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

A shock jolts through me, ice seeping into my bones, wrenching me from blissful oblivion. Gasping for breath, my eyes shoot open to find I’m still in bed, except I’m drenched in freezing water. Bolting upright, I blink away the droplets clinging to my eyelashes, trying to make sense of what happened, when my gaze finds Maxim standing over me, an empty bucket dangling casually from his hand.

‘Fuck you,’ I splutter, pushing the wet strands of hair out of my face, my temper flaring as I scramble out of the soaked bed. My T-shirt clings to me like a second skin, heavy and cold against my shivering frame. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

“I suppose I can ask you the same thing.” Maxim’s eyes narrow, a flash of irritation crossing his features. He steps closer, his voice edged with authority. “You are to sleep in my bed, or did my order somehow slip your mind? I know for a fact that Nadya was clear that was a requirement.”

“I’m a wife in name only. You said so yourself. Just because you decided sleeping together is part of the arrangement doesn’t mean I agreed,” I shout, drenched and shivering.

‘You belong wherever I say you belong. This ring’ — he grabs my left hand in his much bigger one — ‘binds you to me. It gives me the power to determine your future.’

All my pent-up anger boils over, and I reach for a bedside lamp, hurling it in his direction. He bats it away before it hits him, breaking with a loud crash onto the floor. Regret immediately consumes me because I know there will be consequences.

He forces his next words out between gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Panic constricts my lungs, yanking away my breath. At one time, I believed he wouldn’t hurt a woman, but now… The way his eyes flash with violence, I’m not sure of anything. I inadvertently step back, toppling a chair with a loud thud, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Maxim to check the damage.

I’m shivering—whether from fear or cold, I don’t know. Maxim frowns as I wrap my arms around my shaking form. My nipples harden sharply, almost like diamond points, and Maxim doesn’t fail to notice. His eyes linger, bold and unapologetic, and it sends a jolt through me—part embarrassment, part something else I can’t quite name.

I wrap my arms tighter around myself, acutely aware of a weird kind of electricity in the air. A pull that’s hard to ignore, even though every rational part of me is shouting to do just that.

“Let’s call tonight a misunderstanding.” His voice is low and menacing, and I know better than to argue. “But from now on, know that I expect you in my bed every night.”

“Why?” I demand, even as anxiety pulses in my chest. “We won’t be intimate. You said⁠—”

“We are married. Even if this is an arrangement, I won’t have my staff gossiping about us keeping separate rooms.”

I scoff. “I don’t care about appearances. This marriage isn’t what I signed up for, anyhow.”

His expression turns thunderous, and every instinct tells me to drop it, leave the issue be. But as is often the case, my defiance wins out.

I rear back to slap him but his hand darts out, gripping my wrist. In the pale light coming from the window, I catch sight of his battered knuckles, the heat from his touch like fire.

“You keep on testing me, Kira. I’m starting to believe you want a reaction. Are you so eager to see what happens when you provoke your husband?” His dark voice presses against my ear.

I refuse to question why his words cause moisture to flood between my thighs and an ache deep in my core. Nope. No way. Not going there.

Instead, I run.

Rebellion drives me as I bolt from the room. My heart hammers against my ribs, adrenaline fueling my sprint. I can hear Maxim hot on my heels. What did I expect? And what the fuck is my plan? He knows this place like the back of his hand, and I’m soaking wet, running into the abyss.

His voice is mocking. “You want to run and me to chase you, don’t you, lastochka?”

My breath comes in sharp pants, equal part fear and excitement.

“How about this?” he continues. “I’ll close my eyes and give you a ten-second head start. But guess what happens when I find you?”

His footsteps cease behind me, and I continue down the stairs—more places to hide on the first floor. Or maybe I need to go straight out the front door into the streets of Moscow. But when I picture his legions of guards that stand at the entrance to the home, I think against it.

My mind races, trying to map out the floor plan in this labyrinthine house. My muscles scream in protest, but stubbornness keeps me moving. And the knowledge that, by running, I’ve already made the outcome worse.

