Page 16 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

Russet

I ’m not sure what I notice first. Max going in and out of the room several times or the sound of his voice on what seems to be a constant thread of phone calls. I roll over in the bed, the sheets rustling. My hand snags a strand of hair as I open my dry, tired eyes.

“What’s going on?”

He’s sitting on the edge of his side of the bed. Silvery streaks of light from the window illuminate his hard face.

“What’s wrong?” I sit up, though my limbs want to sink right back into the covers. But Maxim doesn’t move. He’s too still, his eyes unblinking. Fingers wrap tightly around his phone and it glows with a new phone call. “What’s happened?”

Or rather what’s happening because whatever this is, it’s unfolding now.

“Go get dressed,” he whispers.

“Why?”

“I want you to go to my parent’s house.”

“No.” I press my knees to my chest, my back digging into the headboard. I don’t want to be forced into Yelena’s presence any more than I have to. It’s bad enough it’s a Thursday, and my weekly gloomy lunch plans mock me. “What’s going on, Max?”

I don’t like the way he watches me.

“Did something happen?” I move onto my knees, the sheets tangling as I inch toward him. “Max?”

The phone lights up with a text, but he doesn’t acknowledge his phone until my fingers brush against his. He switches the phone to his other hand, out of my reach.

“Stop it,” I demand, my heart ramping up. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

With typical bluntness, he does. “Five bodies, bearing all of Marissa’s trademarks, were found an hour ago.”

For several minutes all I feel is constricting tightness in my chest.

“Who?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Max, who?”

Pins and needles begin in my arm, going down the entire left side. Spots of color burst in my eyes, though the room remains dark. “Five people? Who?” I keep repeating the word when he doesn’t reply fast enough. I know he’s going to tell me they were women. They always are. “Did they. . .”

Marissa’s trademarks. He means. . .

“They were raped,” he confirms. “Several faces were beaten making it hard for us to identify.”

“Why?” It comes out shaky.

“They were all Marissa’s girls.”

I slump back further. Marissa isn’t against taking out her own people, but five in one night is excessive. Especially, if they were left for others to find so quickly.

“She. . .”

His hand squeezes my shoulder. “Breathe. ”

I suck in air. “Who?”

He takes his hand back. “Not Daisy.”

The sob breaks before I can stop it. Hard, unyielding eyes watch me and I think he’s annoyed. But I can’t stop the tears.

Partly from relief. Daisy isn’t a casualty. She and the baby should be all right. But jolts of shock sting my chest.

We’ve never talked about Daisy before. He’s never let on that he knew her name, though, I’m not surprised. But I can’t handle a conversation about my best friend right now.

“Who?” I demand.

It might not be Daisy, but there’s still a good chance I’ll know some of the victims. He lists off names and I break further. I spring up from the bed, walking back and forth by the wall of windows. He remains on his side, his brow slightly lifted. I’m not inclined to believe it’s concern.

I press my hand to my heart, willing it to slow down. Instead, it spasms tight and I bend over my knees. “Me-Meena.”

“Stop and breathe,” he orders, feet padding toward me. He’s normally naked when we go to bed or the very least in briefs. A pair of blue striped pajama bottoms comes into view. He lightly touches my back.

My hands remain on my knees, my lungs sucking in air. Hot tears irritate my cheeks. “Someone needs to tell Meena.”

He stares strangely at me.

“That’s her sister,” I say of one of the victims. I grew up with them both and take her devastation as my own. Marissa took her sister from her forever. Brutally too.

“Okay,” Max says in a placating tone. He bends slightly, rubbing my back. “But first breathe.”

I shake my head, but he forces me to straighten and then pushes me to sit on the edge of the mattress.

“Why?” I ask again.

He sighs. “The girls were all favorites.”

The sadness forms into anger, my hands balling into fists. Marissa routinely whores out her girls to various criminal leaders. A peace offering. Sometimes they turn into favorites, and Marissa allows it to happen, always wanting an ear to the ground.

But she killed them. And for what? To prove some shitty point. It’s all a fucking game to Marissa.

Anger nearly chokes me, and tears continue to fill my eyes.

After a while of standing, Max says, “We’re moving you to my parent’s house.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Why?”

