When He Takes: A Dark Mafia Romance (Fallen God Book 2)

Rubbing a towel over my wet hair, I wander through the penthouse, looking for my wife. I find her in the living room reading on the couch with a blanket draped over her lap. I just finished up my post-workout shower, and I’m ready to spend another day with her. It’s my last day off before I have to get back to work and deal with Alessio’s brand of crazy.

I walk over to where she’s sitting and bend down to plant a kiss on the crown of her head. She tilts her head to look up at me, offering a soft smile.

Something flutters inside my chest. God, I’m like a fucking schoolboy searching for clues my crush is also crushing on me.

She’s given herself to me physically, but I don’t just want her body. I want all of her to be mine, without any hesitations, doubts, or fears. And I won’t give up until I get that.

For a moment, I’m tempted to call Cleo and ask her if Blake gave her any clues about how she’s really feeling about me, but I doubt Cleo would tell me. Besides, I want Blake to have friends she can trust here, so I decide to keep my nose out of their business.

“Want to go for a walk in Central Park?”

She glances toward the window. “It’s raining.”

“Barely. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little drizzle.”

She shakes her head and puts her book down. “Okay, but we have to stop by the coffee shop downstairs. I want a vanilla matcha latte.”

“A vanilla matcha latte? Since when do you like those?”

“Since I tried one a week ago and my life was changed forever.” She tosses the blanket off and gets to her feet. That oversized T-shirt that she’s wearing as a dress looks familiar…

One of mine.

Fucking adorable.

“I’m going to go change,” she says. When she passes by me, I get the urge to pull her to me and kiss her until she’s breathless, but she seems excited about this latte.

I suppose I can wait.

We’re putting on our shoes when the phone that’s connected to the concierge desk rings.

I grab it off the cradle. It’s probably a package. “Hello?”

“Mr. De Luca, you have a visitor.”

“Who is it?”

“Mr. Garin and his wife,” Alec says.

I frown. What the fuck? They’ve shown up uninvited?

“Did they say why they’re here?”

Blake lifts her head at my tone. Leaving the laces on her sneakers alone, she stands up, her brow furrowed.

“No, sir. Should I ask?”

Is there a chance Maksim’s here to take me to the pakhan? My pulse picks up speed. It’s possible.

It’s very possible. No warning. No time to prepare. Seems about right.

Why the fuck would he bring Ekaterina, though?

“It’s just the two of them?”

“Yes.”

I assess the risk. Two things could be going on here. Either he wants to negotiate a bit more, or he’s here to say the pakhan’s agreed to a meeting.

I’ve got to let them up.

“Okay, send them in.” I hang up the phone. “Maksim and Ekaterina are here.”

Blake’s eyes widen. “What do we do?”

“Go grab my gun from the office and bring it to me,” I tell her as I pull out my cell phone. I doubt I’ll need the gun. Maksim wouldn’t show up with his wife if he was here to try to kill me, but I’m not taking any chances. “I’ve got to call Gino.”

Unease slips into Blake’s expression, but she nods and jogs toward the office.

I dial Gino, counting each second he doesn’t pick up his goddamn phone.

Fuck. C’mon.

Finally, it connects. “Maksim is here at my condo with his wife. I don’t know why he’s brought her with him, but I think this could be it.”

“Good. Don’t forget to wear the right shoes.”

I glance down at the Chelsea boots I was about to put on. Gino’s tech guy inserted a GPS chip into the heel so that they can track where Maksim takes me since he’ll probably take my phone and toss a bag over my head. Once Gino has the pakhan’s location, his men will be able to stage an attack.

“Make sure there’s someone downstairs while I’m gone. I want Blake protected in case anything goes wrong on my end and Maksim’s guys retaliate.”

“They won’t be able to break into the penthouse from the outside, Nero. She’s safe.”

“If they get past building security, they could reach our floor.” I don’t want anyone coming up here, banging on the front door, scaring Blake witless. “Send a car.”

“All right. I’ll send backup just in case. They’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Good.”

The bell rings.

“They’re here,” I say.

“We’ll be watching everything closely.”

“I’ve got to go. I’ll call or text as soon as I can.”

“Good luck.”

We hang up.

On the other side of my front door, I find the Garins dressed in their Sunday best.

Maksim smiles. I smile. None of our smiles reach our eyes. “Come on in,” I say calmly, as if this is all perfectly fucking normal. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We’ve got something to discuss.” Maksim’s gaze stays trained on me as he steps inside. Ekaterina files in after him. Judging by the scowl on her face, she isn’t thrilled to be here. I don’t understand why he brought her if he’s taking me to the pakhan. Why would he want her to accompany us?

This doesn’t smell right.

“Mind if we sit down?” Maksim asks.

“Follow me.”

I lead them to the living room sofa just as Blake enters from the other side of the room. She’s put on a bigger hoodie, probably to better hide the gun she should have somewhere on her.

Our eyes connect. Maybe I should have told her to stay in her room until we leave, but it’s too late for that. I’ve just got to get Maksim and Ekaterina out of here as quickly as I can.

“Should I make some coffee?” Blake asks.

Maksim gives her a tight smile. “Not right now. Why don’t we all have a seat?”

My hackles rise at him acting like he fucking owns the place, but I keep my mouth shut.

Blake comes to sit at my side, and I pull her close to my chest before I slide my hand under her hoodie and grab the gun she’s got tucked in the waistband at her back. Carefully, I tuck it behind my own.

“The pakhan agreed to a meeting.”

Adrenaline floods my veins. They bought our story. It worked.

Maksim takes out a silver cigarette case from his breast pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”

I want to snarl at him that, yes, I fucking mind, but I hold myself back. I’ll have a chance to give him everything he deserves soon enough. “Go ahead. When does he want to meet?”

