THE FIXER

But I suppose with him gone, she’s discovering her vulnerability to losing it all. We both are.

The rebel in me wants to tell her hell no. I have principles, and they don’t allow me to be sold off to another member of my father’s organization.

But I have no livelihood and neither does she. My American acting degree is useless both here and there. The only job I worked was a side gig in college that involved me dressing sexy and handing out whatever product we were pushing. And I only did it for fun-not for the money.

Honestly? I shouldn’t have to work. My father’s money was intended for us, he just was an asshole about the way he gave it to us.

“What about Vladimir? He’s supposed to provide for you.” I hadn’t brought myself to ask about him before because I knew I couldn’t keep my mouth shut about how wrong this all is.All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

My mother clenches her teeth. “Vladimir is supposed to provide for me, yes. But you get everything. And I have no guarantees Vladimir will hold up his end of the bargain. You will not give up our inheritance because you’re being a stubborn cow.”

I draw back, surprised at how mean and desperate she sounds. Like she’s inches from a nervous breakdown. Or doing something crazy.

“I won’t give it up,” I promise her. “Maxim and I will come to an arrangement.” That was my plan from the start. He doesn’t want to be saddled with me any more than I want to be his devoted wifey. All we have to do is acknowledge that, and we can forego the whole moving in together and pretending. I’ll stay here. He’ll send me a check every month. Or better yet, direct deposit.

I head back out to the kitchen where Viktor’s nearly packed up everything. He looks over, but his gaze goes past me to my mother. “You okay, Galina? Anything I can do for you?”

He’s been our bodyguard for as long as I can remember. He and Alexei, the other guard, live here in the same building and rotate their time babysitting us. I suppose they’re happy to be rid of me. But it suddenly occurs to me that Viktor may not feel the same about my mother. The way he looks at her…

How did I never notice that before?

“You can help my mom by leaving my shit alone,” I tell him. “Put that down!” I snap, when he tosses my expensive blender in a box.

“Take it easy.” Maxim walks in my front door like he owns the place. Maybe he does-who knows?

He’s impeccably dressed, as always, in a crisp blue button-down and tailored slacks. His hands are in his pockets in that GQ-casual way he has of standing. Like nothing ever ruffles him.

The past week has been a nightmarish blur with the funeral and interment. I’ve been numb, trying to help my mom bear her grief. Too angry to even examine my own. Maxim kept his distance, and I was hoping it meant he had as little interest in maintaining this sham marriage as I do.

But it appears I was wrong. And now I regret not trying to talk to him yesterday before he set all this into motion. To talk him out of this insanity.

“All your things get shipped to Chicago. If there’s something you want to leave for your mom, just tell them, and they’ll separate it out.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m not going to Chicago.”

“It’s not up for discussion,” he says easily, almost like he expected that response but gives it no credence. His gaze dips to my breasts, which are pushed up and framed by my folded arms. I wore a skin-tight, pink-gold minidress today, which I’ve been using to fluster all the men swarming around my apartment this morning.

I’m way more satisfied than I should be to find Maxim is also affected by it.

“Listen.” I switch into English since we both speak it, and my father’s men don’t. “I understand you control the money now. I’m fine with that. I’ll be a good girl and do what you tell me. But we don’t have to pretend to be husband and wife. I know you don’t want me, and I obviously don’t want you.”

“The marriage isn’t about what we want, caxapok.”

His old endearment for me-sugar-rolls off his tongue too glibly and sends a riot of the shame and longing he once incited blasting through me again as if I were still seventeen.

“Your father wanted you safe, and he chose me to be your protector.”

I gesture toward the men dismantling my apartment. “Viktor and Alexei will keep me safe, as they always have.”

Even though we’re speaking English, Maxim takes a step closer and drops his voice. “Think about it, caxapok. If your father thought you were safe with them, he wouldn’t have arranged to have you shipped off to America. He wouldn’t have brought me in.”

I want to scoff. My mom and I practically own Viktor and Alexei.

After I got Maxim banished, I realized how much power I could wield with my sexuality. And since it’s the only power I wielded in my life, I used it. I played games with my father’s men. Baiting them, getting on my knees for them. Sucking their cocks. Then threatening to tell my father to get whatever I needed from them-usually my freedom.

But a whisper of foreboding runs through me at Maxim’s words. He’s right. With my father dead, everything’s changed. I don’t hold any power anymore.

“Go and pack your personal things. Our flight is in a couple of hours.”

I shake my head mulishly. “I’m not going.”

Maxim goes still and warning bells go off in my head. There’s a dangerous air to him. “Pack now or you travel with what I bring for you.”

“Just leave me here,” I try again. “You can have the money-that’s why I’d be in danger, right? So you keep it. Just give me enough to live on, and I’ll stay out of your hair. Just leave me here.”