The Master (The Game Maker #2)(54)

“Did that surprise you?”

“Utterly.”

“Is he in the mafiya like you?” I asked.

“In the years we were parted, he became a gunman, and I became the head of my own operation. Not quite rivals, but certainly not allies.”

“Gunman? As in a hit man?”

“He’d probably prefer the term enforcer. He was basically a soldier for his boss, fighting against a rival syndicate. But no longer.”

“And you want to go into business with him.”

“The more I get to know him, the more I see he is ruthless but honorable. For all his faults, he’s an honest man. The idea of partnering with someone I could actually trust is mind-boggling to me. Together we could take over Russia. But he doesn’t trust me yet. Two months ago, he feared having his fiancée in the same room with me.”

“Why would he ask you to be his best man?”

“At Natalie’s prodding, I’m sure.”

“Why did he feel that way about you?”

“He heard I’d turned into a callous man who enjoyed playing with others’ lives. He believed I had grown up to take after our father—or at least the coldhearted, scheming side of him. We despised our father.”

Had that man whipped Máxim’s back? “Was Aleksandr right about you? Being scheming and coldhearted?”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Yes. It’s called being a politician. Though I do admit to goading Aleksandr. When he thought me a danger to him, I gave him no reason to disbelieve it. Not for many years.”

A danger? “Why?”

“Maybe because it amused me.”

Por Dios. “Why were you separated from your brothers?”

He skirted the question, saying, “Only from one. Dmitri and I remain close.”

They talked often enough.

“With Natalie at his side, Aleksandr improves. But Dmitri . . .” He trailed off. “What?”

“He’s angry and damaged by events in the past. I struggle with accepting that he always will be.”

Those same events must have something to do with Máxim’s scars. Did Dmitri bear similar ones? Did Aleksandr? “I’m sorry.”

“I sit in the middle between two brothers. One tells me the future can be bright, and the other tells me the past will darken all of our days. What do you have to say about that?”

“Both could be right. It all depends on what kind of man you are.”

Quiet.

“Máxim, what if Dmitri turned his life around, despite his past? A sword has to know the anvil and hammer just to be born, no? What if he realized that if he could overcome whatever makes him angry and damaged, the victory could be the very thing that makes him stronger?” I could only hope this for myself. Better things await you. . . .

“Understand me,” Sevastyan grated, “I would do anything for that.”

“Would you? Then why don’t you do it first, then show him how?”

A gust of breath left his lips. “You led me right into that, didn’t you?”

I held his gaze. “Somebody needed to.”

He stared at me, silent, for what felt like an hour. Then he abruptly rose and left the room.

“You’re welcome for dinner,” I muttered. “So glad you enjoyed it. Same time next year?” Furious with myself for thinking we’d been making progress, I headed to the torchlit balcony.

The air was as warm as on our first night in the pool. At the balcony rail, I gazed out.

Somewhere down the beach, a band played Latin music, soft strains reaching me. Sailboats dotted the dark water, their masts alight for Christmas.

I heard him joining me. Without a word or a touch he stood behind me, so close I could perceive the heat from his body.

We stayed like that for long moments. The temptation to sink back against him and tug his arms around me grew irresistible.

Movement. I blinked down. He’d draped a breathtaking string of pearls around my neck. Each pearl gleamed in the torchlight. The strand must have cost a fortune. Why would he give me this?

His lips brushed across my nape in the tenderest kiss.

This was what he’d been debating all day! He’d vacillated about whether to give the escort a present, then left to pick it up.

When he turned to go, I caught his hand. “Why?”

He pulled away, but I heard him mutter, “Because this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”





CHAPTER 24




“Here,” Sevastyan said gruffly as he handed me a state-of-the-art laptop.

It was Christmas morning, day eight of my retreat, and I’d been reading a business journal on the couch when he approached. “Another gift?” I was happier that he was talking to me than I was over the new computer.

Last night, before I could ask him anything, he’d left the hotel in a T-shirt and shorts, coming back two hours later, sweating and sandy. I’d been disappointed to miss a chance to run with him on the beach. Then he’d introduced me to aggressive, teeth-clattering, sweaty-man sex, and I’d forgiven him.

“Yes, another gift,” he said.

“Then spasiba, Máxim.” Oh, I could tell the Russian liked that.

“Pozhaluysta. You’re quite welcome. But it comes with a catch. There’s a folder of real estate proposals that have been submitted to me.” He sat beside me, all casual, setting up his own laptop. “I’m going to assess them. If you like, you can look at them as well, and give me your take.”