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Holy shit. My stomach drops, a heavy stone of dread settling deep within.
Now that I have access to his life, I’m determined to do a deep dive and see what I can uncover. With time ticking away, I search for my aunt's name directly in the calendar app, typing in “Masha Antonov” and pressing Return. The search yields a single result, and my heart leaps into my throat.
There it is, a calendar note titledMeeting with Masha Antonov, dated a few days before my aunt was abducted. My finger hovers over the entry, eager to click and reveal the details, when the doorknob turns.
The sudden sound jolts me. I try to minimize the screen, but it's too late. The door swings open, and Maxim steps into the room, Nadya following close behind him.
Our gazes collide in a silent storm, Maxim's eyes flashing a message loud and clear:Caught in the act, little spy.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MAXIM
“Everything is setup for the wine auction in New York," Nadya reports, her voice business-like as she trails me through the halls of the mansion.
I nod, only half listening, my mind preoccupied with one thing. My wife.
Last night’s dinner, seeing the mayor’s hands on her, that kiss. That fucking kiss. And then this morning, the burning hate in her eyes when she woke in my arms as she came down from a nightmare.
It’s been one hell of a twenty-four hours, and all I need is a stiff drink and a hard fuck, but it looks like neither is coming my way.
After I spent the night pummeling any opponent that dared step into the ring with me, I made the snap decision to put our forged Romanée-Conti up for auction in New York. It’s an excuse to get out of Moscow, but more than that, it’s an excuse to get away from Kira because now that I know how she feels under me, I’m practically tortured with temptation.
It has to stop. Now.
“So, as I was saying, the?—”
I open the door to my office, and the sight that greets me is unexpected, to say the least. Kira, clad in her night robe, is sitting at my desk and typing on my computer. That is, until she notices me standing there. Wide and worried eyes lift to meet mine.
I should be angry—she’s clearly doing something she shouldn't be—but for some reason, I’m more intrigued than infuriated.
“Maxim!” she exclaims, jumping up and attempting to pat down her robe. “I didn’t expect you.”
“No, I bet you didn’t.”
Nadya pushes past me, her voice sharp and accusatory. "What do you think you're doing in here? This is completely unacceptable!" Anger rolls off of her in waves. She turns to me, expecting me to echo her outrage, but I remain silent.
Not because I don’t think Kira is out of line, but because I don’t want Nadya around when I question my wife. That pleasure is mine and mine alone.
Kira’s eyes dart nervously from me to Nadya and back again. She bites her lip but smartly decides to remain silent.
“It’s fine, Nadya.” I hold up my hand to calm her. “I asked Kira to look into something for me this morning.”
“What?” My assistant whirls around, a puzzled frown creasing her forehead. “But, Maxim, you never?—”
“It's under control. Thank you, you may leave us.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, my tone leaving no room for further discussion.
Reluctantly, she casts one last angry glance at Kira before leaving.
Kira stands there like a trapped deer in headlights, her nerves palpable. "I can explain—" she starts, but I shake my head to stop her.
“Really? Can you do it without lying to me?" My gaze holds hers.
She swallows hard, the tension in the room thick enough to slice.
“Sit,” I order, pushing out a chair into the middle of the room with my foot.
“I’d rather not.”
