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

Rolling out the pelmeni dough is proving more challenging than I remember. Each push and pull seem to leave it lumpier than before. I glance around the unfamiliar kitchen, trying to find a better rolling pin or perhaps the bottom of a big jar to flatten the bunched-up edges. It’s what I remember my aunt doing.

The penthouse kitchen has no amenities, other than the ones I asked Maxim’s men to deliver to me when I got a hankering for pelmeni—small, meat-filled dumplings—earlier this evening. The truth is, they were my aunt’s favorite dish—the only one she could make—and she taught me how to prepare them. I’m not a skilled cook, but making them always makes me feel closer to her.

I lift a small piece of dough and hold it up to the light. Not thin enough. A sigh escapes my lips as I brush a stray strand of hair from my face and attack the dough with a renewed vigor.

“What did that dough ever do to you?” That voice. Smooth with a rough edge. Deep. Commanding.

My nipples instantly stand at attention. I glance up to see him positioned against the breakfast bar opposite me. He’s loosening his tie and shedding his cufflinks. His suit jacket is discarded carelessly onto a stool next to him. Leaning forward, his intense gaze captures mine, making my breath catch.

After Alyona and my brothers left, Maxim locked himself in his office with his men. He’s been barking orders into the phone all day and I’ve mostly steered clear of him, spending the rest of the day in bed, reading. It was hard to say goodbye to my family, and emotion still roils around in my chest.

When will I see them next? Do they feel like I picked Maxim over them? I did what I had to do, what I felt was best, and I hope they can see it that way.

“It’s not cooperating.” I pout.

Maxim might have been caught up in meetings all day, but it doesn’t diminish how delectable he looks. Rolling up his sleeves, he unveils strong, corded forearms. “Like what you see?” he asks, falling in line beside me.

“Would you believe me if I denied it?”

He chuckles, gently taking the roller from me. “Let me give it a shot,” he murmurs.

“What do you know about making pelmeni?”

“A little bit,” he admits, smoothing out the dough far more easily than I managed. “My grandmother raised me. I spent most of my boyhood in her kitchen.”

I freeze, hand halfway to a dish towel. My thoughts drift to that photo I found of a young Maxim. Plump cheeks. Bright eyes. He looked happy. Innocent. Although, peeking at him right now, he’s not the intimidating crime lord, just a man with soft eyes, kneading pelmeni dough.

“Tell me about your grandmother,” I say, hopping on a stool beside him.

“She was actually quite stern.” He chuckles. “You wouldn’t call her a soft woman, but then again, few of her generation could afford to be. The only way they could get through life was by being hard. She was the only constant parental figure in my life. And she did teach me how to make a solid pelmeni.” He pauses for a moment, reaching for the bowl of minced meat mixture that I prepared earlier.

I watch him take a small portion, placing it in the center of a dough circle and then folding it over before pressing the edges together to seal the filling inside.

“If the whole business-oligarch thing doesn’t work out, maybe there’s a career for you in the culinary arts.”

His eyebrows raise, and he huffs out a laugh. “Something to consider.”

Handing me some dough, we work side by side, stuffing each dumpling, making sure not to overfill them so they don’t explode when they boil.

“Where was your father? You said he was sometimes around.” It may not be my place to ask, but curiosity gets the best of me.

His face drops at the mention of him, his features settling back into their usual sternness. “My father was in and out of my life, but he lived hard and didn’t take an interest in me until I was old enough to train as an underground fighter.”

“Oh. Is that how you met Oleg?”

“It is. He noticed me in the underground circuit when I was fifteen. Saw an opportunity to make money. He’d bet on my fights and after a while, he decided to bring me on jobs as the muscle. I learned early on what kind of man Oleg was. The last job I went on with him was to collect payment on some guy in his debt. We went to his house that night, but he wasn’t there. His family was.” Maxim shakes his head and curls his lips in disgust. “Let’s just say, Oleg took his pound of flesh from the man’s wife and kids.” My stomach turns at the mention of my sadistic father. “That was the last job I ever worked for your father. I cut ties with him as soon as I could.”

I shrug sadly. “You won’t hear any arguments from me. He literally ripped me from my mother’s arms at birth and stole me away. Not because he wanted to raise me, but because he wanted to ruin the Kozlovs. And he nearly did. My mother killed herself not long after he took me away.” Ragged emotion clogs my throat. It’s a while before I can speak again. “I never got to meet her.”

“I’m sorry, lastochka,” Maxim murmurs, his fingers tenderly tracing the contours of my neck as he holds my gaze. “But you got your revenge. You should be proud of taking him down.” His words are laced with unmistakable pride, and his eyes shine with genuine affection.

A wave of emotions floods my heart, leaving it pounding fiercely.

