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

What alien has taken over Maxim’s body and replaced him with this … caveman? Sure, the touchy-feely act is just for show, but earlier tonight at dinner, he didn’t seem interested in any display. He barely looked my way. Maybe the alcohol helped him loosen up enough to realize we weren’t acting like a newly married couple. Then again, Maxim doesn’t care about others’ opinions. He doesn’t need to.

I glance across the room where he’s engaged in conversation with Tim, the younger man hanging onto his every word. Shivers run down my spine as I recall the rough warmth of his hand sliding down my leg and his whisper in my ear.

“Let them see how your husband affects you. How much you crave his cock. Don’t you, lastochka?”

My pussy clenches thinking about his dirty words whispered against my skin in a roomful of people. He’s finally abandoned his suit jacket and his tailored white shirt is casually unbuttoned at the top, with sleeves pushed up to his elbows revealing powerful forearms. The way he sits back, knees apart, causing the fabric of his pants to pull taut… My goodness, is it hot in here?

As if he senses me staring, his intense eyes connect with mine. An amused expression hints he’s aware I was enjoying the view. I glare back at him.

I’d like to say I didn’t appreciate his wandering lips and hands, but it wouldn’t be true. I may hate him, but my body did not get the memo.

I’ve missed everything Grigor has said to me in the last two minutes, but I do catch him saying, “You must see this Valentin Serov piece.”

He gently takes my elbow, guiding me towards the foyer, where several art pieces adorn the walls. Among them are some rare Russian masterpieces.

God, I had no idea the mayor was so stinking rich, but then again, if Pyotr is doing business with Maxim, it means he has his hands in all kinds of pots. As we’re admiring the Serov painting, a slithery presence enters into the room.

I know immediately who I will find when I turn around. The creepy-ass mayor who has been throwing me lusty looks all night. Even if he’s a sleazeball, he’s also the man I need to talk with if I’m going to learn about Maxim’s involvement in my aunt’s death. Maxim warned me against being alone with him, but I can handle myself. I’ve certainly dealt with my fair share of assholes.

Anatoly’s revelation still burns beneath my skin. Why would Maxim neglect to tell me about his connection to my father? I know we haven’t had deep talks, but it’s highly suspect that this never came up between us.

Turning on a megawatt smile, I turn to the mayor approaching us and carrying two full glasses of champagne.

“I noticed your hands were empty, my dear.” He passes me one of the glasses and keeps the other for himself. “We can’t have that.”

“Thank you. So thoughtful,” I say, trying not to puke in my mouth. “About that antique sword collection—I’d love to see it if you have the time.”

The man’s eyes widen like he won the lottery. “I’d like nothing more.”

Grigor clears his throat. “I’d be interested in taking a look myself if you don’t mind⁠—”

“Sorry, not much room down there.” Pyotr shrugs. “I try to control the humidity. Too many bodies… You know how it is.”

Grigor shoots me a concerned look, but I don’t want him to worry so I wink and murmur so only he can hear, “If I’m not back in twenty minutes, send help.” It’s a joke meant to disarm him, but Grigor laughs nervously.

Great.

Pyotr leads me down a long flight of stairs, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the narrow hallway. We arrive at a heavy wooden door that Pyotr pushes open to reveal a cozy room with an arched ceiling. Swords of every size, shape, and vintage are hung meticulously.

Maybe it would be kind of cool if the mayor wasn’t standing so close to me I can feel his breath on my neck. I move further into the room, wanting to put as much space as possible between us.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Pyotr walks slowly along the display, a reverent touch on each piece, as I feign interest. ‘Each sword has a story, a part of our rich history.’

‘It’s magnificent,” I say with forced enthusiasm, which naturally Pyotr takes to mean I want to hear the history of each piece.

Twenty minutes later, I know more about Damascus steel sabers and the curved Cossack shashkas, than I’ll ever need to.

“Come sit. Let’s have a drink.” Pyotr gestures to the far side of the room, where a little sitting area is set up—a plush burgundy sofa in front of a grand fireplace.

The mayor moves to a small bar cart and pours two glasses of amber-hued cognac. Not that I have any intention of drinking around him—I’ve long abandoned the champagne from earlier. But this is my chance to pump the man for information, so I lower myself onto the cushion.

No sooner have I made myself comfortable than Pyotr is right beside me, handing me a glass. His proximity is unsettling; he sits too close, his thigh almost touching mine.

