Maksim: A Dark Mafia Romance (Akimov Bratva)

for me.
“Mr. Akimov. We’re so glad that you decided to dine with us today. The restaurant is empty, per your request, and we’ve started your favorite dish. We just poured your drink for you.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Alicia,” I say. She leads me to the table closest to the painting of Cascata del Toce, a waterfall in Piedmont, Italy. It’s a favorite of mine. Two forces of nature clashing and merging, creating something breathtaking and relentless.
After Alicia leaves me at the table, I take a drink and gaze at the empty seat across from me. I peer over at the painting. The waterfall is right over my head, reminding me of my time in the shower. Reminding me of Cassandra.
The waitress comes to my table, carefully carrying a tray. She sets down the filet mignon with the linguini drenched in an olive oil and white wine reduction. She smiles at me.
“Anything else I can do for you, sir?” she asks.
“Leave.”
Her smile falters, but it returns quickly. “Of course, sir.”
She walks away. The steak is tender and succulent, the second-best carnal desire. The pasta is equally worthy of praise. As I’m about halfway through, Alicia opens the door.
Cassandra storms in, two of my men behind her. The faint lines of the muscles in her arms are visible as she strides up to me. She slams her hand on my table.
“Did you send your thugs to fucking kidnap me?” she demands. She’s wearing a white T-shirt and pajama bottoms. Her nipples compete for my attention.
I glance over at my men. I indicate to the door with my head. “You two can leave.”
They both nod, retreating outside. Cassandra’s presence is like one of her family’s car bombs, a compact package just waiting to explode.
“You seem upset,” I remark. “You should sit down and have some wine.”
She grabs onto the edge of the table, upending it. My glass and my plate careen onto the floor. Food, cutlery, and shattered tableware fly in all directions. I eye my steak sadly. The best bites were wasted.
“I don’t want to sit anywhere with you,” she hisses. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Do you know how completely and utterly embarrassing it is to have two men show up at your apartment and force you to leave?”
“Were you in the middle of something embarrassing?”
Pink flushes into her cheeks. Her hands fold over her chest, hiding her nipples. Pity.
“No,” she says. “I was just getting into bed. I thought something might have happened. I thought your men might have been the police. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have answered the door.”
“It was nice of them to knock,” I say. “I didn’t tell them that was necessary.”
We stare at each other. She is stunning in a way I haven’t noticed before. Her dark hair almost has a red tint to it, her eyes twinkle with fire, and she has a refreshing, natural authenticity to the shape of her curves. It’s worthy of discovery—uncharted territory eager to be claimed. Just another trinket for me to take from Gianluigi, but one I’ll enjoy claiming. Perhaps more than once.
Alicia silently skirts around the two of us. She and the waitress pick up the debris from the upended table. I keep my eyes on Cassandra. She hasn’t moved.
A fresh cloth is placed over the table before Alicia and the waitress scurry away with the broken plates and the wasted food.
“I will …” She takes a deep breath and composes herself. “I’m willing to agree to your deal.”
“Sit down,” I order, indicating the opposite table. Her legs twitch, fighting her desire to rebel, but she slowly sinks down into the chair. She remains angled away from me. I’d assume it’s because she’s prepared to run, but she turns toward me, her elbow resting on the table. The waitress returns from the kitchen. I indicate for her to come over.
“Yes, Mr. Akimov?” she asks. “Would you like to change tables? We don’t want you to have to eat near the mess. We’re so sorry about what happened.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “We’ll have two more of the filets. Let’s switch to the spicy baked potatoes.”
A muscle twitches in Cassandra’s upper lip, but she lets the waitress leave without trying to override my decision. She may be easier to break than I thought.
“So, tell me, what kind of man uses a child to try to get revenge on a Mafia boss?” she asks. “It seems like a coward’s approach, if you ask me. You’re using her to use me to get at my father. Too afraid to get close to big bad Gianluigi?”
“Fear has never been the problem,” I say, as Alicia returns with a glass of whiskey.
“Would your guest like anything to drink?” Alicia asks me.
“She’d like red wine,” I say. “The Pomerol.”
“Of course. Only the best,” she says.
After she leaves, Cassandra’s lip curls up in a partial snarl. “I’m not much of a wine drinker.”
“Drink with me,” I tell her casually. “Perhaps the alcohol will loosen my lips and you will get the answers you’re after.”
She snarls. “Perhaps I’ll just throw the wine in your face. Maybe that’ll loosen your lips.”
The way her mouth curves around the last word is tempting—a forbidden fruit. I smile, and she glances away from me for the first time, a deeper red touching her cheeks.
“I’m not afraid to get close to your father,” I clarify. “If anything, I’d love to be close enough to hurt him. But you don’t need to know the politics of it all. And I don’t feel the need to justify anything to you.”
Alicia brings over the glass of wine. Cassandra picks it up and takes a hesitant sip.
“Still.” She sets the glass down. “You’re like a fucking Bond villain. You must have had to go through a lot of work to track down my child. A lot of money too. Why didn’t you just go straight through me?”
“That was my original plan. I expected to hold something over you that was much more scandalous,” I admit.