He slips a cigarette between his lips and digs into his pocket for a lighter. “Right now.”

“We shouldn’t keep him waiting then.”

He lights the cigarette and takes a few drags like he has all the time in the world. Beside him, Ekaterina is perched on the sofa, strangely quiet but alert.

“Do you know the gentleman who lives in the penthouse below yours?” Maksim asks.

What the fuck is he going on about now? “No.”

“Mr. Benoit. He’s an art collector. Made his money by making a few very smart bets a couple of decades ago.” Maksim blows out and smirks at me through the smoke. “You had no idea you’ve been having breakfast above a Monet all these years?”

“I could’ve been shitting above a Picasso for all I care. I fail to see the relevance of any of this.”

Maksim’s grin widens. “Mr. Benoit is sixty-two years old. He’s kept in decent enough shape all these years, but nothing could be done about his vision, I’m afraid. He’s gone completely blind. Imagine the tragedy of owning all that fantastic art and not being able to enjoy it.”

“Maksim,” I grind out, my patience waning.

“You sure you haven’t seen him? He always wears these enormous dark sunglasses and a newsboy cap. I met him just after the four of us bumped into each other at that gala. I negotiated the sale of his collection to the pakhan. When I told him last week that we’d increase our offer by ten percent if he helped us out with something, he was happy to oblige.”

I listen to him with growing apprehension, my hand tightening on Blake’s hip.

Maksim leans forward. “Mr. Benoit and the pakhan are just about the same height and build. Mr. Benoit left his penthouse to get breakfast yesterday morning, but it was the pakhan who came back disguised as him.”

My mouth goes dry. Blake’s completely frozen beside me.

Maksim isn’t here to take me to the head of the Boston Bratva.

He brought him to me.

“Why go through all this trouble?” I ask even though I already know the answer. The pakhan knows he’s being hunted, and so he came up with a plan to get to me completely undetected.

Scenarios of what could happen next whir through my mind at the speed of fucking light. This is bad. Gino has no idea what’s happening, and if the Russians have gone to these lengths to catch me off guard, they’re far more cautious than we anticipated. With their boss here, they must have a perimeter set up around the penthouse, and there’s a good chance they will spot the backup Gino’s sending.

I’m going to be exposed.

Fuck!

Maksim finishes his cigarette and puts it out against one of my marble coasters. “I told you he doesn’t take visitors. No exceptions. You should be honored he left the safe house for you. He wants to hear what you have to say. As long as you give him exactly what you told me you can, you’ll be generously rewarded, just as we discussed.”

I need to message Gino to tell him to call his guys back. But how? I can’t whip out my phone in front of Maksim. Gino’s men are going to be here any minute, and even if they somehow get close to the building undetected by the Russians the pakhan has likely stationed outside, Gino’s going to eventually want to know why Maksim and I aren’t coming out. What if he sends someone up to check on me while the pakhan is here?

It’ll be a bloodbath.

I turn my head to look at Blake for the first time since Maksim started talking. She’s staring at Ekaterina, her face a blank mask, but there’s a drop of sweat rolling down her temple.

I need to get her out of here.

My gaze snaps back to Maksim. “The wives don’t need to be here for this.”

He leans back on the sofa and pops his ankle on his knee. “On the contrary. The pakhan himself requested their presence to ensure we conduct ourselves in a civilized manner. You don’t need to worry. They’re just insurance, that’s all.”

Ekaterina purses her lips and glances out the window. She’s silent because she’s nervous too. The pakhan is a paranoid fuck, and given his history with Maksim, he probably doesn’t trust Maksim completely either.

“Blake, dear, go ahead and make us that coffee now, if you don’t mind,” Maksim says, taking out his phone.

Jesus, fuck. I want to scream in frustration, but I shove all of my rage down so that I can stay clearheaded.

My every move and word counts right now. I need to do everything I can to keep Blake safe.

Blake stands up and moves to the kitchen. I watch her walk away and try to think of a way to contact Gino to tell him to call his guys back. If she had her phone on her, maybe she could sneak a text to Gino. She has his number.

“Go help her, Katya,” Maksim says to Ekaterina, who reluctantly gets to her feet, leaving her purse behind on the sofa, and follows my wife.

Son of a bitch. There goes that idea. Ekaterina will be watching Blake while Maksim watches me.

My heart pounds against my ribcage like a ritual drum. There’s got to be something I can do.

“Nero?”

My gaze snaps to Maksim. He slides his phone back inside his jacket and looks at me.

“The pakhan’s ready. If you’re armed, this would be the time to hand me your weapons.”

What would happen if I refuse? I could kill Maksim and Ekaterina and call Gino. The pakhan won’t be able to get past the biometric lock and the steel front door if I don’t let him inside. Once he realizes we’ve tried to play him, he’ll flee the building. There’s even a chance Gino will be able to grab him or track him to wherever he goes.

A sound from the foyer reaches my ears. It sounds like the front door opening.

No. That can’t be.

Maksim smirks. “I was afraid you might get cold feet.”

A thin layer of sweat breaks out over my skin.

“So I made sure to get your fingerprints from every glass you’ve ever left around me. That came in handy with your fancy lock.”

Steady footsteps sound from down the hall, the sound echoing inside my head. Horror drips into my bloodstream.

“Your weapons, Nero,” Maksim croons. “If I were you, I’d hurry.”

I’m out of options. The only thing I can do is play along and pray Gino won’t interfere before we wrap up this spectacle.

I slide my gun across the coffee table toward Maksim just as Yaroslav Andreyevich Sokolov, the pakhan of the Boston Bratva, walks into my living room.