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

“Syrniki,” Nadya announces, unceremoniously dropping a plate of Russian cheese pancakes in front of me.

Why Maxim’s assistant is serving me breakfast when there’s a cook and an army of waiters nearby is a mystery. I assume it’s to spread her loving joy first thing in the morning. Or possibly to poison me.

Across the table, Maxim is hidden behind a raised newspaper, effectively blocking me from his view. The only part of him visible is his hand, occasionally darting out to grab his tea cup. I think I see a bruise on his knuckles, but it could be the lighting playing tricks on me.

Flanking Maxim are the two men I met briefly at our wedding. Pavel Ivanovich is the one with blond hair. Strikingly handsome but cold, he looks like he stepped out of a Viking legend. The other is Roman Vasiliev, with deep brown eyes and dark wavy hair that many women would pay good money to run their fingers through. He seems the friendlier of the two. Exactly what these men are to Maxim isn’t clear, but I get the feeling they’re his right hands.

Pavel is vibrating with intense energy, one foot tapping under the table while he stares at a spot directly above my head. Roman is sitting back, lounging like a king, and sexting God knows who. The look in his eyes as he concentrates on his phone can only be described as devilish.

Nadya slides into the seat next to me, a plate of toast as dry as the conversation at this table in front of her. She raises an eyebrow at my plate, judging the stack of jam-drenched pancakes in front of me.

I take an extra-large bite, letting out an exaggerated moan of delight for Nadya’s benefit. She eyes me with disapproval.

“Mmm, you guys are missing out,’ I say with a little grin. The pancake is ridiculously good, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. As I catch Nadya’s eye, I add an extra flourish, swirling the pancake in the jam. I know I need to get on her good side, but I’m starting to wonder if she even has one.

Maxim snaps his newspaper shut and folds it into a crisp rectangle, clearly preparing to get down to business. Everyone else follows his lead, sitting up straighter. Roman even stows his phone.

“Give me a rundown of my schedule?” he says to Nadya.

Like an efficient little robot, she pushes her plate away, and without missing a beat, picks up her tablet and starts scrolling. “At nine, you have a meeting with the board of directors at XD Industries,” she begins, her voice crisp and business-like. “Then at ten thirty, there’s a conference call with your European contacts regarding the new shipping routes. Lunch at noon with the finance minister at The Grand. It’s about—” She glances up briefly, looking at me like my presence is a nuisance. “Well, you know.” Returning her gaze to the tablet, she continues, “At three, you’re inspecting the new construction site, and there’s a video conference with the legal team about the recent acquisitions at four.’ She swipes her fingers across the screen. “Your night is reserved for a private event with the⁠—”

“Clear my schedule for tonight.”

Nadya looks up from her tablet, bewildered. “But the ambassador⁠—”

“Can be rescheduled.”

Maxim’s gaze settles on me, and for some reason, a blush climbs up my neck and warms my face. When Maxim gives me the full weight of his attention, it steals the breath from my lungs.

“What are your plans today?” he asks me, like I have a life here. Like we didn’t only get married yesterday. Although, in this instance, I actually do have plans.

“I am going shopping with an old friend of mine, Elizaveta Ivanova. I’m sure you know her father,” I say, sipping my black coffee.

If Maxim is surprised at my acquaintance with Liza, he doesn’t show it. “Good,’ he remarks, his eyes scanning my outfit—a sleek, leather jacket paired with distressed jeans and a form-fitting top that says What Would Joan Jett do? “You’ll be expected to join me at various public events in the next few weeks. You’ll need to elevate your wardrobe accordingly. I’m sure Nadya can advise on what’s suitable.”

Uh, yeah right I’m taking fashion advice from someone who looks like she’s perpetually attending a funeral.

I lift my chin. “I’m sure I can choose my clothes without her expert guidance.”

He runs a palm over his jaw and assesses me carefully.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we? Roman will be your guard from now on. He will accompany you everywhere. And unlike fashion, that’s not up for debate.”

“Great.” I force a smile. “What I always wanted. A babysitter.” Roman might seem laid-back, but I have no doubt he’s tasked with spying on me, which means I have to tread carefully around him.

Roman snorts and shrugs his shoulders. “Babysitter? Please. I’m like the cool uncle but with a gun.”

Maxim leans back, stretching in a way that showcases his powerful frame. I look away as butterflies flutter in my stomach. Even in a suit, he can barely conceal his ripped physique. Shit, this is not where I want my focus.

“I need a word alone with my wife,” Maxim announces.

Everyone seems to do a double take, and I wonder if it’s because he referred to me as his wife for the first time ever. Roman and Pavel rise and leave the room without another word, but I can sense Nadya hovering. One sharp look from Maxim sends her packing.

I’m curious what he has to say to me privately since everything else about our arrangement seems to be known within this small circle.

Dropping his napkin in front of him, Maxim drums his fingers on the table. “Have you spoken with Alyona recently?”

I’m surprised by his question. Now that he has someone else under this thumb, I don’t see why he cares. “What? You’re not monitoring my communication?”

His jaw ticks. “No, but if you keep on being a brat, I’ll start.”

“Whatever,” I mumble. “It’s none of your business. It’s not like you care about her. You demonstrated that very clearly.”

A shadow crosses Maxim’s face. “I’d still like to know how she’s doing.”

I gesture to my phone. “You’re welcome to call her.”

“I doubt she’d like to hear from me.” He sneers.

“True.” I look at my nails. “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

A muscle in Maxim’s cheek twitches, and I have to suppress a grin. He reaches into his front pocket, retrieving a sleek brown wallet. From it, he pulls out a black Amex card and slides it across the table towards me.

I don’t reach for it.

“I have my own money,’ I say, not liking the idea of being in his debt.

“That’s not how this works, Kira. You’re no longer the New York mafia princess, free to do whatever you like. You’re a Belov now. My wife. What is expected of you is a level of decorum and respect fitting the Belov name.’

I’m tempted to ask what exactly defines the Belov name—abduction, perhaps dark rituals?—but he leans forward and runs a thumb over my knuckle, and I swear my brain checks out.

“When you’re out with me, I need you to look every inch my equal.”

We lock eyes for a moment, the room crackling with unspoken tension.

“What does it mean to be your equal?”

His eyes briefly dip to my lips, before meeting my stare. “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

Before I can ask what the hell that means, he’s already exiting the room, not sparing me another look. On his way out, I catch a glimpse of a pistol concealed beneath the hem of his Armani jacket.

Respectable businessman, my ass.