Shattered Crown: A Dark Mafia Age Gap Romance (Kozlov Empire Book 4)
Chapter 16

I swirl the whiskey in my glass and stare out my office window into the darkness beyond, my phone pressed against my ear.

“We have a lead on Chun Leung, the Black Company operative in Moscow,” Viktor tells me. He’s my head of security and intelligence. As a former special forces operative, his security and surveillance training is an invaluable asset to my operations. “Check your phone. I just sent a picture over.”

I put my phone on speaker and swipe until I’m looking at a grainy black and white image. It shows two men on the steps of a building. One is Henri Blanchet, and the other must be Leung.

“They were last seen together here, in front of the Tretyakov Gallery. The security cameras didn’t give us a super clean image of him, but it’s enough for our team to work with.”

I allow a rare smile. “Finally some fucking good news. Make replaceing Leung a priority.”

Things have been quiet with the Black Company, but it’s the calm before the storm. I’m planning on taking our first wine forgery to auction in New York soon, and that will surely light the fuse, setting off a war with them.

‘We will,’ Viktor assures me. ‘Now that we know what Leung looks like, we’ll use facial recognition software to sift through the city’s CCTV footage and track him down.’

“Keep me updated,” I say and hang up the phone.

I check my watch. Kira is keeping me waiting. Not that I’m in a rush to go to the mayor’s dinner tonight. Everything about that man sets my nerves on edge, but I do business with him, and I’ll have to introduce Kira to my world eventually.

The quiet is abruptly broken as the door flies open. I turn to see Nadya, her face flushed with agitation.

“Your new wife is impossible to deal with. I give up,’ she declares, her voice crackling with frustration.

I set my glass down, arching an eyebrow, as a pang of irritation moves through me. Nadya is not known for hysterics, but Kira seems to push all her buttons. “Are you trying to tell me she’s running late?”

Nadya bristles. “No. I’m here to tell you she’s dressed like a common whore, even though I specifically chose an outfit and left it out for her.”

I sigh. This shit again. Kira is a force of nature, strong-willed and independent, while Nadya thrives on control and tradition. The two were bound to clash. She wants Kira to heel to her dominance, but that’s never going to happen.

“You don’t have to deal with her,” I remind Nadya sharply. “She’s my issue, not yours.”

“But your problems are mine to bear.” Her voice is soft and pleading. She comes closer, laying a hand on my arm. “You know everything I do is for you. I want to make this arrangement more bearable.”

“If you want to make it more bearable, replace a way to get along with Kira.”

Nadya was never going to be happy with any woman by my side. After Ilya’s death sent my world into a tailspin, she quietly stepped up, taking on more responsibilities. With no lady of the house, she filled that void, which worked fine until now. But she’s acting like a rabid guard dog these days, and it’s wearing on my nerves.

Nadya sniffs disdainfully and folds her arms. ‘It’s impossible to get along with a traitor like her.”

Traitor? A prickle rises on my neck. Something about that word doesn’t sit right.

Before I can respond, the door swings open and Kira enters, looking like sex on a stick. She’s wearing four-inch heels, delicate fishnet stockings, and a form-fitting dress that hugs her curves like it’s been painted on. Like the vixen she is, she looks right at me, gauging my reaction as she slowly rests a hand on her hip.

When she sees Nadya sneering, she flashes her a shit-eating grin before addressing me. “Ready to go?”

White heat licks the lining of my stomach. I run my tongue over my teeth and try to hold back the impulse I have to throw her over my lap and show her exactly what I think of her outfit. And the smirk on her face. And the way her tits look like the perfect handful. I manage to hold back—barely.

“Leave us,” I say to Nadya, who obliges. ‘What kind of statement were you looking to make tonight?’ I ask Kira as I lean against the wall, arms crossed in front of me. “We’re going to a dinner party at the mayor’s residence, for fuck’s sake, not a club in the Arbat district.”

Kira’s eyes, heavy under thick lashes, lock onto mine. She snares her plush bottom lip with her front teeth. “No statement. It’s just a dress, Maxim.”

Just a dress … that makes me want to push her against the wall and fuck her with no mercy. I guarantee I won’t be the only one having this reaction to Kira tonight.