There’s an intensity in his eyes as he raises his glass for a toast. “To new friendships,” he says, his voice low and too intimate. “Now, I want to hear all about you. Maxim has said very little about his new bride.”

I smile demurely. “Oh, I’m not very interesting. But since you’re such good friends with my husband, I was hoping you can tell me more about him. He’s so tightly guarded, even with me.”

The mayor chortles. ‘That’s Maxim for you, a mystery. But I’d be more than happy to help in any way I can…’ His fingers brush lightly along my leg.

I have to suppress a shudder of revulsion. His touch elicits the exact opposite effect of Maxim’s.

I clear my throat and shift out of his reach. “I hear nothing happens in this city without Maxims’ approval, is that true?”

“Maxim is not the only powerful man in this city.” He puffs out his chest as if he can compete with Maxim’s raw masculinity and commanding presence. “There’s plenty that happens without his knowledge. In fact, as the mayor, I wield considerable power.”

“Maybe you can help me then…” I pause and give him my best sweet-and-innocent look. “I’ve always wanted to know what happened with Masha Antonov. She’s a relation, and I never really got a straight answer about how she died.”

“Ah, yes. Masha.” Pyotr’s hand comes to rest on my thigh again.

I swallow down my disgust for a hot minute because I need to hear his answer.

“It was a shame the way she was killed, wasn’t it.”

Impatience blasts through my veins. “How did she end up at that warehouse in the first place? Who lured her there? It had to be someone with considerable power to hide their involvement—” The words die in my throat as the mayor’s fingertips brush the inner seam of my panties.

I freeze, bile filling my throat.

“I’ll share what I know … but what will you do for me?”

‘Nothing!’ I try to push his hands away, but he holds firm. “I’m serious,” I gasp, struggling against his grip. ‘I’ll scream.”

“Just you try,” he snarls.

I sink my nails into his forearm and he bites out a curse, when the door suddenly swings open.

Maxim stands there, radiating an aura of barely-contained rage that drops the room’s temperature by several degrees.

‘Get your fucking hands off my wife.’ Maxim’s voice is a deadly whisper, each word dripping with menace.

Pyotr visibly pales. He withdraws his hand and scrambles to sit up straighter. ‘Belov, we were just discussing⁠—’

‘How I’m going to kill you?’ Maxim cuts him off, stepping further into the room, his tall frame casting an imposing shadow. “How, if I ever find you with your hands on my wife again, I will string you up by your dick and make sure you dangle there until it rips straight off of your body? Then I will personally remove each and every one of your appendages with a hacksaw until you bleed out. Is that what you were discussing?”

I’m shaken, my stomach churning with nausea from everything that’s happened, yet there’s a sliver of relief in knowing how fiercely Maxim is willing to protect me. But is it really about me, or a possessive claim over what he considers his?

Pyotr’s face reddens with a mix of fear and humiliation. For all his bluster and bravado, the mayor looks ready to piss himself.

‘Maxim—’ I begin, but he stops me with a raised hand.

“Did he hurt you?” His eyes close, and he swallows hard. “Did he do more than what I saw?”

I shake my head, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. The stoic mask he always wears slips, exposing a rare glimpse of something deeper. There’s a fierceness in his eyes, but it’s not about possession. Could it be that he’s actually concerned?

“It was nothing,” Pyotr says hastily, getting to his feet. He takes a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket and dabs at the sweat now running down his face. ‘You can’t be serious. Since when have you ever cared for a woman?”

Maxim smiles, and it’s frightening. “Since now.” His eyes flicker towards me, a softening in his gaze that contrasts the harshness of his words. “We’ll call this a misunderstanding. Now you know better.”

The mayor nods frantically, like one of those bobbleheads people put on their car dashboard. At least he’s smart enough to take the out Maxim is providing.

‘In that case,’ Maxim continues, ‘we will bid you a goodnight.’ He extends his hand to the mayor to end the night with a handshake. It’s a Trojan horse if I’ve ever seen one.

Unfortunately for Pyotr, he doesn’t see the warning signs. As their hands meet, Maxim’s clasp quickly turns from cordial to crushing. His tightening grip is swift, ruthless, and calculated. Pyotr’s face contorts in pain, his eyes widening in a mix of shock and agony as the unmistakable sound of bones crunching under the pressure echoes through the room. Pyotr’s knees buckle, his other hand instinctively reaching out to cradle the one being crushed, trying to pry Maxim’s fingers away. But it’s of no use.

