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

“Aren’t you a present I’d love to unwrap.”

I jump a little at Maxim’s voice as he enters into the walk-in closet behind me.

“Oh, this old thing?” I exclaim before giving myself a final once-over in the closet’s full-length mirror. I’ve settled on a shimmering white evening gown with a split up the thigh. It’s gorgeous, and even more so paired with the black stilettos I’ve chosen.

The best part is Nadya didn’t interfere with my outfit choice this time. Whatever Maxim said to her must have sunk in. She’s not exactly friendly, but at least she’s keeping her distance, which suits me fine.

Maxim’s arms slide around me from behind. I lean against him, feeling the solid strength of his body. In the mirror, he cuts a sharp figure, his tailored tuxedo perfectly accentuating his commanding frame. He reminds me of Bruce Wayne, Batman’s alter ego. Ridiculously handsome and looking like all kinds of trouble, the kind of dangerous that makes butterflies take flight in my stomach.

This is our first time going out together since coming home from New York a couple of weeks ago. We’re going to a big society fundraiser hosted by none other than Anatoly’s family, but Maxim’s head of security deemed it safe for us to go. Probably because everything’s been quiet with the Black Company lately. Maxim’s men are pursuing Lai King, and it’s believed his top advisors have gone into hiding, huddling together to plan their next move.

“You can’t unwrap me yet,” I say teasingly.

The corners of Maxim’s lips curl into a wolfish smile, a glint of heat in his eyes as he studies us both in the mirror. “If I start thinking about unwrapping you, we’re never going to leave this closet.”

As if to make his point, his hands inch up and cup my breasts—they feel heavy and swollen under his touch. It’s almost too much. I close my eyes, marveling at how a brush of his hand over my skin can make me feel so many things.

I’ve never been in love before, so honestly, I don’t know how to tell if what I feel for Maxim is that or intense lust. What I do know is that his smile can completely unravel me, and the thought of a future without him makes it feel like I can’t breathe.

Maxim asking me to join his syndicate after I coaxed a confession from Leung felt significant. Like he was asking me for more than this marriage arrangement. Life has been hectic, so we haven’t had a chance to discuss what his offer really means. And truthfully, I’ve been trying to sort out my own feelings. Do I want to be here, by Maxim’s side, forever?

It’s difficult to think about leaving my friends and family in New York behind, but living without the man who touches my soul feels impossible.

“God, your tits are so sensitive lately. I love it.” He squeezes my nipples to make his point.

I smirk at him in the mirror. “For your advanced age, you sure have a healthy appetite,” I tease, grinding my ass into his already hardening cock.

“Just for that, I’m going to tie you up tonight and smack this gorgeous ass of yours until you can’t walk.” His threats only serve to turn me on.

He rolls my nipples between fingers, and I release a throaty moan. It’s true. My breasts have felt more sensitive than normal. In fact, my whole body’s been more sensitive lately, and I’ve noticed my energy sapped even after a full night’s sleep. I must be stressed with everything going on.

“What happened?” Maxim chuckles, releasing me. “One minute you’re dying for my hand between your legs, and the next you’re lost in your head. I’ll try not to take it personally. We should probably get moving, anyhow.” He swats me on the ass and then pulls away to start rummaging through his watch collection.

“It’s nothing,” I assure him. “Maybe I’m a little nervous about tonight. It’s been a while since we attended such a public event, and I know there’s going to be a lot of scrutiny on us.”

“We wouldn’t be going if I wasn’t totally confident that it’s safe.” He kisses my forehead.

“I know that.” I lean against the cabinet, watching Maxim move on to his tie drawer. It’s still ridiculously organized by color shade and fabric texture. “Remember how I messed up all your drawers a few days after we got married?” I ask, smiling at the memory.

He turns to look at me over his shoulder, his eyebrows pressed together. “I didn’t know that. The maid must have cleaned it up before I could take in the chaos you caused.”

I snort. ‘Yeah, well, I was seriously concerned that I’d married a psychopath. I was snooping and trying to piss you off. If I’m honest, I was looking to learn anything I could about you. You were such a mystery.”

Maxim pulls a silver tie from the drawer and hands it to me. “Can you do the honors?”

I nod and step forward, taking the tie from his hands. The silk fabric slips through my fingers as I begin to loop it around his neck, standing on my tiptoes to get the length just right.

“What did you learn about me, lastochka?”

“Nothing, really. I did find that cute picture of you as a kid in your sock drawer.”

He freezes, pulling back to look me in the eyes. “That picture… That’s not me.”

‘Oh.’ I focus on finishing the knot, pulling the tie snug. “Well, whoever that kid is, he’s adorable.” I smooth down the front of the tie, stepping back to inspect my work.

Maxim’s expression is unreadable for a moment, then he clears his throat. “That was my son, Ilya.” His voice is soft, almost lost in the quiet of the room. “He was killed eleven years ago, when he was four years old.”