I force my face to remain neutral, but inside my blood is boiling. “You’ve met the mayor, Kira. You saw what kind of twisted fuck he is. So on top of the many business matters I have to deal with tonight, I also have to worry about him lusting after you?”

She shrugs. “So? Why did you marry me if not to have a hot young thing hanging off your arm? You’ve made it clear you have no interest in my business sense or intellectual contributions. Why not enjoy the view?”

I don’t miss the note of vulnerability in her voice. Maybe because she’s so young and way too fucking brash for her own good, but something inside my chests twists knowing that this ruthless world will eventually dim her light. Starting with me.

“We don’t have time for you to change,” I say, glancing at my watch. “Don’t go anywhere with the mayor alone. And for fuck’s sake, be on good behavior.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll be the perfect society wife exchanging recipes for borscht and talking about the latest styles to hit the runways.” She blinks up at me, innocence personified.

Why do I have this nagging feeling that I’ve dug my own grave?

My young wife has charmed the hell out of everyone here. The mayor and his wife, Zoya, are as intrigued by Kira as the other guests: Ludmila Vetrova, the famed ballet director from the Bolshoi Theatre; Grigor Grigoriev, a distinguished conductor for the Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra; and Tim Burke, an American tech mogul.

Any subject that comes up—from the latest production of Giselle at the Bolshoi to the current world financial market trends—Kira holds her own. She is polite, witty, and charming, and so goddamn beautiful I can hardly look at her because it scrambles my brain.

That, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to be Pyotr’s problem. The mayor’s eyes have been glued to her all night—her legs, her tits, even watching her lips as she speaks. I’d shank him right here if we weren’t surrounded by his guards. Either Kira is oblivious or a great actor because she makes it seem like he’s the most charming man on the planet, and trust me, that couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s as charming as a sprouted old potato, which incidentally he resembles.

As soon as the last dinner plate is cleared, I turn to Pyotr, an insincere smile pulling my lips. “I think it’s time for a nightcap.” Code: we need to talk business. Alone.

But his eyes are still glued to my wife’s chest as she continues an animated conversation with Ludmila. “Maybe in a while. I want to show Kira my sword collection.”

Not fucking happening.

“I would think you want to hear about your cut in the Albanian deal.”

That sure gets his attention. He leans towards me, swirling the wine in his glass. “Is that already paying dividends?”

Kira’s gentle laughter floats across the table, and his eyes are drawn back to her. I’ve had enough. He may be the mayor, but I run this fucking city.

I stand up, my chair scraping along the oak floor. “Excuse us,” I say to the table, buttoning up my suit jacket. “Pyotr and I have some business to discuss.”

Curious eyes land on me, but I don’t acknowledge anyone else at the table. Entering the mayor’s office, I fix myself a cognac and make myself at home, taking a seat in Pyotr’s office chair.

The mayor enters the room shortly after and freezes, watching me closely. I pick up the 1928 Babe Ruth signed baseball I gifted him last year after he granted my construction company exclusive rights to build a complex of skyscrapers downtown. His eyes ping pong, following the ball as I toss it from one hand to the other.

“You really need to put this behind some sort of glass,’ I suggest coolly. ‘You know, precious items can get damaged or lost so easily if not properly cared for.”

“Too true. Too true,” Pyotr agrees, taking the seat across from me. “I like to admire it sometimes without the layer of protection.”

“We all like pretty things, but we can’t play with them if they’re not ours.”

He misses the meaning of my words as he leans forward, rummaging in a teak box on his desk. If he wasn’t so stupid, I’d swear he’s purposefully baiting me.

Thwack.

The sudden noise reverberates through the room as the baseball smashes against the window. The impact is loud and startling, but the window, being bulletproof, doesn’t even crack.

Pyotr’s head snaps up, his gaze darting to the undamaged window and then to me, shock in his eyes. “Why would you do that?!”

“Because I require your attention and you’re too busy rummaging around for a fucking cigar.”

Pyotr’s face tightens and he sits back down, clutching a cigar between his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he huffs. “I’m too drunk to talk business right now. How about we meet at Cabaret Le Rouge Monday night? There are some new faces you don’t want to miss.” By “faces”, he means tits and ass because Cabaret Le Rouge is Moscow’s elite strip club.