My heart slams against my chest watching Maxim exact his revenge with a slow, icy smile. This is the cold-hearted predator that I’ve seen glimpses of. I wonder what would happen if we weren’t in Pyotr’s home with his wife upstairs, what Maxim would actually do. The thought causes a chill to travel down my spine, and it’s not in revulsion. There’s an undeniable thrill in knowing that this ruthless, hard man would go to any length, even risking valuable alliances, to protect me.

And there’s a twisted sense of satisfaction in seeing Pyotr face the consequences of his vile actions.

Maxim finally releases his hold and Pyotr crumples, his now mangled hand trembling as he holds it close to his chest, his face ashen. But Maxim is no longer looking at his victim; his eyes have moved on to me.

“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my arm. His voice, dripping with dominance, makes my skin tingle.

One part of me—the smarter part, I suppose—is telling me to shake his hand off me and give him shit. I was capable of putting the mayor in his place. But the other part of me? Feminism has completely left my body because that part is soaking her panties and allowing the beast I call a husband to escort me out of the room.

The moment we’re alone in the backseat of the car, Maxim spins on me. “What the fuck were you thinking being alone with the mayor? I warned you, Kira. I warned you. That man is a predator! You could have been… Fuck!”

Hot, indignant tears threaten at the corners of my eyes, but I hold them back, refusing to give Maxim the satisfaction of seeing how deeply he affects me. Part of my fury is directed at my own recklessness for putting myself at risk, and the rest is aimed squarely at Maxim for … everything. Every damn thing. He’s the source of my misery and the one who sends my stomach into knots—it’s completely unfair.

“I know you think I’m useless, but I can and will defend myself. And don’t bother pretending you give a shit about me because you obviously don’t.” Beneath my defiant words, an unvoiced thought creeps in—he does care, he must, even a little. Not that I want him to. He killed my aunt, for fuck’s sake.

Fury radiates from Maxim like a blazing inferno. He clutches his phone so tightly that his knuckles turn white, threatening to crack the screen. “You don’t get it…” he hisses. It’s like watching a man at war with himself, torn between anger and frustration. “When did I ever say you’re useless? When did I ever… Jesus.”

With a sudden movement, Maxim pivots, facing the window. His shoulders are taut, tension radiating from his body. When he spins back towards me, his face is a mask of raw need. Before I can react, he pushes me down on my back, his bigger body crowding above me. Surprise jolts through me in a rush that leaves me breathless.

‘You are mine. My wife.” His nose skims down my neck slowly, and he inhales deeply, his voice a low, commanding murmur. ‘It doesn’t matter if you want my protection or not. I will protect you at all costs.’

Goosebumps prickle along my skin as his warm breath brushes my neck. I can’t deny the thrill of being his, even when I want to resist.

His mouth crashes down on mine. It’s hot and passionate, and sends my brain cells into a tailspin. His tongue breaches the seam of my lips, plundering and claiming me for his own.

The wild dance of my heart betrays my excitement, especially with Maxim so close because his very proximity is like a magnetic force, drawing me in despite my better judgment. I know I should throw him off me, tell him to go to hell, but the traitor inside me, the one that hasn’t listened to reason all night, grasps Maxim by his lapels and pulls him even closer, matching each swipe of his tongue with my own.

His lips are softer than I imagined they would be, although there’s nothing gentle about how he kisses. It’s raw, untethered, as if trying to lay claim to every inch of my body, asserting his dominance.

I melt. Literally melt, because I’ve never been kissed like this. It feels like he would die if he didn’t taste me.

He groans and presses his very pronounced hard-on against me. My God, he’s big and he’s rock-hard. This realization charges through me, sending a tingling thrill to my core and a warm dampness between my legs. Arousal washes over me, quickening my pulse as I rock my hips against his erection. He emits a deep, guttural grunt, and the sound of his labored breath is intoxicating.

Everything about this is wrong, but there’s no chance in hell I’m willing to come back to earth. I’m beyond thought right now. Floating on a cloud of pure need, a need that is Maxim deep between my thighs.

Maybe he shares the same sentiment because he grabs both of my ass cheeks and thrusts up into my core once, twice, and then … he tears himself away from me, scooting to the other side of the car like he’s touched a live wire. My heart sinks with disappointment. Why did he stop? Was this all a game to him?

