Page 45 of The Crimson Lily

I tiptoe back into the room, trying to make as little noise as possible.

I expect Maksim to still be asleep, but when I step into the living room, I notice the sofa blankets slouched on the floor.

His jacket still hangs on the chair. His duffle bag is open, with clothes springing from all corners.

It’s messy. Maksim is never messy. He’s not in the bedroom, not in the bathroom, not in the hallway, and nowhere else.

Where the hell is he? The only thing left to do: call him.

He doesn’t respond, so I leave him a message saying I’m back in the room, wondering where he is. The worry in my stomach has already begun to simmer.

Maksim barges into the room about half an hour later. He’s panting. His hair isn’t done, and his shirt is crumpled. He doesn’t even wear his belt. It looks like he’s been in a fight with an alley cat. What strikes me the most is his piercing glare aimed at me.

I approach him, my legs trembling a little. “What’s wrong?” I ask with tremors in my voice.

I’m not sure what’ll happen in the next second. Maksim seizes my shoulders, clutches them in his talons, and pins me against the nearest wall. I am stunned for a split second, hearing only the horn of a car racing outside.

Maksim is angry.

“Where were you?” he questions, his demonic voice ringing between my ears.

I only answer after a few stray blinks. “I just took a stroll?—”

“You didn’t have your tracker,” he accuses.

My tracker? Oh, shit! That tracker. I completely forgot about it. But I forgot it yesterday as well. Why is he so angry now?

“I thought?—”

Maksim silences me with his big hand on my mouth. “I was worried sick, Liliana. You’re not safe if I’m not watching.”

Maksim woke up, and I was nowhere to be found. He went off in the streets to find me.

My shoulders relax, and I give him a complying look, proving I won’t argue with him.

He releases the pressure on my lips, his fingers slipping to the side of my face.

He kisses me, his free hand clenching a fist against the wall.

I know he’s still furious, but the relief he feels from seeing me safe and sound conquers the anger in him.

My jeans have slipped down my legs. Maksim’s hand is making its way down my thighs when the doorbell suddenly rings. I didn’t even know we had a doorbell! Maksim adjusts his hair and shirt and goes to check the door while I mirror his moves and dash out of sight.

“Ah! The Bratva is here,” a man remarks in Giovanni’s voice.

“Giovanni,” Maksim observes, not greeting him.

“Good morning!” Chiara’s voice.

I peek out from the corner, fully clothed, with a thin smile radiating awkwardness.

Giovanni wears jeans bluer than my eyes, with a thick beige sweater tucked underneath his coat and scarf.

Chiara’s thigh-high stilettos cover her black pantyhose and meet with the flounce of a red winter dress.

The two would actually look good together.

Both of them smile at me, then assess me from where they stand with eyebrows curved.

What is it now? The mark on my neck? Something else? Or maybe they figured out what Maksim and I were doing just now.

Chiara clears her throat. “The gathering is happening tonight,” she announces, her Italian accent still the same. “I have the location.”

I thought she’d tell it to me because, somehow, I have the idea in my head that I am supposed to infiltrate that meeting, but she turns to Maksim. She even pauses first to scan him from head to feet.

Eyes off, Chiara, I want to say.

I swear I see her blush when they lock eyes.

“I assume you’ll be going?” she checks, a daring stutter hidden in her voice.

Maksim responds with one affirmative nod.

“Wait,” I interrupt. “Aren’t I supposed to go?”

Giovanni searches for my gaze. I can see him in the corner of my eye, eager to look at me. I grant him my attention.

“The Bratva had other plans,” he discloses. “The Russo here will take the lead.” There is a whiff of disappointed reluctance in his tone.

So the Bratva, the Mafia Capitale, and Chiara have secret conversations I’m not supposed to know about. Okay! I feel slightly perplexed and maybe a little left out. It’s also quite awkward to be standing here between Maksim and Giovanni, who already know each other, obviously.

“What’s the plan?” I prompt, hoping to hear the full script and synopsis.

“We are going to Ostia tonight,” Giovanni starts. He raises a hand to point at Maksim. “He will wear the coat and mask and be our eyes and ears.”

A coat and a mask—fancy. I already imagine Maksim in a long black cape with a Zorro mask. The first thing I think is: sexy .

Chiara hands Maksim a bag with everything he’ll need for tonight.

He opens it, browses through the folds of what appears to be a thick trench coat, and pulls out one of those simple white Venetian Volto masks.

How dramatic. These theatrics could discredit the seriousness of the situation, but we are in Rome, after all.