“I don’t have time for that.”

He nods, taking a puff off his cigar, exhaling a plume of smoke that lazily drifts towards the ceiling. “Passing up an opportunity to get your dick sucked at Cabaret? Is this about your new wife? I didn’t think a man like you would ever get remarried, but she is a hot piece of ass.”

Fire shoots through my veins, and I consider using the baseball as a weapon to pummel his face.

“Because if I was married to a woman like that, I’d keep her bent over⁠—”

Without clearance from my brain, I reach into the back of my waistband, my hand curling around the cold metal of the Sig. As I disengage the safety, the door opens.

Zoya pops her head through. “Please tell me you are done talking business. We’re about to serve tea and medovik.” Layer cake.

My hand slowly uncurls from the metal tucked into my waistband, and I straighten the lapel of my suit, looking down at the worm in front of me. If it wasn’t for his wife, a saint of a woman for putting up with him, I’d be calling in a clean-up crew to the mayor’s fucking house. He doesn’t get to talk like that about the woman wearing my ring. No one does.

Dragging a slow, steady breath into my lungs, I stride out of the mayor’s office. The urge to see Kira is overwhelming, a stark contrast to the fury that had me unraveling moments ago.

I storm through the room, my gaze scanning for her.

There she is, laughing with that American dickhead, Tim. A deep, possessive instinct floods my veins. First the mayor, then this asshole making her smile.

Kira’s eyes widen as I approach. Lacking the patience for politeness, I send Tim a get-lost look. He gets the message and slinks away. I take his seat, but rather than maintaining a respectable distance, I lift Kira and set her down on my lap—right where she belongs.

She can’t mask her surprise, her eyes meeting mine. ‘Everything okay?’ she asks cautiously.

A muscle in my jaw twitches. ‘Everything’s fine,’ I say tersely. ‘But I think it’s time we started acting like newlyweds.’

She nearly chokes on a laugh. ‘I see.’

Ducking my head, I kiss her neck, eliciting a shiver from her. She smells like cinnamon and cloves, her skin unbelievably soft beneath my lips as if I’m pressing my face into satin. I go further, my hand trailing down her side to her legs. Her eyelids flutter shut for a moment, lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. The contrast between the softness of her skin and the rough texture of the fishnets ignites a surge of desire.

She looks at me as though I’ve sprouted a second head, but she doesn’t pull away, and I notice her pulse quicken at the base of her flushed neck.

“What are you doing? This is not part of the plan for tonight,” she hisses through gritted teeth.

“Actually, it is,” I murmur, my breath brushing her neck. The room buzzes with conversation, but it’s clear we’ve captured everyone’s attention. “We’re here to put on a show, right? Let them see how your husband affects you. How much you crave his cock.” She goes still, caught off guard by my blunt words, or the way I lean in and sink my teeth into the delicate curve of her earlobe. “Don’t you, lastochka?

Her body tenses and she lets out a little whimper, which might have something to do with my thumb absently brushing circles on her inner thigh.

“Fuck.” The word comes out of her mouth as a half-whisper and half-moan.

I like the effect I’m having on her. I especially like that Pyotr’s watching us from across the room as he reaches for another shot of vodka.

Good.

Something territorial flares inside me, a raw emotion that sparks like an uncontrollable blaze. Let the mudak understand that she’s mine. Let the whole room take note and spread the word throughout Moscow. As I’m considering dragging Kira into the closest bathroom, Zoya materializes in front of us.

“Maxim, you must come and hear what Tim has in store for the Global Tech Conference. It’s groundbreaking, but some advice from you would be invaluable.”

I clear my throat, grounding myself into the polished businessman everyone expects, though I can’t muster any enthusiasm.

‘You should go,’ Kira says as she stands, her eyes revealing a flicker of disappointment, quickly concealed as she smooths her dress. ‘Grigor offered us season tickets to the Philharmonic. I should take him up on that.’

I don’t need season tickets anywhere; all I have to do is show up at an event, and doors open. But Grigor is a true gentleman, and I’d prefer she spend time in his company rather than Pyotr’s.

“Get us the best seats in the house,” I say, and because possession still pumps through my veins, I pat her ass, not caring that her response is a not-so-subtle death glare.