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

“I’d rather witness you.”

I run my hands under her shirt, tracing the outline of her spine. She shivers under my touch. Her ass presses against my cock. She’s so good at this.

I move my hands to the front of her body, past her navel and up to her chest. My hands settle over her breasts, squeezing them delicately. She leans against me more, her head lolling against my shoulder. My hands are massive on her small frame, but when they’re over her breasts, they’re a perfect fit.

I bow my head, our lips meeting. We kiss. My hands massage her breasts, her breath cutting short against my mouth as I squeeze harder. She tastes like burnt bread.

No, it smells like burnt bread.

I pull away from her, my hands slipping out from under her shirt. “I think your infamous grilled cheese is burning.”

“Oh shit!” She grabs the spatula, quickly flipping the sandwich. The bread is charred.

“God,” she mutters. She grabs the bag of bread. “I’m sorry. I’ll make another one.”

“I’ll still eat it,” I say. I slide my hand under her shirt again, my fingertips brushing against her nipple.

She smacks my hand. “You already distracted me. I don’t want your first taste of my grilled cheese to be a burnt one.”

“And I don’t want to wait to try it,” I say. I indicate to the bag of bread in her hand. “Besides, it looks like you only have one piece of bread left.”

“You’re right.”

“Can you repeat that?” I ask.

“I said sit down.” She points to the dining room with her spatula.

“No. You’ve convinced me that your grilled cheese recipe is perfect. Prove it to me. Teach me.”

She leans against the counter. I lean against the counter on the opposite side of the stove.

“You know I can take those clothes from you any time I want.”

“Take them, she challenges. “I’ll cook naked. But if one of your men decides he wants to tell you something, I won’t be running to get clothes.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just blind him.”

We wait in silence for the bread to finish toasting. She flips the sandwich onto the plate and hands it to me.

“Are you going to make yourself something?” I ask.

“I’m not hungry.”

The unburnt side of the sandwich is flawlessly golden. I take a bite. The cheese melts perfectly in my mouth. If it weren’t burnt, it could compete with Calderon’s pastrami sandwiches.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“Very infamous,” I say.

She laughs, her hand sweeping down my arm. “Thanks. I promise it won’t kill you.”

My cell phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket as Cassandra looks away. It’s Bogdan. It can only be about the Balduccis.

“I have to take this,” I tell Cassandra.

She gives a small nod. “Of course. I understand.”

I bite my tongue hard enough that I taste blood, the copper taste mixing with the salty flavor of the sandwich. I tap on the phone, bringing it up to my ear. “This better be good.”

14

Cassandra

At my friend’s house the next day, all I can smell is mildew and baby powder.

I never expected Sarah Ray to choose a suburban life. I’ve known her since eighth grade. She was the girl who brought vodka in a water bottle to school, who wore shirts that were tight enough that you could see the outline of her bellybutton ring, who had a fling with the twenty-four-year-old son of our Spanish teacher. She wasn’t malicious or troubled—she just forged her own way and nearly ruined several lives as a result.

But now, sitting diagonally from her in her suburban house as she cradles her baby in her arms, I’m still puzzled at how she’s asking me about my past ten years when hers must have been way more eventful.

“When your dad told us you were finishing your senior year in California, I couldn’t believe it,” she says. “At least, at first I couldn’t believe it. But it made more sense as I thought about it—you never seemed to like the city much. But I just thought you would have said goodbye before you left.”

Sarah, like all my friends, didn’t know I was pregnant. My father invented the California lie. For five months, I dodged any attempt by my friends to call, video chat, or visit me, so they wouldn’t find out I never left the city. After the birth, I continued to avoid them, too consumed in my misery and too busy to deal with my friends who were absorbed in their future plans for college. All my friendships disintegrated except for the one with Sarah, who always kept her friend circle as wide as possible, and Jenny, who had her own habit of appearing and disappearing for months or years at a time.

“I know. The whole process was a mess,” I say. “If you want to know the truth, my dad was paranoid about some of my friendships. He thought Jenny was involved in some bad things, so he sent me across the country and told me to stop talking to any of you. I shouldn’t have listened to him.”

Sarah shakes her head. “Jenny is just a bit eccentric. Your father is … well, something else.”

“Definitely. But let’s talk about you.” I gesture to her baby. “Your life has changed a lot in the last decade.”

“You have no idea. It’s impossible to describe. Everything is so new and crazy in the best way,” she gushes. She runs her hand over her baby’s pale blonde hair. It’s only a couple of shades lighter than her own. They also share the same nose and the same long eyelashes. “It’s one of those things you can’t understand until you’ve carried a baby in your womb and held her in your own hands. Everything else becomes less important. I love Greg, my friends, and my family, of course, but since I’ve had Ashley, all I care about is ensuring she’s safe and happy. Every other kind of love sorta fades in comparison.”

She doesn’t know