Maksim: A Dark Mafia Romance (Akimov Bratva), Nicole Fox [love letters to the dead txt] 📗

think he can hear the conversation, but he must be able to read my body language. I should have stuck around to learn my father’s poker skills.

“Who is this?” I ask.

“That’s not the question you really want to ask,” the man says. His voice is deep, raspy. “If you want your answers, you’ll come to Claveles Park.”

“Right now?” I ask, but the sound of the voices in the background goes silent. I check my phone. He hung up.

“That seemed interesting,” Tom says simply.

I bite my lip. I don’t have the faintest idea what that was. And I’m honestly terrified to find out.

“It’s a lead,” I tell Tom. “It might be a hot story, so I have to go see him right now.”

I run down the stairs. I should be hoping that Tom bought my lie, but the panic setting fires in my chest isn’t about Tom.

It’s about my secrets.

It’s about my daughter.

It is, like always, about family.

Claveles Park is a small park in a lower-income area of the Bronx. It’s also nowhere near my father’s territory. I can’t imagine any of his subordinates wandering this far away from his little fiefdom, but I also can’t imagine anyone rustling up the story of my daughter.

I never knew my father to excommunicate any of the members—the only way a person left the Mafia was in a casket—but maybe things have changed since I last saw him ten years ago. Maybe one of his former men wants revenge.

All I’ve got is a double handful of maybes, and nothing certain at all.

As I walk through the park, I can’t help but feel like Little Red Riding Hood. But in this version of the story, it seems like every person here is the Big Bad Wolf. Every grandma knitting on the bench, every group of teenagers smoking weed in the shadows, every soccer mom pushing her precious little baby in a stroller—they all get a once-over. They all pass the smell test.

But when I see the Big Bad Wolf, I know it’s him. He’s not even trying to hide.

Actually, “Big Bad Wolf” isn’t so far off. He’s got dark, ruffled hair, sharp and messy. His strong jawline is traced with stubble, but it’s the glint in his eyes that seems the most feral. The man is wearing a bandage around his hand and wrist and he’s favoring his left leg. Everything about him screams the same thing: Run.

A high-pitched scream distracts me. The park borders a school playground, where several kids are running around. By the time I look back at the man, he’s just a few feet away from me. He indicates a nearby bench.

“Cassandra,” he says. “Welcome. Please sit with me.”

I awkwardly sit down, trying to keep my eyes on him. He sits as well, but he keeps himself on the edge of the bench. The sound of the children playing adds a strange contrast to the situation in front of me. It seems so innocent. This meeting is anything but that.

“Who are you?” I manage to say. He just smirks at me.

I cross my legs, looking over to the playground. He’s a beautiful man and that smirk just adds to his allure. It’s the kind of smile that catches women from across the room and tugs them closer and closer until they realize it is a trap. By the time they notice, it’s too late to escape.

“I’m Maksim Akimov.”

My heart nearly stops.

Maksim Akimov. The boss of the Akimov Bratva. My father’s greatest enemy.

He watches me, taking in my fear with a disgusting amount of enjoyment.

“And I know who you are,” he says, pointing at me before letting his finger settle on my lap. I shove his hand off me. “The daughter of Gianluigi Balducci. And, if it wasn’t obvious from my gifts, I know your secret.”

“You don’t know anything,” I hiss.

He nearly laughs. “No? Do I not know that you had a daughter when you were eighteen? Do I not know that your father took her from you? Do I not know that you ran from him, from all of them?”

I raise my chin, trying to act brave. “The past is in the past.”

A coldness rushes into his eyes, their gray shade appearing almost metallic now. “The past can’t be in the past until the scales are balanced. Besides, I can’t consider it to be in the past when your father is desecrating my dead wife’s grave by killing my men right outside of it.”

His rage is palpable. I can nearly taste blood on my tongue, like he’s willed me into tasting what he wants to spill.

“That has nothing to do with me.”

“Once, that was true. But no longer,” he says. “I’m going to make your father pay for his disrespect. You’re going to help me with that.”

“I’m not going to help you do a damn thing.” I stand up, but he grabs me so quickly that I barely feel his hand before he’s jerking me back onto the bench. My thighs smack against the wood, sending arrows of pain up my body.

I glare at him. His hand remains around my wrist. “Listen, I’m sorry about what my father’s done, but you already know that I don’t associate with him. I don’t want to be involved in any of this shit. I think you’re all repugnant. I’m not going to help you, or him, or anybody.”

“I’m going to take you, whether you like it or not,” he says, his voice frighteningly calm. “If you come willingly, I’ll give you what you need to find your daughter. If you don’t, I will take you forcefully.”

I narrow my eyes. “If that was an option, you would choose it.”

“You’re quite brave for someone who has no reason to be.”

I glance away from him, looking back over at the children. One of them stands on the swing as it’s swaying, barely holding onto the chains holding it up. That’s true freedom. Not a care in the world but how high she can reach today.

After