Shattered Crown: A Dark Mafia Age Gap Romance (Kozlov Empire Book 4)

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.”