A mysterious criminal masquerade doesn’t surprise me.

I just hope he’ll watch out for himself.

“Maksim,” I call to get his attention.

Giovanni casts a slightly surprised glance at me, probably because he’s just realized Maksim and I are on a first-name basis.

“Yes?” Maksim inquires since I’m not saying more.

“Please…?be careful tonight,” I request, but I am quietly imploring.

The thought of Maksim being caught crosses my mind, and it’s really not something I want to think about.

“Don’t worry about me,” he shrugs, emotionless, as if it doesn’t have to matter for me.

I want to argue, but not with Chiara and Giovanni here in the room, not when they are already eyeing us thinking all sorts of things.

The rest of the day is spent discussing positions.

We’ll go by Mafia Capitale car and park on the side of a road adjacent to the path leading up to the Syndicate meeting’s rendezvous point.

Maksim will go in with an earpiece connected to Giovanni’s system, a box of electronics similar to the one back in Paris, back when Maksim ventured down to William de Loit’s apartment and I almost died again.

I’m instructed to stay in the car.

“The original plan was for you to go,” Chiara discloses to me. “You were Syndicate, so you know them. You are my size, so you could pretend to be me.”

“But the Bratva feels more comfortable with one of their soldiers taking over the mission,” Giovanni adds, sneering at Maksim. He’s clearly jealous that he won’t go in himself.

“Since Syndicate members themselves don’t know who’s attending,” Chiara continues, “it won’t pose a problem as long as…?Maksim has the token.” She calls him by name now that she knows it, thanks to me.

“What do we hope to get out of this meeting?” I ask.

“The location of the Syndicate’s lair in Rome,” Giovanni replies.

“We find their sanctuary, then we find the dagger, and the Bratva can get it back.” He looks at me with a collaborative, nearly indiscernible wink to remind me of our little secret.

I know exactly what that means. The Bratva won’t get their dagger back.

At least, not in one piece. Not with traces of the fate of the world carved into it.

“What makes you so sure they will disclose the location?” I wonder with a frown.

“We have to try,” Chiara admits. “William will be there for sure. They didn’t call this meeting for nothing!”

She looks more certain than Giovanni. Something smells fishy, but I’m not sure what. Maybe it’s the fact no one is sure of anything, and we’re all taking guesses here. Or maybe it’s the fact this whole idea of a meeting orchestrated by William de Loit reeks of…?conspiracy.

“What is it, Liliana?” Maksim spots my suspicion.

I click my tongue before explaining. “This could be a ruse. What if William has set up some kind of trap?”

Maksim pulls out another object from Chiara’s bag. He handles it with care as if he knows exactly how to wield it. A gun. A shiny black gun.

“Beretta?” Maksim asks Giovanni as if to say: Really?

Giovanni shrugs as if to say: Deal with it .

Maksim locks eyes back with me. “I’m taking some precautions.”

A gun. Flashbacks to our Paris hotel room rush through my mind. I heard a gunshot and saw the brains of my assailant splattered on the floor. I know Maksim shot that gun, but I never saw him with it.

Now I’m looking at him holding one.

“They could search you,” I warn,

“Not at these meetings, no,” Chiara rejects. “The tokens guarantee them exclusivity. They don’t expect anyone else to show but themselves. That’s how self-assured they are.”

All right, there’s nothing else I can say that will change their minds. I surrender. Maksim is going to that meeting, with a mask and a gun, ready for whatever will happen tonight. I still give him a wary nod, but he looks away, probably tired of hearing me buzzing with worry.

The car pulls over a few feet away from a path to the dark woods outside of Ostia. Giovanni drove into the night, out of Rome and toward the sea.

Chiara sits on the front seat, and my favorite Belarusian man and I are behind them.

Maksim held my hand all the way here. He comforted me with gentle strokes in the crook of my palm.

I want to tell him to be careful for the fiftieth time.

I want to tell him to watch out, keep an eye out, and not make any rash decisions.

I want to tell him how much I love him and how much I wish for him to come back to me as soon as possible.

But I don’t. I don’t say any of this when he steps out of the car with a Volto mask on his perfect face. With a coat flowing gently behind him in the windless air of an Italian winter. I hate watching him slip into the darkness that surrounds us.

“Can he hear us?” I ask Giovanni, who nods in response.

The box of cables and buttons rests on Chiara’s lap, and Giovanni carries a headset on his head like in a spy or detective movie.

“Can I talk to him?” my voice can’t help but ask.