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“I don’t answer to you.”
“That’s fucking right—you don’t. But you know I have your best interests at heart.”
I busy myself by pouring another shot of vodka so I don’t have to make eye contact with my second-in-command.My friend.
He gives me one last hard stare before heading towards the door.
"Pavel," I call after him, my voice firm. "I'll end things when it's time." I'm not sure who I’m trying to convince—him or me.
His final look is one that says,Keep telling yourself that, buddy.
As the door closes behind him, the quiet click echoes like a period at the end of a damning sentence.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
KIRA
Liza looksat me as if I’ve sprouted two heads, and from her viewpoint, it probably does seem that way. I’ve filled her in on the whirlwind of events that took place in New York. A week ago I was planning on killing Maxim, and now I can’t keep my hands off him.
“It’s a lot to digest,” Liza says, sitting back and running a hand down her cheek.
“It is,” I agree. I pick up a fiery-red nail polish from the table in front of us. “Do you think this color complements my skin tone?”
“Forget your skin tone,” Liza snatches the bottle I’m examining and sets it down firmly between us. “I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that you followed Maxim to an underground fight in New York, accused him of murdering your aunt, and instead of killing you on the spot, he... well, you know what,” she says, reddening slightly. “And then he promised to help you track down the real killer.”
I let out a heavy sigh, leaning my elbows on the table cluttered with Liza's assortment of nail polishes and the latest issues ofArchitectural Digest. She's spending the day with me, catching up and helping me brainstorm interior design ideas. Much to Nadya's dismay, I've started to redecorate Irina's old sitting room to give myself purpose before I go out of my mind with boredom. With Maxim constantly working and at war with the Black Company, leaving the estate isn't really an option, so having a visitor is a welcome change.
“I know it sounds insane, but it’s true. He’s already begun the process of hunting down Masha’s killer.”
I've given Maxim all I could to help—my aunt’s diary, a list of her contemporaries, and any other details and memories that might be relevant. The horrific images of her lifeless body and the menacing letter I received were burned long ago, but I described everything I could recall from them, the haunting visuals forever etched in my memory. It was hard to go there, but Maxim held my hand and talked me through it, not allowing me to slip down the dark rabbit hole of guilt and despair.
The fact that he’s making finding Masha’s killer a priority with everything else he has going on means something to me.
“And you're … physical?”
I arch an eyebrow. No point in mincing words. “Very.”
She smirks. “That certainly explains your glow.”
“What are you talking about?” I bring my hand to my face. I’m not glowing.
“You seem, I dunno, happy. Relaxed.”
I shrug, attempting to pull off a casual gesture. “The sex is good. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a man who knows what he’s doing.”
“So what happens from here?” Her eyes widen to the size of saucers. “Does he still expect an heir?”
I pause in thought, examining an eggshell-blue nail polish. “I … I don’t think so. This is still an arrangement. It’s not like we have feelings for each other.” I bite my lip and avoid Liza’s probing gaze because I don’t want her to see the truth I can barely admit to myself. Maxim has burrowed under my skin. I’ve let myself get wrapped up in him.
It started in the mayor’s basement when he broke the man’s hand in my defense. He kicked a flight attendant off a plane mid-flight, and he didn’t hesitate for a moment to try and save my life at the wine auction. But maybe I’m reading too much into his actions.
Maxim is still a mystery. He’s opened up a little about his past, but there’s something else he’s guarding. A hurt he holds close to his heart. I assume it has to do with Irina. But with everything that’s happening, he’s been working so hard. When he does fall into bed beside me at night, I hardly want to bring up his past. It’s none of my business, and I want him to take comfort in my arms, like I take comfort in his.
“Masha would love this blue color,” I say, hoping to distract Liza from asking more questions I don’t know how to answer.
“She definitely would,” she agrees. “Edgy but still glamorous. It suits you.” She takes the bottle of nail polish from me and gestures for me to lay my hand flat on the table, and I comply. “So, where's your shadow? I’m used to Roman always lurking around.”
I have to hide my smile. For a girl who can’t stand the man, she seems surprisingly curious about him.
