KIRA
For what feels like the millionth time today, I find myself drifting into the
forgotten sitting room at the mansion's rear, seeking a peace that’s out of my
grasp. Settling by the window, I press my palm to the cool glass, staring
outside at the golden carpet of fallen leaves covering the expansive
grounds.
I like this room. It’s in the farthest reach of the mansion. Judging by the
layer of dust and cobwebs, this room is barely used, so it's become my
secret sanctuary.
It’s just me and a pint of ice cream, a box of tissue, and a smutty novel
Alyona gifted me.
Today would have been Masha’s fifty-sixth birthday and, like every
birthday since she passed, I'm haunted by the weight of her absence. She
had a tradition of showing up at my boarding school and hauling me away
for the day to do something fun. We’d go exploring art galleries, eat
amazing food, and end the night with an avant-garde theater performance or
something equally outrageous.
That was Masha. Bold and unconventional. She would hate that I’m
moping today. She’d actually hate that I’ve spent the last few years weighed
down with grief. If she were here, she’d make me change into something
fabulous and call up Liza insisting we hit the town. She’d want to be
celebrated, not mourned.
But how can I celebrate her when I haven’t learned a single thing about
her death? I've been living under this roof for a week, and my opportunities
to investigate Maxim have been nonexistent. When I suggested marriage, I
thought I’d be involved in running his business, which I hoped would give
me an opportunity to learn his whereabouts around the time of Masha’s
capture and murder. I stupidly thought I’d be Maxim’s equal—that is so far
from reality it’s almost funny. Almost.
Masha may not have condoned moping, but she definitely did condone
drinking champagne in a bubble bath. So fuck it. That’s what I’m going to
do.
I drag my body off the couch, when the door barrels open and the
wicked witch of Moscow walks in.
Nadya. She's my least favorite person in this household. The woman
looks at me with contempt for merely breathing, but Nadya is as tightly
knitted into Maxim’s world as Pavel and Roman, meaning I can’t dismiss
her entirely. She’ll never be a friend, but it’s worth trying to sweeten her up.
Though I can't shake the feeling that, in her eyes, no woman could ever be
worthy of her precious Maxim.
“This room is off limits,” she announces in her usual brusque tone.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize,” I say, collecting my things. It makes me
wonder if there’s something in here that she doesn’t want me to see, which
only furthers my curiosity. Pressing a finger to my lips, I tilt my head. “Can
I ask why it’s off limits?”
Nadya crosses her arms in front of her chest and taps her foot. When
I’m convinced there will be no details forthcoming, she finally says, “This was the sitting room Irina liked to entertain in. Maxim wanted it sealed off
after...”
After he killed Irina? Thinking about it sends a shiver down my spine.
I survey the room more closely, now aware of the feminine touches
scattered throughout—sheer white curtains framing the windows, porcelain
figurines placed on the mahogany shelves, a fine persian rug underfoot.
Nadya's vague mention of Irina is an opportunity I can't ignore.
"I didn’t know.” I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ears. “I feel like
we got off on the wrong foot, and I never meant for that to happen. I know
how important you are to Maxim, and I want us to be able to … get along.”
"Get along? Like you’re worth a second of my time.” Her words are
cold and brutal. “You're temporary. You'll be gone as soon as you've served
your purpose. Don't mistake yourself for someone of importance in
Maxim’s world because you never will be.”
Okay, still a bitch.
I grit my teeth and try again. "Maxim agreed to this marriage for a
reason. Because it serves us both. I’m sure he’d appreciate it if you took me
under your wing. Help me adapt to this household, provide guidance—”
“The only guidance you need is to understand your place. You're here
for Maxim's benefit, nothing more. And you’ll be put out like yesterday’s
trash sooner than later. Now, leave.”
My fingernails press sharply into my palms. I know they say you can
attract more flies with honey, but I tried being nice and it got me nowhere.
If I can’t win Nadya over, then she needs to understand I'm no doormat. In
fact, I’m a bad bitch.
“Fine, you want me to leave?” We lock eyes, neither willing to look
away. “Then tell me what happened to Irina.”
