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

tell me anything like he did last time, pretend to settle for information about his illegal business. He was willing to allude to his leadership in the Bratva at the restaurant, so he must be open to talking a little more about it.

I touch my lips. I’ve tried to not think about the kiss—his ruthlessness bordered on cruelty and I didn’t think I let my desire for him show, so I should have been repulsed by it, but it was like gasoline set on fire. I don’t know the reason for it, but I know I can’t let him strike the match like that again.

I’ll have to keep his hatred for my family at the front of his mind.

And I’ll have to keep his mouth from mine.

When we reach the library, Mary gestures to a couch beside an armchair. “You should sit here. Mr. Akimov will be here shortly.”

She bows her head before leaving through the entrance we previously walked through. I don’t sit down. Small defiance wherever possible is my M.O. for the evening. Fight the power, or something along those lines.

Instead, I wander through the library, glancing at the spines of the books. There doesn’t seem to be any organization to them, but I also don’t recognize most of the titles.

When I’ve done a full circuit of the room, I glance at the two entrances and the stairwell.

“I wonder where those lead?” I whisper under my breath.

My heart is beating too fast. I need to relax before he gets here, so I sit down at the piano and tap a couple of keys. I wish I had learned to play.

I check the two entrances and the stairwell again. He could easily lurk in the shadows if he wanted to. The room is creepily quiet.

I run my hands over the front of the dress. I play a few more notes before trying to fake a couple of chords. I make more noise. I look around the room, waiting for him to appear—a vampire in his vampire house, ready to take everything from me.

At this point, I just want him to get it over with.

The boots are starting to pinch my pinkie toe. I unzip them, pulling them off. Let him yell at me for disobeying orders; see if I care. I listen carefully, waiting to hear footsteps. It’s a stone house. Everything must echo. But I can’t even hear Mary anywhere.

“Mary?” I call out.

Nothing.

I walk over to the bookshelves again in my bare feet. I pull down a book. Autopsies of the Anomalies. Gross, and also weird.

I put it back and take down another book. In Times of War. That’s right up Maksim’s alley, I bet.

I start to skim through. It’s as dry as it gets—battle tactics about flanking enemies and organizing assault patterns. Every few pages, I glance over my shoulder, expecting to find Maksim standing over me.

I get through the first chapter. The second chapter. The third chapter.

Still nothing. No one. Silence.

I slam the book down after the fourth chapter. I walk over to the entrance. The house is darker now. He’s still trying to embarrass me. A proud woman wouldn’t stick around. She’d call an asshole’s bluff and leave him alone in his misery until he made up for his mistake. If he’s so desperate to get revenge on my father, he’ll track me down again.

But he still knows about my daughter. And God only knows what he’ll do if I abandon our deal now.

I lean against the doorframe, contemplating the paths in front of me. I imagine him swooping in, bursting out of the darkness, grabbing onto my hips, and pressing his warm body against mine as he kissed me, harsher than last time. This time, when I tried to bite his lip, he’d turn away right before I could, only to hike my dress up and push into me with a carelessness that would be equally threatening and thrilling.

I turn away from the hallway, heading back to the stairs.

I get it now: he isn’t coming.

This was all a mind game. A war tactic.

I won’t wait any longer for him, but I’ll stay for the night. I need to know about my daughter and I need the story I promised Tom. That will have to be enough, because everything else I want from him is a cardinal sin.

One that I refuse to repeat again.

I started fearing the monster under my bed when I was five. I used to wrap myself up tightly in my blankets, ensuring that a hand couldn’t creep up and grab my foot or my hand. In my childhood logic, I thought a monster couldn’t grab my small, cocooned body and drag me under the bed. The fear died a quick death once my father made it clear how much he despised cowardice.

I wake up in increments. Observations hit me one at a time.

First—the weight of the blankets is gone. I never changed out of my dress, so with the comforter gone, I’m exposed to the chilly room.

Second—my wrists and ankles are restrained. The same fear I felt as a child comes back. The monster. It’s going to pull me off and under the bed.

I turn my head. It’s still dark in the room, but my eyes adjust to it. I look down at my limbs, stretched to the four corners of the bed. The bindings are silk, tightly tied around my wrists and up to the iron posters. I tug my arms. The silk doesn’t budge at all. I try to pull my legs up. Nothing.

“I should keep you like this forever,” comes his voice from the darkness in the corner.

I raise my head. Where is he? My heart is pounding a million times a minute. I was so stressed about the way my legs were tied down, I didn’t notice the shadow leaning against the closet mirrors. Maksim smiles slowly as he strides towards me slowly, like a Cheshire cat in the darkness.

“I like you this way,” he