Chapter 172 172

Chapter 172 172
“I told you time and time again, Maxim: it’s about strength, and you are in your soul a weak man. I am not responsible for my father’s actions. I was only a boy when he moved against Yakov. But when I knew the truth, I paid off his blood debt by sparing your life when I could have ended it. This is my Bratva now. It’s time you accepted that.”

“It is not your fucking Bratva.”

“You want to prove you’re strong enough?” I ask, stepping forward and laying the final piece of my trap. “Then fight me now. Win it and it’s yours.”

“No, Maxim,” Svetlana says immediately. “He’s trying to trick you.”

But there’s no stopping what’s happening now. It’s coming like an avalanche.

The ending of all this bloodshed.

Just a few more drops to spill.

“You want to fight me, cousin?” Maxim asks, his jaw setting with determination. “So fucking be it.”

“Maxim—”

“Silence!” Maxim roars over Svetlana. “Or I will fucking remove you.”

His mother goes quiet immediately, but I can see the anger and humiliation in her eyes. Beautiful.

Smiling triumphantly, I move forward, flexing my muscles. Our men form a large circle around us. My men form one half, and Maxim’s men form the other. Svetlana falls back a little, but I glance at Bogdan and Vlad and gesture towards her.

I don’t have to speak to make sure they understand me. I already know they do.

Keep an eye on that one.

Maxim steps out into the empty space. He’s huffing and puffing. He doesn’t know what to do with his anger like I do. How to bottle it. How to channel it. How to break it over your enemy’s head when the moment is right.

I’m getting ready to do just that—when I hear something.

A voice raised in panic, trembling with uncertainty… and all too familiar.

“Wait!”

My men look behind their shoulders. I can’t see what’s happening—until two of them part to allow the new arrivals to walk into the center of the ring.

39

CAMILA

It’s like the inner circle of hell in here.

There’s no literal fire, but I can feel the heat of tension, anger, testosterone, bloodlust. I can feel the burn of a hundred stares and in the middle of it all, two titanic egos igniting one another to rage hotter and hotter and hotter.

My eyes fall to Isaak. I physically need to make sure he’s alright, that he’s still standing. The minor scratches and stains on him don’t look too bad, though. If anything, they make him look better. Fiercer. Deadlier.

Then I turn towards Maxim. My ex-fiancé is standing directly opposite Isaak, looking as though his worst nightmare has taken shape in front of him.

I feel a pull of pity for the man. How could I not? I spent some of the longest and loneliest months of my life waiting for someone like him. And then, when he came into my world, I spent more months imagining the life we might have together.

I no longer have any guilt associated with accepting his proposal, though.

Yes, I was using him.

But he was using me right back.

I’d like to say we’re even. But judging from the look on his face, I don’t think he feels the same way.

“What the fuck are the two of you doing here?” Isaak growls.

“We were sick of being left behind,” I snap. “Also, your mother has something she needs to say.”

A woman dressed in black steps out from behind Maxim. I don’t recognize her face, but her voice and her manner feel eerily familiar. I just can’t put my finger on why.

“Well, if Nikita has something to say,” she seethes, bitterness and loathing tainting her faintly accented English, “then I suppose the world must stop to hear it.”

“Svetlana,” Nikita says with a small sigh. “What a pleasure.”

Oh, fuck. So this is Maxim’s mother. Yakov’s wife. The woman whose husband Nikita had had a years-long affair with.

The bitterness makes sense then.

She’s definitely attractive. But in a different way than Nikita. They’re both thin, dignified-looking women. But Nikita’s beauty is softer and more obvious. Svetlana’s beauty has a sharp edge that’s further marred by the hate in her eyes. A sort of craven soullessness. A sheet of ice where a heart should be.

I scan the ranks of men just behind her—and gasp in shock as I see a face I recognize.

Everyone turns to me. Isaak’s questioning gaze bores into the side of my face.

“Andrew,” I whisper.

“Andrew?” Isaak repeats. “As in…”

“My agent,” I say. “The one who was assigned to me after Eric was forced off my case. Oh God…”

Maxim glances back at Andrew and smiles. He doesn’t have to say it for us to understand: he likes the fact that this is coming out now. It makes him looks shrewd, cunning. Like he is the kind of don who has planned painstakingly and thought three steps ahead of his enemies.

“Andrew was always my man,” he says haughtily. “He played his part to perfection.”

“I don’t know about that,” I snap. “Everyone hated him. He was an unpleasant little prick.”

Andrew grimaces in irritation. He was always touchy about his height.

Something else suddenly occurs to me. “That’s how you knew how to find me in London.” I turn towards Maxim. “Andrew tipped you off as to where I was.”

“Very astute,” he drawls sarcastically. “Such a smart little girl. And you know what? Finding you was the hardest part. Getting you to bed was easy. Getting a ring on your finger was even easier.”

I have to breathe through the lash of anger. It’s obvious what he’s doing: goading me, pushing my buttons to draw a reaction. I hate that it’s working.

But even as I try to tame my emotion, my eyes keep slipping towards his gaunt-faced mother.

Why the hell does she seem so damn familiar to me?

And then it hits me. I never saw her voice properly. But her voice… that, I never forgot. It’s stayed with me all these years.

She was my first introduction into the world of the Bratva.

She was the first person who spoke to me in that cell, after days of agonizing silence.

“You,” I say, turning my gaze on her. “You were the woman who spoke to me after my first abduction… You kept me in that cell for days.”

She doesn’t bother denying it. “Yes, that was me.”

I shake my head. “What was the point?”

“The point was to use you to get to me,” Isaak interjects through gritted teeth. “They assumed that taking you would give them the leverage they needed to force my cooperation. It backfired, though. Didn’t it, cousin?”

“What were you planning on doing with me, Maxim?” I ask softly.

He’s not meeting my eyes. That sends a shiver down my back. Why won’t he look me in the eyes?

“Cami,” he mumbles, his tone going soft. “You know me. We were planning a life together. You know that I would never harm your daughter.”

He’s subtle, but I get the message loud and clear. I have your daughter. Cooperate… or else.

“Where is she?” I ask, my voice trembling just a little.

“She’s safe,” Maxim says. “But she’s been asking for you. Come with me now and I’ll take you to her.”

Isaak tenses next to me. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“Please, Maxim,” I say. “Just give her back to me.”

“Give her back?” he repeats. “No, I can’t give her back. But I can take you with me.”

“Is that the choice?” I ask.

“That’s the choice.”

Nikita steps forward, buying me some time. “Before any decision is made, there’s something I need to tell everyone.’

Her eyes are fixed on Svetlana. Two cords of violent tension bisect the air—one rippling between Maxim and Isaak. The other between their mothers.

Talk about family drama.

“And why would any of us be interested in what you have to say?” Svetlana snaps. “You’re nothing but a whore you chased after a man who wasn’t yours.”

I can tell immediately that this is the first time that Isaak or Bogdan have been confronted with this new possibility. Both their eyes flit to Nikita, waiting for her to deny it and defend herself.