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

It’s all a façade. Not only have my father and Maksim disappeared from my life since the article about the Bratva was published, but I’ve also discovered that I’m less brave than I thought. I’ve been terrified of facing Maksim, seeing how my actions have hurt him. I’ve found that disappearing is easier, and now these two men are going to force me to disappear one last time. Permanently.

As the two men tug me down the stairway, I see the apartment building is empty. It must be between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m.—after the drunks have stumbled home and before the morning shift employees have left. As they yank me outside, the cold air seeps past the thin material of my pajamas. A black SUV rumbles in front of us, its headlights shining on a bag of trash on the sidewalk.

The two men pull me toward the SUV. The smaller man wrenches open the back passenger door. He moves aside a dress that’s hanging from the grab handle as the Tank shoves me into the back. The smaller man slams the door shut. I try to open it, moving aside the dress, but the child lock must be on because it won’t budge. I turn to the other side of the car.

A middle-aged woman sits on the far end of the back seat. Her blonde hair is tied into a tight bun with several decorative barrettes embellishing it. She’s wearing a blue dress with simple silver jewelry and her demeanor belongs to someone who has never suffered from uncertainty or low confidence.

I turn away from her, having no interest in talking to someone involved in my kidnapping. I shift the dress out of my way to try the door handle again. When it doesn’t open the door, I let the dress sway back in front of me. As I stare at the dress—its stark white shade, the lace, the intricate beading, and the layers underneath the skirt—I realize it’s a wedding dress.

“You have a lot of questions,” the woman infers. I blow my hair out of my face. “Which would you prefer to have answered first?”

“What the hell is going on?” I demand.

“We’re driving across the city,” she says. “We need to get you ready.”

Her phone, lying on her lap, lights up as someone sends her a text. She taps on the screen and hands it to me.

“That will be for you,” she says. I take the phone from her.

Maksim Akimov: I will remind you of our agreement, in which I stated that if you did not come willingly and stay, there would be a much more difficult route to take. I was not bluffing. I fulfilled my side of the deal and it’s time for you to fulfill yours. We will be marrying tonight or I will ensure that you never see Lily again.

The woman slowly takes the phone back from me, her hand barely touching mine as she takes it.

“Mr. Akimov hired me as your stylist,” she says. “He wants you to be ready by the time we get you there, so I suggest that you get into the dress, so I can start your hair and makeup.”

I glare at her, a series of threats ready to burst out of my mouth, but I keep my lips tightly closed. I felt some sympathy toward Maksim before, but now everything I feel toward him is downright dangerous.

Maksim’s two soldiers open the doors to the office of the city clerk. They walk closely by my side, but they don’t restrain me now. After we’ve entered the building and I notice the darkness and complete lack of people, it occurs to me how strange it is that the building is unlocked this late at night. I walk carefully, unfamiliar with the taller heels. The heels are as intricate as the dress and the dress isn’t lacking in detail. The beading crosses over my shoulders and down my arms. The material is a mix of silk and lace that touches the shoes. The stylist also braided small sections of my hair and pulled it into a low bun. Everything about me feels a little wrong, but as we step into the building, I find myself looking for Maksim, which is stranger than anything after everything he’s done.

The two soldiers guide me toward one of the rooms. They don’t try to touch me again. It’s irritating that Maksim didn’t simply retrieve me himself. If he wanted a fight, I’d give it to him.

When I enter the office, the first thing I notice is Maksim, who is dressed in a black suit. He’s standing in front of a desk, where an older man is standing on the other side. In front of them, I can see my driver’s license, his driver’s license, a marriage license, and a few other pieces of paper. Maksim glances back at me but focuses on the papers in front of them.

“Eduard here is going to be our witness,” Maksim says, gesturing to one of his soldiers.

“Fine,” the gray-haired older man says. His face is strained with anxiety. “Let’s just do this.” He gestures for me to step forward. His hands are shaky. Considering the late hour, I realize that Maksim must have called him in.

“Sir, if you don’t want to be here—” I start. He glances up at me, his forehead furrowed and his eyes reflecting fear.

“He’s fine, Cassandra,” Maksim says. It’s the first time he’s talked to me since I told him I had sent the article in. His voice is colder than when we first met. “He’s not under duress unless you count the fact that I have enough dirt on his son to bury him twice. He’s here because he struck a deal with me—just like you.”

“Yes. I’m gladly fulfilling my side of it.” The older man taps on the desk. He glances between the two of us, standing up straighter. “Let’s begin. Do you, Maksim Akimov, take Cassandra Balducci to be your