Breathing heavily, he runs a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes avoiding mine.

My cheeks flush with heat as I slowly sit up and straighten my dress, trying to gather my self-respect off the floor. What the hell is wrong with me?

I drag the back of my hand over my lips, wiping any trace of Maxim on my skin as embarrassment steals up my throat.

Tonight was a disaster.

I learned nothing about my aunt’s death.

I was nearly assaulted. No, forget that—I was assaulted.

And that kiss…

Christ.

Anger boils over into defiance, and before I can stop myself, my fist meets his chest. “I’m not yours, Maxim. I don’t care what you say. There’s nothing between us but a marriage contract.”

His jaw ticks, but he continues to stare out the window, ignoring me, which only makes my blood hotter.

Words I hadn’t planned on saying tumble from my lips. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew my father? That you had history together. Was that not information you thought I had a right to know?”

This gets his attention. His surprised gaze meets my own. “Of course I knew your father! Half of Moscow knew the mudak in some way or another. He was heir to one of the most powerful bratvas in the city.”

“You didn’t just know him—he discovered you,” I shoot back, my voice heavy with accusation. “He took you from underground fighting rings and introduced you to the underworld. How could you not think to tell me?!”

Dark fury crosses his face. “Oleg Antonov didn’t fucking discover me. He used me, like he used everyone. Including you, his own flesh and blood. The only difference is that I had the power to walk away from him. I saw what kind of a ublyudok he was, and I left him in my dust.”

His outburst catches me off guard, bitterness coating his every word.

So maybe he didn’t like my father if he’s calling him a bastard, but that doesn’t prove anything. My father may have had something over him; Maxim could have been in his debt. Anything’s possible. But deep down, I can’t shake the weight of truth—Maxim doesn’t bow to anyone.

Another thought quickly follows, hitting me hard. He’s not a liar.

His penetrating gaze remains locked on me for what feels like an eternity, then he exhales deeply. “I never mentioned my acquaintance with your father because I assumed you don’t like to speak of him. Given your family history.” The weight of everything he’s not saying presses between us. “I don’t understand why this is important to you. Your father is long gone—you made sure of that.” His lips twitch. If he didn’t hate me, I would almost mistake that look for pride.

“I just…” I swallow hard, trying to steady myself. ‘I deserve the truth. All of it.’

“You first, lastochka. You tell me your truth, and I’ll tell you mine.” He releases a gruff laugh. “How about you answer this question…” His mocking tone is replaced with a much darker one. “Why were you alone with the mayor tonight, after I warned you?”

A single finger lifts my chin, compelling me to meet his gaze. He remains silent, and with each weighty moment that passes, my hypocrisy burns—while I demand the truth from him, I’m certainly not willing to share my own.

“Forget it,” I say and avert my gaze out the window.

He tuts, shaking his head. “You’re so curious. Tell me what you’re really after. What do you want to know so badly?” His hand glides down my neck, the soft pad of his thumb gently brushing against the pulse point.

A shiver moves through me. It’s infuriating. I clench my jaw, refusing to be affected by this man. “Nothing. I don’t like being blindsided. I felt like a total fool in front of Anatoly Petrovich today, having no clue that you knew my father.’

Maxim snorts derisively. “You shouldn’t care what Anatoly Petrovich, of all people, thinks of you. His dirty secrets stretch from here to the Wall of China.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” I whisper.

When we enter the security gates to Maxim’s estate, all I can think about is jumping out of the car and darting into the house. I need to get away. I need distance from this man that sucks all the air out of a space. That makes my body feel things I desperately don’t want him to make me feel.

Fuck him and his demands I sleep in his bedroom. I’ll curl up in the shed with the dogs tonight for all I care.

‘Seriously, Maxim, forget I said anything. Forget everything about tonight.” He fixes his gaze on me, his eyes narrowing as his eyes drop to my lips. “It’s late, and I need to sleep.’

As soon as it’s safe, I throw open the door and dart out, my heels clicking against the cobblestone drive. I’m relieved he doesn’t follow me. He doesn’t even get out of the car. My hands form tight fists, nails digging into flesh, as the limo speeds off and disappears into the dark night. Off to see one of his mistresses, I presume.

Good. I won’t have to share a bed with him tonight.

Thank the Lord for small mercies.