“Because. . .” He sighs again and I blink back tears so I can see him. He bends down in front of me. “One of the girls was a favorite of Paublino.”

He runs one of the biggest gangs in the city. But there are no current issues between the rival criminal syndicates. At least not more than usual, bar this new event.

“He knows about you.” Max is on his knees, between my legs as I sit on the edge of the bed. He holds my waist and is serious, but soft-spoken in the night. “And thinks you’re the best way to get back at Marissa.”

“You’ve made it very clear that I’m yours and not Marissa’s.”

His fingers press harder into my waist. “I know. And my dad and Dima are reiterating that right now. But Marissa also took out Paublino’s favorite nephew last year. Anger leads to rash decisions.”

I swear he’s quoting his father.

“Are we not. . . am I not safe here?” Where is Sergei?

A hand smooths over my thigh, strong and comforting. “We are. But there’s one place he’ll never try to go and that’s the estate. It’s just a precaution.”

There’s an overwhelming sensation of the walls closing in on me when I think about the last time I was there. Trapped in the bathroom with Yelena twisting my nipple. My cheek tingles at the memory.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not going.”

His lips press together. “It’s not up for debate.”

“No.” I push him back, his face darkening further. He lets me pace, his brow knitting together while he studies me like I’m an animal at the zoo. “I don’t want to go.”

My voice shakes. I need to call Meena. I should probably get away from this wall of windows in case Paublino’s men have a sniper on me.

But more importantly, I need to figure out where the fuck Marissa is keeping Daisy.

Gibberish comes out of my mouth, my thoughts incoherent.

“Sit back down,” he demands softly.

I walk straight into the bathroom, bypassing the toilet and shower and bathtub and arrive at the giant closet. It’s pristinely organized, with a fresh linen scent clinging to the hung items. I curl into a ball on the carpet.

As a girl I hid in my closet countless times. When my mom drank too much. When her boyfriend’s drank too much. When the shitty men she married wanted to find me in the middle of the night.

The old habit comes back to me with alarming dexterity. Nerves course down my body, pins and needles sensations electrifying my skin. My limbs curl around one another and I lay, tears soaking the fuzzy carpet.

Distantly, I feel Max hovering over me. Probably wondering about his defective wife. I don’t get up, though, and he doesn’t make me.

Olga arrives, meaning dawn’s broken. She shuffled in at one point and stared down at my pathetic state. A disgruntled noise lodged in her throat. I ignored her. She told me to get up. I ignored her some more. I couldn’t understand what Russian words she spoke, but eventually, she went away.

Max has been on and off the phone most of the morning. Mainly in the living room, but occasionally, I hear the tread of his feet in the bedroom. If he peeks in to check on me I never see it. My back faces the door to the bathroom.

The carpet is rough against my cheek, but I don’t get up.

Sometimes, I hear different voices speaking in Russian. Multiple boots walk through the house. Extra guards being placed on duty.

“She’s not getting up,” Olga’s voice says. I twitch, my muscles moving for the first time in forever because she’s gotten close again. “She’s stubborn. Stupid girl.”

My jaw clenches painfully.

Can a girl not have a moment to deal with her grief?

Not in this world.

The whisper wraps around me like a cord.

It’s true this world doesn’t deal with things in a familiar way. It’s a bitterly cruel world.

“She has lunch,” Olga says.

My brow furrows when Max speaks. “Not today. Call it off.”

Olga’s the only person I’ve ever heard put up a fuss with Max. “Your mother isn’t hiding.”

“My mother doesn’t have a kill order out for her currently.”

I hold myself tighter. Of course, Yelena still wants to meet for lunch. I picture her icy figure, eating salad, boredom coating her movements.

Honestly, I think she’d like it if Paublino put a bullet through my head .

Why couldn’t I get Gia Akatov as my mother-in-law?

I knew Gia well before I saw her last week. Everyone knows her star-crossed love story with Boris Akatov.

The Italian mafia princess who fell in love with a prince from the bratva. Their families hated each other. Then after they married, someone kidnapped her when the power structure of the criminal syndicates in the city shuffled back in the nineties.