My knees go weak, and I lean back against the dresser for support. There’s a buzzing in my ears, like the distant sound of waves crashing, drowning out everything else.

“You had a son? I’m so sorry, I had no idea.’ I reach out, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the quickened beat of his heart under my palm. “How did he die?” My heart aches for him, for the loss he must have endured, a loss so profound that he kept it buried away, even from me. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I add.

Maxim holds my gaze. ‘Not many people know, but it’s time I told you the whole story,’ he says with a voice that carries the weight of unresolved pain.

He leads me into our bedroom, where he sits me on the bed and pulls up a dressing stool so he can sit across from me. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his thighs.

Taking a full breath, he steadies himself. “Irina and I weren’t exactly an arranged marriage, but it was close enough. She came from a family with influence, at a time when I had the money but needed the connections. It was never about love. I didn’t think love matches existed. I thought it was a fairytale people told.’ He pauses, swallowing visibly, the muscles in his neck tightening. I wonder if his view on love matches has changed. A flicker of hope rises in me, but now isn’t the time to delve deeper.

‘A few years into our marriage, Irina and I weren’t in a good place. I worked constantly, and when I was home, spending time with my son was my priority. She met a man at some point—he was a fling, or at least, that’s what she told me—but she didn’t know who he really was.”

The look in his eyes is pure anguish, and I’d do anything to take away his pain.

‘The guy was actually part of a rival syndicate. Through Irina, they were able to track my movements, anticipate where I would go. We were at a family Christmas party, one of the few nights we were all together.’ Maxim stops for a moment, closing his eyes as if to brace himself against an invisible blow. ‘It was getting late, but Irina and I wanted to stay longer. We sent Ilya home with the nanny.’ He bows his head. ‘The car exploded as soon as the engine started. A car bomb meant for me. I-I saw the flames from the window.’

My heart pounds against my chest, the gravity of his revelation making it difficult to breathe. My words come out in a broken whisper. ‘Maxim, I’m so sorry.’

He nods—a single, curt movement. ‘It was my life, my world that put him in danger.’

“Is that why you killed Irina?” I ask, pieces of the picture falling into place.

He tilts his head. “Killed her?”

“I don’t blame you at all.”

He shakes his head, a bitter half-smile tracing his lips. ‘I didn’t kill her,’ he says. ‘But after what happened, after Ilya … I couldn’t bear the sight of her.’ He pauses as if the next words cost him. ‘She’s in exile, as far from me as possible.’

“Where did she go?’ Not that it matters. But curiosity gets the best of me.

After a heavy silence, he replies, ‘Argentina. I gave her no other choice.” His hands clench and unclench, and I know it cost him something to share this with me. ‘She lives with the consequences of her actions, as do I.”

I stand, carefully lowering in his lap, pulling him close with an arm around his shoulder. “Were you serious about wanting another child? Like we agreed to before getting married?”

He sighs and traces my jaw with a finger. “I said that to keep you in line. It was something I could hold over you. But the truth is, I lost more than a son that day. I lost a piece of my soul, and I don’t have the heart to try again. My relationship with Alyona … It’s my second chance at being a father and the only one I’ll take—if she can forgive me one day.”

‘I see.” I pull away and give myself a moment to process. My voice is even, but inside there’s a rising tide of uncertainty. “I suppose we should have been more careful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean … with birth control.” For someone adamant about not wanting more children, he could have taken a few more precautions.

“But you’re on the pill.” He smirks. “Don’t think Roman didn’t run to tell me that tidbit of information.”

I swallow. “I’m not on the pill. It took Liza a while to get it for me.” When I see his stricken face, something inside me breaks. “It’s fine,” I reassure him. “I’m expecting my period any day.”

Maxim stares at me intensely, and I have no idea what he’s thinking—if it’s good or bad, or somewhere in between. Finally, he stands and approaches me. “I really put the ass in assume. We should have talked about birth control earlier. I’m sorry.”

I give him a reassuring smile that I hope appears genuine. “It’s fine. I’m going to grab my clutch from the closet, and we can go.”

I turn quickly, hoping to hide the sudden flush of anxiety that I feel painting my cheeks. I walk to the closet, my mind racing, and start counting the days in my head since my last period—a silent numbers game that adds up to a startling realization: my period is late.

How could I be so stupid? With everything happening, I lost track of time.

I reach for my clutch, my fingers trembling as they brush against the cool leather. There’s no way I can tell Maxim what I suspect. Not now, not after what he told me.

I take a deep breath, willing my heart to slow, to silence the rapid drumming in my chest. I need to compose myself, to put on a mask of calm before I face Maxim again.

But as I glance at my reflection in the mirror, the woman staring back at me is holding onto a secret that could change everything.