Page 15 of Scarred Angel

But time and experience have a way of burning hesitation out of you. I embraced the role and dragged the Belov empire out of the ashes, shaping it into something stronger and untouchable.

Instead of her usual dark humor, she sighs, offering me a sad sort of smile.

“I know you’ve been gone a long time, and maybe the people here don’t mean as much to you as you do to them. But what we have is rare, Maksim. Our family is everything. You’ve seen what’s out there—it’s why I pushed you to leave, to become theman you were always meant to be, to prepare for what may come. But not at the expense of what truly matters.”

“I’m not staying.”

Her brows twitch, and she leans back in her chair, studying me in silence. Helena is my mother by fate, not blood. A truth I thank every goddamn day for. Not only because she saved me and gave me everything I never thought I’d have, but because being loved by her, being on her side, means I’ll never have to face her wrath. Despite the men I’ve buried and maimed, and maybe because she has my unconditional love and respect, there’s no one I fear more than the woman sitting across from me.

“I’m not telling you to stay. I’m asking you to be here—one hundred percent,” she says. “I don’t agree with Derek, and I wanted to skin him alive for that shit at the hospital, but he’s right about one thing: we take care of our own. We handle what needs handling.”

I snort. “Should I track down Gustavo and throw him off the tallest building?”

She waves me off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Derek already paid him a visit days ago.”

I laugh into my glass, not surprised in the least. Maybe the asshole had been careless, but did he really deserve to?—

Images of Valentina, the ones I’ve been force-feeding to the back of my skull, shove forward.

Yeah. He did.

He deserved every bit of what Derek gave him. One reckless move could have ruined everything. I grind my teeth and meet Mom’s eyes. There’s a new angle there now, curiosity, not just judgment.

“Good.”

She nods, a knowing smile forming. “Valentina is beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Always,” I say, knocking back another sip.

“She’s expecting us in fifteen.”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head at her audacity. Of course she didn’t ask first.

But the sound dies in my throat when a voice, deep, accented, and all too familiar, cuts in.

“So the rumors are true. Little Maksim Belov lives after all.”

He’s older now, worn by time and bad choices. Dusty skin, a milky right eye, but the same crooked grin. Konstantin. Pyotr’s old errand boy.

He never raised a hand to me back then, but he didn’t stop the ones who did either. A yes-man, a coward dressed as a loyalist.

I stand slowly, scanning the patio, gauging distance and exits. He extends a hand, waiting. My eyes drop to it, then back to his face. I don’t move.

“Maksim, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Mom's invitation is anything but polite. I already know where she’s steering the moment she smiles that way. I give a small, almost imperceptible shake of my head and motion toward the mounted camera over the patio.

“Oh, don’t be rude,” she says, ignoring me.

The man’s seedy grin fattens when he meets her eyes. “Nice. You like them older, huh? Interesting.” He drags out a chair and makes himself comfortable.

Some people deserve to have their throats slit. Konstantin is one of those people.

I keep my blade hidden for the moment. Because I know what he doesn’t. My mother doesn’t let insults slide. And a part of me is eager to watch Helena come out and play.

Five

MAKSIM