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

But now is not the time for thoughts like that, as invasive as they may be. I can feel a black hole of anger and torment opening up in my chest. Fucking Charlotte, as satisfying as it would be to finally devour my secretary, would be like slapping a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound.

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry,” I growl. “I asked what the fuck you want.”

She stammers, “I—I just wanted to see if everything at the gala had gone well. I wanted to see if you, uh, needed anything from the office. Before I go home.”

Then, before I can stop myself, I snap, “I have just been informed that I have a fucking child I never knew existed and a dead ex-wife I would have preferred to kill myself. Does that sound like everything went well, Miss Lowe?”

Silence.

I can feel my heartbeat in my throat. I can hear her breathing, too.

The silence is making me irritated. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“And I don’t like to be cursed at,” she snaps back.

I open my mouth to reply and then let it fall closed. I cannot even recall the last time someone talked back to me like that. I should be mad—considering all that has happened in the last few minutes, I can hardly be blamed for being a bit on edge—and yet, I am struck by the most unexpected sensation: I want to laugh.

“You are bold to say that to me, Charlotte,” I whisper into the phone.

“My apologies, sir,” she says, but there is still a lingering note of defiance in her voice. She is normally a quiet presence in my office, efficient eye candy to get me through the day. But I like this side of her I have not seen before. It brings her out of the background of my life, into the spotlight. I can sense that that makes her uncomfortable.

Good. These games are best played on my terms.

“I may not be in tomorrow,” I say to Charlotte. “Cancel all my meetings.”

“Yes, sir,” she rasps quietly. I start to hang up, but before I can, I hear, “And, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Since I’m already being bold … if what you said is true and you weren’t just playing some messed-up joke on me, then you should find your child. Kids need their fathers.”

Again, silence. I’m stunned. I look down at my hand again, eyeing the crusted path of the blood winding from my palm, past my knuckle, past my fingertips.

“That is too bold by a wide margin, Charlotte.”

I hang up before she can say another word.

Next to me, Yelisey wants desperately to ask what the hell that was all about. If I had an answer for him, I might indulge the question. As it stands, I am as speechless as him. How many blows can a man take in a single night? A dead ex, a surprise baby, a secretary who suddenly has a mouth useful for something other than wrapping around my cock? I do not like to have my world shaken so much. Especially not all at once.

But Charlotte surprised me, and despite my inclination to be irked, I can still feel the ghost of a smile playing on my lips. To sass me back and then tell me what to do with my own fucking kin is so ballsy as to deserve my respect.

So I won’t kill her. I won’t make her disappear.

In fact, I might even take her advice.

My world has been turned so upside down that it doesn’t even sound as crazy as it normally might.

I change my mind again.

I will find my daughter. I will keep the girl.

Natasha is dead and all of her games died with her. This is my chance to reclaim the life I once thought I had. I will not let pride keep me from seeing that.

“I’ll bring the girl to the house.” Yelisey’s question is disguised as a statement, and I nod. “Shall I hire someone to care for her?” I probably should’ve thought of it, but that he has is another of the reasons why I pay him.

“Yes.”

He goes on for a minute about something or other as he stares down at his phone screen, but I can no longer hear his muttered rambling. In the blackened window separating us from the bodyguard driving our SUV, I catch the reflection of headlights close behind us. I do not like the look of them.

I push the button that lets me communicate with Geoffrey. “Turn left on Sepulveda.” I lower the window. The light’s red, and traffic’s coming, but I shove his shoulder. “Now.” He screeches through the intersection, narrowly avoiding a Mercedes, then speeds through the turn. The car behind follows. “We have a tail. Lose him.”

The command wouldn’t be an easy one to follow for a normal man, but then again, I do not hire normal men. Geoffrey is highly capable behind the wheel of a car. He swerves, weaves, maneuvers through LA traffic, across lanes, through lights and into one alley and out of another.

Still, the car follows at every turn.

“Sir?” Yelisey, who has finally put his phone down, opens a case embedded into the seat and hands me an automatic rifle. It’s been a while since I’ve had to take a shot for more than pleasure, but I am locked and loaded before Yelisey has his own rifle out. Something about this day has been off from the start, and now I know why.

“Get us out of town.”

We’re already on the outskirts, but it appears that our pursuers will not be shaken so easily. The SUV is roaring along at one hundred and thirty miles per hour, yet they stick closely behind.

“There,” I indicate, pointing towards a large, abandoned industrial park. “Pull in. Turn around.”

Geoffrey swings the SUV around and heads for where I’m pointing. He blows through the chain-link fence and spins us so we’re facing the oncoming Escalade that plows through the hole we made in