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

hair, her delicate wrists, and her perfect makeup turning her into a male fantasy.

“This is my wife.” He kisses her in the video. It stings, knowing someone laid claim to him so dominantly before me, but as he looks at her, there’s no love in his movements, even as he loops his arm around her waist. He looks at her in the same way he looks at the hotel bar and the marble foyer.

He didn’t look at me that way. He wasn’t proud of me like I was an acquisition—at least, not after the shooting in the nightclub. He looked at me with something that was the polar opposite of possessiveness. Something warm. Authentic.

I glance away from him to stop being sucked into his orbit. In the background, a man is sitting at a table, continuously glancing at Maksim. He isn’t as well-dressed as the other patrons and his body is racked by tension. I’ve seen him in another video.

I bring up one that focuses on Maksim’s purchase of the Igor Evlakhova House, preserving it as a historic monument. In the background again, the man stands a few feet behind Maksim. He’s focusing on Maksim, but not in the same way as other people—intrigued, disgusted, lustful. It looks like he’s ready to take a bullet for Maksim.

It must be one of his longstanding lieutenants. Possibly his right-hand man. I’ve never seen him before, but if he’s hiding, it would make sense for Maksim to join him.

I continue the video about Maksim buying Igor Evlakhova House. At one point, Maksim turns toward the man, but instead of talking to him, he refers to the woman standing beside him.

“Miss Lynna Kudrin is the one who convinced me to buy this house, so all credit must go to her for saving this historic landmark,” Maksim says.

I jot down the name. Lynna Kudrin. I’ve found my bait. Now, I just need to get Maksim to bite.

Lynna Kudrin lives on Watts Street. I park on the other side of her street and cross it. The house is two stories high, pale blue with white trimming. There’s a white picket fence around it. It’s the very picture of the American Dream, which makes it stranger that it became so deeply involved with the Bratva.

I open the gate and step through. As I knock on the door, I can’t shake the feeling that the air around here is heavier. Maybe there’s more moisture in this area. Maybe we’re at a higher altitude and I didn’t notice the change as I drove.

When the woman opens the door, I know it’s not meteorology that’s affecting the atmosphere. It’s this woman. And she hates me with every fiber in her body.

The woman’s dirty blonde hair is gleaming with grease, but that’s barely noticeable as she stares at me and her face turns a deep shade of red. Her hands curl up into fists as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing here, Balducci,” she snarls. “But you better turn your ass around and throw yourself in front of a car.”

I don’t know why this woman hates me, but it seems to run deeper than her husband being close to Maksim. “I was just wondering if I could talk to your husband,” I say. She stares at me, her eyes narrowed.

“Is that some kind of sick joke?” she asks.

“I don’t mean it to be,” I say lamely.

“Neither do I.” She turns around, heading back inside. “Get the fuck off my property, Balducci.”

A little boy toddles straight into Lynna’s legs, pressing his face in between her knees. He peers at me, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Hi.” I give him a small wave. He shyly smiles, nuzzling his face against his mother’s leg. Lynna grabs him by the shoulders, turning him around.

“Go to your room, Tommy,” she orders.

“No …” he whines, clinging tighter to his mother’s leg. I wonder if Lily was that clingy as a toddler.

“Go, Tommy,” she commands. Tommy gives me one more look before ambling back down the hall.

“Mrs. Kudrin,” I say. “I understand that you’re angry about the article, but—”

She laughs, the sound harsh enough that it sounds more like she’s choking. She spins around to face me again. “You really have no idea, do you? How fucking stupid are you?”

I shrug, my tongue rolling over my teeth. “That’s debatable right now, but I don’t have time for this. I need—”

“It’s not just some goddamn squabble,” she spits out. “Your father—”

“My daughter,” I cut in, angry now at her refusal to listen to me. “She’s—”

“—Killed my husband.”

“—Been kidnapped,” I finish as her words sink in. We stare at each other. I bow my head. “I didn’t know that. I … I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“How could you not know?” she asks. “It was less than three months ago.”

“My father doesn’t tell me anything. We don’t talk,” I say.

“Maksim could have told you.”

“If you know Maksim at all, you’d know he wouldn’t.”

She shakes her head. She doesn’t say anything. I consider walking away, but this is the only lead I’ve found in all my research. If I lose this, I lose Lily.

“Come inside,” she mutters. “This isn’t a conversation for everyone to hear.”

I follow her in, closing the door behind me. As we navigate through her house, we walk by a wall decorated with various framed photographs. The photos are all in different locations and different times—some of them in the summer and some of them in the winter—but they all show Lynna and her husband. It looks like the photos span several years. In the center of all of them, there’s a wedding photo. I know I can’t assume anything from eleven photographs, but their love for each other is all over their faces in the photos. They adored each other in a way that’s nearly impossible to find and even more difficult to not be terrified of.

As Lynna sits down with me in her living room, I realize