“Are you even listening?”
Looking up, I smirked at my friend. “I’ll listen when you have something important to say.”
“Asshole,” Montana chuckled, flipping me the one finger bird, before downing another shot of scotch. I noticed he’d been hitting the bottle a lot lately. It was understandable, considering everything that had happened. My friend couldn’t catch a break with his woman. One minute he had everything wrapped up tight, the next she pulled the rug out from underneath him.
Currently, his lady love, Tessa Jackson, had barricaded herself in her old apartment near Central Park, refusing to speak to him after the accident that damn near took her life in the harbor. When she woke, the stubborn woman had had enough and sent my friend packing.
Montana was giving her space. Space that she requested, but it was slowly eating away at him. From what the others told me, Montana barely left the club. I would never understand men like Montana. A man of power, he could find another woman to fulfill his desires, but he wanted a stubborn one. A woman so much likeMoya Lyubov, it almost seemed predestined. Not that I believed in destiny or fate. I believed life was what we made of it and our actions and decisions blazed our paths. In reality, I shouldn’t be questioning his love for the head-strong woman, considering I had my own obstinate spitfire to deal with.
Thinking a change of subject might pull him out of his misery, I asked, “Have you heard from our mole lately?”
He took a deep breath as he poured himself another shot. “No. Nothing for a few weeks now.”
“Maybe it’s time to send someone to see if he’s still alive?”
“That will only get him killed. When he has something, he will send a text for the next drop. Until then, we wait.” Montana sighed, rubbing his hands down his face. “I still can’t believe he’s lasted this long. He has to be the luckiest son of a bitch alive.”
“No. That goes to your guest downstairs. Speaking of which. Has he even left that room?”
I tried not to read too much into the man downstairs. If Montana and I thought we had problems, our problems were infinitesimal to the drama of the man downstairs. The ramifications of his actions and the choices he’d made would never end well for him, all because he fell in love with and wanted to protect a woman. A woman who, likeMoya Lyubov, and a few others who were nothing but collateral damage from the lives we led.
“He comes out when the club is asleep. Works out in the gym, grabs something to eat, then returns to his isolation.”
Shaking my head, I sighed as I addressed the elephant in the room. “How’s Tessa?”