Her mouth tightens with disapproval. I expect her to shut me down, but
she doesn’t. “She betrayed Maxim in the worst possible way.” I don’t miss
the tremor in her hands as her eyes turn arctic. “Do you know what happens
to traitors in this world?”
Her words set me on edge. My aunt and I were called traitors by those
still loyal to my father. “I know very well what happens to traitors. Is this
your issue with me?” I advance on her and she notches her chin, holding her
ground. “You think I am going to do the same to your precious Maxim?
Betray him?”
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she whispers darkly. “To work
against your own blood.”
Her words are like a punch to my gut. “What did you say?”
I’ve never brought up my father in this household, but anyone
connected with the Russian underworld knows who he was and what he did.
How I retaliated.
"How can you say that?" I retort sharply. “Do you know what he was
doing? Involved in human trafficking, including children, cutting his drugs
with fentanyl without a care for the lives lost. Addicted to painkillers and
booze. He was an animal needing to be stopped. And yet you stand here,
judging me for doing my duty.”
Her nostrils flare. “You’re so naïve. You know nothing about the world.
Even if your father was flawed, he deserved your loyalty. That’s the bratva
code.” Her face is a mask of fury, her hands clenched by her sides. “Maxim
should never have married you. You’re a delusional child.”
Nadya’s not the first person with the bratva’s old-guard mindset to sneer
at my actions. I can’t convince her that I was in the right, but at least I know
what her issues are with me. I wonder if Maxim feels the same way—not
that he’s ever expressed that.
I meet her disdain with a steely gaze, my voice unwavering. “I'd rather
be naïve than blindly loyal to a corrupt ruler.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“What’s going on here?” Maxim’s deep voice cuts through the tension
like a cold blade.
My gaze snaps up to find him leaning against the door frame, the dim
light from the hallway casting shadows across his imposing figure. His
eyes, dark and inscrutable, focus on Nadya.
A flicker of alarm crosses her features before she regains her
composure. "I was letting Kira know that we don’t use this room any
longer.”
Interesting. Nadya’s certainly giving him a watered-down version of our
conversation. If she doesn’t want Maxim to know how she really feels
about me, I’ll play her game. And I’ll win.
He runs his tongue over his upper teeth. “I see.” His gaze settles on me.
“Is there a reason you're here?”
“It’s a little more private, and I like the view.” I shrug. “I didn't know
that it was off limits.
Maxim looks from Nadya to me and back again. “If you like it, it’s
yours. Redecorate as you see fit.”
“Really?” I don’t know why, but somehow, this feels like a small win. I
can't resist giving Nadya a smug, triumphant glance.
"Did Nadya mention that you're expected to accompany me to a public
dinner in a few hours?"
"No, not yet, Maxim. I was about to," Nadya says hastily. "Hair and
makeup are scheduled for this afternoon, and a stylist from my selected list
will soon bring some fitting outfit choices."
No, fucking thank you. Using one of Nadya’s stylists is where I put my
foot down. If I’m going out tonight—on Masha’s birthday of all nights—I
am going to make sure I look damn good. My aunt wouldn’t have it any
other way.
"As much as I value your fashion advice" — I nod at Nadya’s plain gray
dress while Maxim barely conceals a smirk — "I think I'll contact Liza for
some stylist recommendations of my own."
“But—”
Maxim cuts her off. “Kira says she can handle it.”
Is Maxim defending me? My heart gives a little thump in my chest.
“Very well, then.”
I can feel the steam rolling off Nadya in waves, and I take that as a
small win. For now. But I know whatever issues she has with me are far
from resolved. This is only the opening act in what promises to be a long,
drawn-out battle of wills.
Maxim adjusts his cufflinks. With a final look, he says to me, “Tell the
stylist we’re going to Probka tonight. Everyone in Moscow knows the
restaurant. Be ready to go by eight. And for the love of all things holy, don’t
wear any piece of clothing that’s ripped, frayed, or references Joan Jett
_________________________________________
Chapter 11 is completed hehe and also the chapters are going to get spicy 🤭
-1628 words
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Shattered Crown
RomanceHe needs a wife. I need revenge. To the world, Maxim Belov is a self-made billionaire with charm as deep as his pockets. But strip away the politician's smile and crisp Armani suits, and you'll find the puppetmaster commanding Moscow's underworld-th...
