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

The first touches of dawn lighten the sky by the time we make it back to the hotel. Maxim is in the shower, and I’m curled up in an armchair, watching the sunrise and wondering if I am foolish to believe he didn’t kill my aunt.

Maxim says he’ll give me full access to his private correspondence, diaries—anything to prove he had nothing to do with her death. He’s even promised to find her killer, and if anyone has the resources, he does.

At the end of the day, I have no reason not to believe him. Others might call me foolish, but I have to go with my gut and the lack of evidence that points to Maxim’s involvement.

Personally, I’m not sure where we stand. I accused him of murder, broke down sobbing in his arms, and then let him eat me out against a brick wall, culminating in the most delicious orgasm of my life. It’s not like we can go back to normal from here. There is no “normal” between us anyway.

The bathroom door opens and Maxim emerges wearing a towel, a puff of steam following him into the bedroom. I can’t help but stare at his tight ab muscles as he reaches up to dry his hair with a small towel.

I thought I had this man all figured out. Turns out, I knew nothing.

“You keep on looking at me like that, lastochka, and we’re going to end up right back where we started tonight.”

A shiver coasts down my spine and settles between my legs.

He releases a slow, deep chuckle. “I see you wouldn’t mind that. But first, you need some sleep.” He disappears into the closet and comes out a moment later, wearing boxers and nothing else.

Pulse pounding in my ears, I stare up at the ceiling and grit my teeth, trying to loosen the lusty thoughts rattling around in my brain. He pushes a button on a remote control and the blinds lower, enveloping the room in darkness.

We’ve never gone to bed together like a normal married couple, which is probably why this all feels so damn awkward. To me. Not to Maxim, who is already in bed, lying on his back with his hands under his head, staring at the ceiling. And hot damn, the covers are bunched at his waist, showing off his fighter’s physique.

Deep breaths, Kira.

What happened in the alley should have eased my hunger. But I swear, all it did was amp up my craving for him.

I lift the covers and settle into bed beside Maxim. It’s not like we’re touching or anything, but I don’t know which way to look or turn, so I opt for curling up, facing away from him. I won’t be able to fall asleep with the knowledge that if I open my eyes, Maxim is there beside me.

As my eyelids are getting heavy, he says, ‘You have nightmares. You cry out and thrash around. I thought it was about your father, but now I’m not so sure.”

I’m quiet for a moment. “Masha’s death is all my fault.’

He makes a noise of acknowledgement in his throat but doesn’t argue. He doesn’t try to convince me that it’s not on me or justify it six ways from Sunday. Instead of words, one of his strong arms wraps around my waist and hauls me into his body.

I stiffen, not used to being held like this, protected and cradled, but it feels good. Strangely, it feels familiar.

“They sent me pictures, you know, of her body, after … after everything they did.” I exhale sharply through my nose. Even though it twists me up to talk about it, somehow it feels like he has the right to know. “And a letter, describing everything they did to get her to talk. To put her in that state. When I close my eyes, that’s what I see.” He stills behind me, quiet. Listening. “The weird thing is, the nightmares have eased up recently. I have them, but I’m not waking up in a cold sweat.” I chuckle silently. “Until the nightmare I had the other morning. I’ll have you know, you were in it.”

Maxim exhales, his breath fluttering across my neck. “Perhaps it’s because her so-called murderer was comforting you every time you had a nightmare.”

“What?” I turn in his arms so I’m facing him. What the hell is talking about?

His fingers gently brush over my face, the faint lines framing his eyes softening in amusement. “I couldn’t stand to hear your cries,” he says simply as if that explains it all.

“So you⁠—”

“Held you. Like this.” His strong arms tighten around me, and he turns me so I’m resting on his chest. The thud of his heartbeat reverberates in my ear, and the scent of him fills my nostrils.

Holy shit. Talk about unexpected. Being in his embrace is comforting because it’s familiar. My heart twists, a little twinge above my ribs.

Why does Maxim care enough to comfort me? I was sure he disliked me, or at the very least, that he was indifferent.

“I really thought it was you,” I say. “When Anatoly told me your history with my father, coupled with the fact that you knew my aunt and she would have trusted you, all the pieces seemed to fit together.”

Except, they don’t fit together.

“Trusted me?” he asks.

“She kept a diary right at the end,” I explain. “I found it at her cabin outside of the city, where she was hiding out. She talked about someone she knew and trusted reaching out to her in her final days, offering her protection from my father.” I huff out a breath. “It made sense that it was you.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint.” His voice rumbles in his chest. “I’m also sorry I didn’t give your aunt’s murder enough thought before today. I didn’t know the details, but I didn’t take the time to find out.” Even though his words hurt, he’s not saying anything surprising. The world we live in has hardened us to death and violence, and Maxim sees it every day. “When we’re back in Russia, I’m paying Boris Ivanov a visit.”