They kept her for three days, torturing her. She never gave them any information even as she watched her favorite guard die. No one talks about exactly what she went through but everyone knows it was bad.

Yet, the other day, she lit up like the brightest fucking star I’ve ever seen.

Imaginary fingers comb through my hair.

Get up.

Gia’s voice is gentle but commanding.

I know for damn sure Gia wouldn’t be curled up in the fetal position hiding in a closet.

She’s wise enough to know Yelena will laugh behind my back, thinking I’m too scared to go to lunch. The Ice Queen wants me to be a blubbering mess. She already thinks I’m not enough for her son, let alone cut out for this life.

What would Gia do? It would be an average day for her because no day is safe when we walk in this world.

I sit up, stifling a gasp when I move my neck. A painful crick throbs and I tenderly try to roll it out.

Clothes. Not just any clothes. Something badass. Something that says I could care less about a kill order out for me.

That’s a fucking lie, but hey, fake it till you make it.

Olga dresses me in skirts and dresses, but that’s not going to cut it. I find a pair of straight, black slacks and pair them with one of Maxim’s button-down shirts. It’s huge on me, but I like the oversized fit.

I jam my toes into some heels and step into the bathroom.

I keep the makeup light and unbothered. I search through my few lipstick options and find a neutral, better-than-lips shade.

Maybe it’s all in my head, but I swear Gia was right.

It’s way better than the darker, brown tone Olga suggested I wear.

Jewelry completes my outfit. A necklace lying between the few open buttons and some diamond studs.

I grab a watch from Maxim’s side of the vanity.

He rotates between two favorites. A brushed silver chain link piece and one with a leather band.

I fasten the latter around my wrist. The clockface is rectangular and in my opinion, styles well with the button-down.

My heels echo against the hardwood flooring when I step into the living room. Max turns, ending a phone call.

“What?” he begins to ask.

“I have lunch with your mother.”

He tucks his phone away, his hands staying in his pockets. He missed class so I know he’s worried. “I already told my mother to cancel it.”

“Which means she’s there waiting for me.”

I wish I could smooth Max’s furrowed brows. They’ve been like that all morning.

“I’m going to go,” I tell him, sounding more bold than I feel. But there’s no telling how many attempts on her life Gia’s survived. And I can too.

Olga peers into the living room from the kitchen.

“Have Pavel pull the car to the front,” I order her.

Max holds up a hand. “We always go through the garage.”

“I’m using the front door.” Not that I’ve ever used it once. I assume there’s a doorman and a swanky front desk. We never use anything other than the private elevator which goes directly to the garage where there’s a fleet of cars and security.

But I’m not secreting myself out of an underground bunker. I have a point to prove .

Of course, Max appears confused. It’s the docile side of me he likes and the one he sees the most. He stands with his hands in his pockets, his dark eyes never leaving me. I’m momentarily left feeling naked in the pair of trousers I picked out.

But I don’t crumble under his gaze.

“Mrs. Zimin,” Sergei calls out.

I take a deep breath, walking past my husband to collect my purse.

“Russ.” His fingers catch my wrist. I expect him to tell me I don’t have to do this. “You’ll need your coat.”

He helps me and then laces our hands together, walking me to the elevator. He presses a button that’s rarely used and we travel to the ground floor instead of the garage.

Pavel and the SUV wait at the curb. The sidewalks of New York City are unchanged and I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

“Russ.” The car door is open, but Max stops me.

For a second I wish he’d come with me, but I know it’s a pipedream.

He’s still unreadable in a lot of ways. His face is blank and emotionless when he uses his thumb and pointer finger to lift my chin.

He lays a kiss on my lips, the first time outside of our wedding he’s ever kissed me on the lips unless it’s in the middle of sex.

This kiss is different. It’s gentle. The man normally trying to break me is sweet for once.

Or mostly. He swats my ass, prompting me to get in the car, and slams the door without another word.

Pavel smoothly pulls away from the curb. In a mixture of cliché and cinematic I turn back to where Max remains on the curb. Wind sweeps his hair up and he sticks his hands in his pockets. He didn’t grab a coat and his shoulders shudder since he’s not immune to the weather.

It’s a powerful reminder that my husband is human after all.