Plus, he’s giving me a once-over. Probably has something to do with his dress shirt I have on, and the fact that I’m wearing nothing else.

He sucks air through his teeth, eyebrows pinching. “You look good in my clothes.”

“Then why do you look so annoyed?” I tease.

“What are you wearing under there?”

I look down, catching my breasts moving freely under the fabric, and feeling the cool air flit between my legs and over my bare pussy. “Nothing.”

His eyes darken. “Are you telling me you’ve been walking around the suite dressed in nothing but my shirt?”

I sense I’m in trouble, so I choose my words carefully. “I haven’t been walking around. I’ve been cooking!”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “If any of my men saw a glimpse of bare legs, there would be hell to pay. Do you want to know what I’d do to you?”

I clear my throat under his intense gaze. “No.”

“Maybe I’ll show you.”

“But we need to finish the pelmeni,” I argue weakly.

“Do you remember how I spanked you last night? I would tip you over my knees and do the same thing with my belt.” His voice slides over the words, thick with lust.

I blush, aware of my arousal coating my inner thighs. “Just for wearing your shirt?”

“For wearing just my shirt in front of my men. If they saw anything …” He swears under his breath. “I’d have to kill them. Slowly. Painfully.”

“I’m hardly naked!” I protest, but it falls on deaf ears. “I haven’t seen another living soul since you wandered in here! Konstantin texted to let me know the items I asked for were waiting in the kitchen.”

“Let this be a warning to you. Don’t wander around naked again. Konstantin is one of my best—it would be a shame to lose him.” He glances up at me, a hint of amusement playing on his lips.

“Jeez, caveman much?”

His gaze travels down my form, deepening in intensity with every inch it takes in. “Believe me, I meant every word. This” — he motions to my body — “belongs to me.”

“Agree to disagree.” I sidestep behind him, cranking up the stove’s heat to bring the water to a boil while dodging his intense stare.

I hear him rinsing his hands under the tap, and then suddenly, his arms encircle me from behind, pulling me tight against the warmth and hardness of his body.

God, he feels incredible.

He wraps his arms around me, his hands gently cupping my breasts over the fabric of his dress shirt as he presses his hips upwards into mine. Looking down, I notice his defined muscles in his forearms. His chafed fighter’s knuckles. He embodies raw, primal masculinity. I feel small and delicate beside him.

“Do I need to mark you? Tattoo you with my name so the world knows that this is my property?”

“Absolutely not,” I bite back, preparing for a fight.

The power behind my words is lessened when one of his hands dives between my legs. He finds me wet for him, and he groans into my neck while stuffing me with his fingers. I look down to watch them move against me, so excited by the sight.

So much for playing coy.

When my head tips back and makes contact with his hard chest, it’s like a switch flips inside him. His free hand winds around my neck as his lips graze my ear.

“Agree to disagree,” he mocks me.

The warmth of his large palm ignites a fiery sensation between my legs. How could I deny how turned on I am now? There’s no question he can feel my slickness, his hand coated in it.

How am I going to survive this man?

“The water is boiling,” I choke out.

“So it is.” His fingers move inside me with a newfound urgency, vigorous and demanding, each contact with my clit making me thrash against him. “Do you belong to me?” he demands.

The boldness of his question catches me off guard. My breaths are hard puffs of air, pleasure making me drunk.

“The pelmeni⁠—”

“Will be fine.” He pulls his fingers out of me for a moment and swirls them against my clit. His hard cock pulses against my back.

“Please,” I beg, teetering on the edge of an intense climax, so close it’s almost within my grasp.

‘Answer me,’ he repeats, easing off a bit.

I shake my head. I want to hold back. I really do, but Maxim is like a freaking magician, those clever fingers of his delving inside of me, only to come back out, circling and rubbing my clit, and driving me half out of my mind before filling me up again. I’m writhing against his fingers, my head thrown back, chasing an orgasm I can no longer deny.

Then nothing. He pulls his fingers out, leaving me empty.

No, no, no. That will not do.

“Yes, Maxim. Yes, I’m yours. Now please, make me come!”

He grunts and brings his fingers back where I need them most. “Come on my fingers, lastochka.” He sucks at my neck, the pain a counterbalance to the pleasure blooming between my legs. “Such a good girl. You’re made for me.”

As the orgasm hits, a loud cry bursts from me, the sheer intensity of it taking over. My hips jerk, riding the wave of pleasure, while his lips leave a path of searing kisses down my throat.

“And guess what?” he whispers. “I’m made for you too.”

I nearly jump out of my skin when he slaps my ass with his open palm.

“Never deny me again.” He turns around and drops the pelmeni in the boiling water like he didn’t just break me into a million pieces.