My head whips up, and I meet Maxim’s intense gaze. “Please don’t hurt him,” I plead. “He was drunk. When Liza asked him about it when he was sober, he denied the accusation.”

“I’m no fan of Boris’s, but even he’s not stupid enough to make up something like this.” His voice is lined with steel. “He’s a gossipy piece of shit, but I want to know where he’s getting his information from.”

“Just don’t kill him,” I plead. “Even if he is a worm, he’s Liza’s father.”

“If he talks, we won’t have a problem.” He pulls my mouth close to his, and I want more than anything for him to fuse our lips together. “Lastochka, I meant what I said. I’ll help you get your revenge. I won’t let the crime go unanswered, but I still need you to play your part as my wife. Things are going to get even more dangerous, and I need to know that you’re safe. No more sneaking around and no more lies between us.”

A choked laugh spills from my lips. “You know I’m a trained fighter, right? I’ve been doing krav maga for years.”

“I don’t care.” I can make out his smirk in the dark as his two hands travel down the length of my body, before landing on each ass cheek. The possessive squeeze he gives my flesh says it all. “Don’t make me punish you again.”

“Fine, I’ll drop it for now.” I pause to think. With everything out in the open, there’s something I need to address. “You have to get Nadya to back off. She treats me as if I’m her lowly stepdaughter, not the lady of the house.” I swallow, taking a moment to choose my next words carefully. “I think she’s in love with you,” I admit.

He laughs, like the idea is ludicrous. “She’s not in love with me. She’s just overly protective. I don’t want you worrying about her,” he reassures me, gently tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’ll talk to her again. She needs time to come around. After Irina…”

I freeze. He’s talking about his mysterious first wife. I hold my breath, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

Roman and Nadya made it seem like Irina betrayed him. Even if she cheated on him, that’s not a crime punishable by death in my books. But Maxim lives by a different moral code. I have so many questions I want to ask—starting with why he killed her—but he’s staring at the ceiling, and I get the sense he doesn’t want to talk about Nadya or Irina right now.

We’re both quiet as I settle back on his chest, the only noise the rise and fall of our breaths.

Out of nowhere, Maxim’s voice cuts through the dark. “Does Alyona know?”

“Huh?” His question startles me from my turbulent thoughts.

There’s a moment of weighted silence. “Does she know you believed I killed your aunt and that’s why you married me?”

“She knows I had ulterior motives for marrying you, but she doesn’t know what they are.” I snort. “If either she or my brothers knew the truth, they would absolutely lose their shit.”

His voice is amused as his fingers slowly comb through my hair. I close my eyes—his touch is comforting. My body definitely doesn’t think of him as the enemy.

“You’re damn brazen, lastochka. I don’t know many people who would have the balls to take me on like you did. Since you’re far from stupid, you must be a little crazy.” He gently pulls at a strand of my hair.

I smile into the dark. “That should be clear by now.”

“Tell me something about Alyona. Something I don’t already know.”

I hold back expressing surprise at his question. “She has a real sweet tooth. Loves it all, especially sour candies and anything gummy. She loves dogs and hates cats. Well, ‘hate’ is too strong of a word, but you know what I mean. What else… She gets frightened during storms. Had a bad experience as a kid and doesn’t like being alone when there’s a thunderstorm.”

Maxim is quiet for a while, staring straight ahead. “Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“For sharing. These are things a father should know about his daughter.”

As my hands dance over his chest, he releases a tight breath. And when I move my hand lower and lower, finally dropping beneath his boxer briefs, he hisses into my hair and bucks up into my hands.

“Are you tired?” I ask him. “I know at your advanced age getting hard is sometimes⁠—”

He flips me on my back and settles between my spread thighs. “Shut up,” he says, pushing his rock-hard cock against my panty-covered entrance. “Does it feel like I have issues getting hard?”

No. No, it definitely does not.

“Sometime soon, I’m going to show you how virile I am. Trust me, that demonstration will leave you sore for a week.”

“Does this mean our one-month sex moratorium is off?” I taunt, and roll my hips up and into him.

“Fuck, yes.” He lets out a satisfied groan. He kisses behind my ear, and the gesture is sweet and does funny things to my insides. “But now, you sleep.”

‘Sleep?’ I pout. ‘Why waste time on sleep when we could be having fun?’

He makes an amused noise. ‘Because you’ve been through a shock. It may not feel like it, but your world has been turned upside down. Sleep now, so I can fuck you mercilessly tomorrow.”

So I do.