Maksim: A Dark Mafia Romance (Akimov Bratva) by Nicole Fox (read aloud .TXT) 📕

“The name?” I ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Rick Blaine. He’s the protagonist from Casablanca,” he says. “You have to watch some movies that are older than you sometimes.”

I reread the card again. There’s no possible way this is real.

“It’s good to have a sense of humor in this job,” Arthur continues. “Also, it’s good to have some loyal friends because you’ll end up canceling a lot of plans. And that’s the end of my welcoming party. If you need anything from me, just come find me. I’m in the right corner of the office, two desks over from the Tom Harden hellhole.” He winks good-naturedly.

I look at him, suspicion starting to rise up in me, but he’s more focused on my jar of chocolates than anything else. I open up the jar, take two of the chocolates out, and hand them to him.

“It was great meeting you, Arthur,” I say. I mean it—it really was. He’s so nice and warm, the exact opposite of the infamous Mr. Harden. But right now, I need him away from me. I need everyone away from me.

“Thanks.” He unwraps one of the chocolates, popping it into his mouth. “It was a pleasure meeting you as well.”

As he turns away, I focus on the card again. I flip it open, but there’s nothing inside. I lied to Tom; I did have a baby, once upon a time. It’s been a decade since I gave birth, ten years since I was a scared eighteen-year-old with everything to lose.

But no one was ever supposed to know about that. My father went out of his way to hide it.

These gifts—the chocolate, the flowers, the fruit—aren’t gifts at all. It’s a message from someone who knows something that they were never, ever meant to know.

This is a threat.

5

Cassandra

My father once told me there are two types of people in the world: those behind the trigger and those in front of the barrel.

Right now, I feel like I’m falling in the latter category.

I stumble away from my cubicle as my breathing becomes more and more shallow, even as I try to take in deeper and deeper breaths. I stagger to the exit door, shoving it open. It nearly swings back into me, but I manage to get out into the stairwell.

I falter, my knees hitting the edge of the stairs and my hands slamming on top of them. I shakily sit down. My heart is racing so hard that my chest hurts. My vision becomes narrower and narrower. There’s a pinprick of light in my vision. My head feels like it’s filled with air. My hand presses over my throat as I feel myself starting to fall.

No.

I force myself to sit up. Sweat is already clinging to my forehead.

The world may not be truly divided into two types of people, but I’m also not the kind to fall to pieces over some asshole’s threat. I take deep breaths until my chest expands more and the world starts to feel a little less dire.

The door in front of me swings open. I sit up straighter as Tom walks in. He nearly turns down the stairs before noticing me. He runs his hand over his tie—red with tiny white stars.

“Cassandra,” he says. “What are you doing in here? Are you okay?”

“I just needed a second,” I stand up, focusing my strength on lifting myself up with my hand on the railing because I don’t trust my legs. “How is your day going?”

“Oh, you know. It’s always chaos,” he says. “How is your research coming along?”

Oh, you know. It’s always chaos.

“There’s a lot of ideas running through my head,” I stammer. “There’s so much going on in the city.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to run any of your ideas by me? I’d love to hear some of them.”

“Oh.” I grip the railing tighter. “There’s been a recent string of murders. All the victims were young blonde women. If it’s a serial killer, it would be good to start talking to the police now.”

“What’s a ‘string’?”

“Three,” I admit.

He waves a dismissive hand. “Next,” he says. “If there’s no links, that’s not a story. I want crime and car bombs, Cassandra, not jealous ex-boyfriends with a drinking problem.”

I swallow. “Right. We’ve also got, uh, prices. SM & OV Drug Inc. Lots of affected people, hypertension is rising, and I mean, we could—”

“The Five Boroughs just wrote an article on that. And it’s the wrong kind of drugs. Give me coke, give me dope, give me meth. No one is gonna give a rat’s ass over a front-page article about how Granny has to pay another five bucks for her heart meds.”

The tightness in my chest is returning. “Oliver Olear has been accused of taking bribes?”

“It’s already being taken care of by Lindsay O’Donnell,” he says. “You have two days, Cassandra. Otherwise, you’re writing about your family. Maybe in other jobs, you could get your boss under your thumb, but I’m not that kind of boss. Being pretty isn’t going to get anything out of me.”

“I don’t think that,” I whisper. “I just don’t want to write about my family.”

“Tell me that in two days,” he snaps back icily, “and you’ll be looking for a job in another state.”

I nod, unable to say much of anything. My phone starts to ring, oddly loud in the stairwell. Heat rushes into my face.

“I’m sorry,” I say, taking my phone out. A blocked number. “It’s nothing—”

“No, answer it,” he says. “You’re a reporter now. Anything could be a lead.”

I press answer and hold it up to my ear.

“Hello?” I ask. Tom’s gaze burns into me. A couple of seconds sneak by as I wait for someone to speak. All I can hear is the sound of voices in the distance.

“Hello,” a man’s voice finally says. “Did you like my card?”

I blink several times. This is the man who knows I had a baby.

Tom’s head tilts. I don’t