Maksim: A Dark Mafia Romance (Akimov Bratva)

“But a child works perfectly fine for my plans.”
“You’re vile.”
“And what do you consider your father?” I counter. “For murdering people in the most cowardly way possible? I’m not the bad guy here, sweetheart. I’m the only person willing to go after your father in a way that will get everyone a modicum of justice.”
“And if a child gets hurt, so be it?”
“Your child is fine. I could have kidnapped her and kept her locked up in a place you’d never find, but I didn’t. I’m doing what needs to be done, so it’s in your best interest to not make it any more difficult for me to do it.”
She drinks more of her wine. She looks up at the painting of Cascata del Toce. I drink my whiskey, trying not to stare at her. Perhaps grabbing her in her nighttime clothes was a bad plan. I don’t need lust compromising me.
“What’s my daughter’s name?” she asks.
“You don’t get to know that yet.”
Her hand curls into a fist. “I just want her first name.”
“I don’t give anyone what they want without getting what I want first,” I say. “So, maybe, if we finish this dinner without you throwing any more food, you might get something.”
She grits her teeth but says nothing as she continues observing the painting. I lean back, deciding to take her in like a piece of art. If I take all the sensuality out of it, she’s still captivating. The contrast between the unique shade of her hair and the slightly embarrassed pink of her cheeks, the disparity between her toned body and the delicate fragility of her hands.
Still, the way her body turns her bland pajamas into a temptation is difficult to ignore.
The waitress comes by with our plates. “Thank you,” I say. She gives me a quick smile before setting down Cassandra’s plate and silverware.
“Do either of you need anything else?” she asks. I shake my head. “Then I hope you enjoy the meal.”
As she moves away, Cassandra drapes a napkin over her lap. I don’t move as she cuts into the steak and spears a piece with her fork. She takes her first bite. Her eyes light up until she sees me watching her. She shrugs, continuing to chew.
“It’s decent,” she scowls. We both eat for several minutes. I’m pleasantly surprised to see she takes her time eating, savoring each bite instead of shoving it down.
As I’m nearly finished with my steak and she’s cutting into the second half of hers, she stops to take a sip of her wine.
“I’m curious about something,” I say. “The investigative journalism. Why are you doing it?”
“Because the truth is important.” She slowly sets the glass back down. There’s no lipstick left on the rim. “I believe people should know as much as possible about what’s going on around them. Investigative journalism also helps the less powerful people in society see all the ugly and seedy things that the powerful people sneak past them. Money is particularly good at hiding the dirty shit. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
I ignore the obvious bait. “But what happens when you inevitably need to investigate your father?”
“Then I’ll do it,” she says, focusing on her steak again. “But everyone knows my father—they know anyone he does business with is likely tainted.”
I drink my whiskey. “I disagree with your premise.”
“About my father?”
“About less powerful people needing to know what the rich are doing behind their backs,” I say. “By keeping civilians in the dark, they’re protected from all of those ugly things.”
“Sounds like something a rich guy would say.”
“I have some powerful people in my pocket. If average civilians knew about that, they’d become angry. They’d try to take on a power system they have no chance of overtaking. Two sides would collide and the civilian side would inevitably fail. There is no point in telling a powerless man that he’s powerless unless you want to anger or depress him. Ignorance is bliss, darling.”
“That’s not true.” She sets her silverware down. Her eyes spark, like meteors falling through space. “When you know what is happening, you can fix it. You can change things for the better. Look at the U.S. military—sexual harassment scandals see daylight, and now we have a Sexual Assault Prevention and Response Office. Same thing with the city police department.”
“I can assure you that the city police are far from fixed. Quite easy to bribe, actually.”
“Says the wolf, circling around and finding the weakest one in the herd.” She stabs her steak with her knife before looking up at me again. “My job is to bring the truth to light,” she says. “It’s better for the people to know a terrible truth than to believe a happy lie. Sharing the truth is how we make the world better. How we protect it from people like you.”
“And yet here you are, alone and unprotected.”
Her lip curls up, but she focuses on her food again. God, the fire in her is indomitable. It lights her up, transforms her into incandescence, and turns me on in a way I haven’t experienced before.
Cassandra remains stiff, a faint anger fuming off her like a strong perfume, as I instruct the waitress to bring us an order of zeppoles—Italian doughnuts. She goes to the kitchen and returns soon after, using tongs to set two zeppoles on each of our plates.
After she leaves, I indicate for Cassandra to take a bite. “It’s delicious, I promise.” She reluctantly picks one up and tries a tiny nibble. She tries to subdue the pleasant surprise on her face, but I notice and laugh nonetheless.
I take a bite out of my own, the sugar melting on my tongue.
“You’re wrong,” she says before taking a second bite. “It’s true that it’s better to know the truth, no matter what.”
“That’s wrong and you know it. I don’t know why you’re lying to yourself.”
“I’m not lying,” she snaps.
“Then why didn’t you track down your daughter?” I ask.
“I tried. I don’t have the