Page 82 of Plaintive Vow


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Maksim’s paranoia has gotten so bad that no man can consider himself safe in his presence. Not that they ever could, buteven his right-hand man, Nikita, has started to look uncomfortable when they’re in the same room together.

And as far as I’m aware, they’ve been as thick as thieves since the very beginning.

If we’re all very,verylucky, Maksim’s violence will end up getting him killed sooner rather than later. And ifI’mlucky, I won’t have to be the one to do it.

Unfortunately, I know better than to rely on luck, but until my hand is forced, I’ll happily stand aside and offer the opportunity to someone else.

I wouldn’t want to get greedy, after all.

With a kiss against her hair, I let Blair know I’ll be out late and head over to Maksim’s place, telling myself to be patient. His security rushes me through the gates, and I can’t help but notice there are fewer men than there were the last time I was here.

The whole mansion is quiet, and I’m on high alert as I seek out his office, finding Maksim at his desk, feet propped on the corner as he takes a long drink from a crystal tumbler. In the center of the room lies a corpse, face beaten beyond recognition, surrounded by a still puddle of blood.

“Are you going to stare at it, or are you planning ondoingsomething, you uselessmudak?” Maksim slurs drunkenly, the dark liquid splashing over the rim of his glass as he gestures crudely toward the body.

The whole room reeks of blood and booze, and his slur tells me that this is far from his first drink of the evening. His hair is wild, the wrinkles on his face pronounced with exhaustion.

I doubt he feels any grief over his son’s passing. That would require him to feel any warmth for anyone other than himself, something that’s simply beyond a man like him.

No, he’s only worried that someone might be gunning for his crown, and if they are, he has no clear successor to cement his legacy.

The only thing he has are the thin reeds of power that connect a group of violent, money-hungry men and the over-the-top furnishings he’s surrounded himself with. The control that he’s managed to forge for himself is coming apart at the seams.

Instead of answering him, I grab the roll of industrial plastic from the hall closet and crouch next to the corpse to get to work.

I pat down the body to check for ID or a phone, mildly grateful when I don’t find any, then I start manipulating the limbs so I can force the limp limbs into a position that’s easy enough to carry and dispose of.

I freeze when I flip the left arm over the chest.

The intricate spider tattooed on the back of his hand stares back at me. Looking back at the face, I don’t recognize a single feature, but I can’t forget that tattoo.

Dmitri was loud-mouthed and obnoxious, and now his face has been beaten to the point that it’s unrecognizable. Instead, it’s a mess of mangled flesh and exposed, shattered bone.

He was just a kid, looking for enough money to take care of his sister, and now he’s nothing.

Just another victim of Maksim’s untempered rage.

If Maksim keeps killing the people who’ve sworn their loyalty to him in his own home, there will be no legacy left for him toleave behind. There will only be blood and ashes. We’ll end up killing each other before anyone else gets a chance.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Maksim’s derision is clear, but the slur mutes the effect, not that he notices. The glass in his hand shakes as he throws the rest of his drink back in a single go. “You haven’t been answering your fucking phone.”

The hell I haven’t.

I only make myself unavailable for one hour a day while we’re having dinner. If he can’t manage without me for a single hour, that’s his problem, not mine.

I bite my tongue, knowing better than to try to justify anything to him. He doesn't want an explanation. He only wants to lash out, and he’ll take any excuse he can find.

“Dinner with the wife.” I shrug, rolling up the body. Maksim’s lip curls, but before he gets a chance to berate me, I continue, not wanting to listen to him any longer than I have to. “Anything else I can do for you, Pakhan?”

Not for the first time, I’m grateful that Semyon inherited our father’s temper instead of me. I know how to keep mine in check, but if Maksim decides to run his drunken mouth about Blair, I can’t be sure I’ll be able to stick to my resolve and let someone else handle him.

Doing anything to him now, when his few remaining guards know I’m here, would be nothing short of suicidal.

“Sotero,” he offers.

“Luca Sotero?” I ask, raising a brow in question.

“Da. You met with that little shit a whileback, right?”