Maksim: A Dark Mafia Romance (Akimov Bratva)

a little farther to the left to see a brick of cocaine. I eyeball it and add up the street value of the drug before I can tell my brain to shut up. Twenty-five grand in Columbian pure.
Thanks, Daddy, I think sarcastically. It’s his schooling I have to thank for that little mental math.
I’m desperate, but it’s not money I want. I’m going to prove to Harden that I’m more than my name. I’m not just Gianluigi Balducci’s daughter.
I’m Cassandra. I’m my own person.
I just have to find a story.

3
Maksim
The conference room table stretches out in front of me, all black and steel. I look around at each of my lieutenants. Ravil, Nail, Genrikh, Semyon, Rostislav, Timofey, Borislav, and Yakov. It’s a motley crew. Genrikh stands six foot five, built like a bull, while Timofey barely scratches five foot seven and wouldn’t look out of place in an accountant’s office.
They’re killers, every last one of them.
But I know each of them would rather face God on Judgment Day than defy me.
Nail, a wide-faced man with small eyes and a love for strangulation, opens the cardboard box in front of him, taking out a small jar.
“After some persuasion, Cimona Ramirez agreed to put a smaller container inside the lotion jar,” he says. He slides the jar over to me. I spin it in my hand. Cimona’s Face Cream. It’s a glass jar, so the lotion is still visible from the outside. I twist off the top and peel off the foil seal. The cocaine lies hidden in a bottle inside the jar, the lotion still surrounding it, like a little Russian nesting doll.
“You ensured that her company won’t turn against us?” I ask Nail.
He nods once. “It’s a small family business. They know it would be better to go to prison than to give us up. They do have a request.”
He pauses. I screw the top back on the jar and wait.
Nail clears his throat and continues. “They are, uh, requesting that we arrange for one of their members to cross the border,” he says.
“No,” I say. “They ship the drugs, we pay them. That’s the deal. There’s no more negotiation than that.”
“They were insistent,” Nail says. “It’s very important to them and it would be very simple for us—”
“Tell them that they are currently a liability. They either take the deal or they remain a liability. We eliminate liabilities in this Bratva. Understood?”
“Yes,” Nail says, bowing his head. “I will inform them.”
Some of the lotion is smeared on my hand. I rub my thumb against it until it’s gone. “What’s next?”
Genrikh leans forward, the edge of the table cutting into his gut. “We have a minor issue with the Columbians. At least four different members have been seen trying to sell in Brownsville. One was seen around Betsy Head Park and the other three were spotted on the corner of Jefferson Street and East Fifth. We’re not certain if it’s ignorance or arrogance that’s causing them to enter our territory. I have men available that could get more information.”
I pass the face cream back to Nail. “Tell our soldiers to take care of them. Leave them outside Liliana’s.”
Genrikh’s arm shifts closer to his body. Nail looks away from me. Tension hardens the faces of the other lieutenants. Ravil is the only one who remains impassive.
“All of them?” Genrikh asks cautiously.
“All of them,” I growl.
“Liliana’s is historically important to the Columbians,” Genrikh says. “Sentimental, you know. To the, uh, culture.”
“Tell me why that is relevant, Genrikh.” I stare at him until he looks away.
“It isn’t,” he replies hurriedly. “I’ll take care of it.”
“The Balduccis are the bigger problem,” Semyon cuts in. “They’re still trying to encroach on our territory.”
“We can’t just kill them like the Columbians,” Borislav interjects. “They have the means to retaliate.”
The men erupt in a hubbub, arguing back and forth about what should be done with regard to the Balducci rats. I let them clamor for a long moment before I hold up a hand. They instantly fall silent.
“Don’t worry about the Italians,” I say into the ensuing silence. “I’m handling that one personally.”
Not a single man disturbs the silence.
I look around at the council. “If anyone wants to question my decisions, they should speak their mind now.” Genrikh focuses his attention on the face cream and Semyon keeps his eyes on my hands, but everyone keeps their gaze steady on me. “Will that be all?”
Again, not a peep.
“I asked a question,” I snarl icily.
A chorus of “No” answers me at once.
“Then thank you for your time, gentlemen,” I say, standing up. The lieutenants follow my lead. They each shake my hand before leaving, one by one. Ravil remains seated. Embers of irritation sear in my veins at his lack of decorum, but I extinguish them. Ravil isn’t allowed to disrespect me, though he’s granted some latitude as my oldest friend.
He glances up at me. “You mentioned you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes,” I say. “My car is in the shop.”
“I’ll drive you to the cemetery,” he offers, his shoulders slumping as he relaxes.
“Were you worried?” I ask.
“I considered the fact that you might be angry with me about bringing up the idea of moving on,” he says.
“You thought I’d punish you?”
“It seems to be your approach to many things lately.”
I scowl. “I might consider it then. Let’s go.”
Ravil is a cautious driver. He slows down at every intersection, drives at the speed limit, and keeps the radio off. It drives me insane, but he cannot be made to do anything different. I have tried.
I flip over the third page of the contract. The electricians for the 19th Street Hotel might think they can dig deeper into my pocket, but I’ll destroy that idea long before they can take another penny from me.
“We found the Balducci girl,” Ravil says. “She’s there.”
“Good.” I close the folder. My plan is coming together. In due time, Gianluigi will regret every second he ever even thought of my name.
“But,