Slipping into the kitchen, I quickly scan the room for a hiding place. The space under the island seems too obvious, and the cabinets are too small to conceal my frame. My gaze flits to the large walk-in pantry. Maybe it can lock from the inside.

I dart inside, pressing my back against the shelves laden with spices and canned goods. I fight to control my breathing, attempting to be as silent as possible. Even though I’m delaying the inevitable.

He’ll catch me, and I know my little outburst is going to come at a cost, but what that cost is remains to be seen. Will he take me over his knee or something worse? Tie me up and have his way— Shit, my mind is wandering into dangerous territory. Dangerous because I get a little thrill from defying him, the push and pull of power that underlies our every interaction.

I strain my ears, trying to discern his movements over the pounding of my heart. The kitchen is eerily silent, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator. Then the faint sound of footsteps on the tiled floor reaches me, slow and deliberate.

I hold my breath. The tension rises as he comes closer.

He doesn’t sound the slightest bit out of breath when he speaks. ‘You should have stopped to grab a towel. The water droplets from your clothes led me straight to you.”

I can feel Maxim’s presence on the other side of the door, mocking me. I clench my fists, cursing him, because he’s the reason I’m all wet.

As if he could see me, he chuckles softly, and it’s a sound that sends shivers down my spine. “Are you going to come out or do I have to come in and get you? Because if that happens, I won’t be responsible for my actions afterwards.”

I grit my teeth. As if I have a choice. My best bet is to walk out of here with my head held high and scream bloody murder if he attempts to put his hands on me. Which, in this house, wouldn’t matter since it’s Maxim’s, but if he’s worried about what the staff think, maybe that’ll dissuade him from the worst of his plans.

Chin lifted, I push the pantry door open and step out, meeting Maxim’s broody gaze head-on.

“Ah, so you want me to go easy on you?”

“I want you to leave me alone,” I reply, my voice as steady as I can manage.

With measured steps, he closes the gap between us and presses me against the wall, his hands landing on either side of me, caging me in. He’s barely touching me, but my skin tingles all the same.

“No such luck,” he whispers.

I should be a shivering mess right now, but I’m not—the warmth radiating off him is a stark contrast to the cold dampness of my clothes.

He leans forward and inhales deeply against my neck, sending goosebumps through my traitorous body. “That was fun,” he says darkly. The air is thick and charged. “Now, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Closing my eyes, I attempt to shut out his closeness and the inexplicable draw I have towards him. “You’re a psychopath.”

Maybe I’m crazy too.

“You were the only one who ran in the first place. You wanted me to chase you.” He lifts his dark eyebrows as if daring me to argue with him. “You knew this is how it would end, didn’t you? With you begging for my forgiveness.”

“The only thing I’d ever beg of you is to leave me the fuck alone.”

His eyes flash with heat that has me on edge. “In that case, beg me to leave you alone.”

This moment is not only a physical standoff; it’s a clash of everything we are—his control against my dissent, his power against my stubbornness, his secrets against my determination to unearth them.

I refuse to back down, to show any sign of weakness, even as my pulse races and my breath comes in short gasps.

“No.” I stand my ground.

“So defiant, lastochka.” His hot breath grazes my ear. “Beg me to let you go,” he purrs.

My jaw hardens and I turn my head, looking purposefully away from Maxim. “I will do no such thing.”

“Hmm, have it your way.” His hands lower and grip my hips, holding me in place.

What the fuck?

He raises his knee, his thigh planted firmly between my legs.

Oh. Shit.

The gusset of my panties is the only barrier between my pussy and the fabric of his expensive Italian suit.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?”

I don’t bother voicing my objection as I struggle in his grasp. It turns out to be the wrong move. He’s holding me firmly in place, and all my thrashing about is bringing my core in contact with his very hard thigh, again and again.

A whimper escapes my lips, heat blasting through my veins.

Holy shit.

As if he knows the effect he’s having on me, he only holds me tighter, pressing his leg firmly against where I need him most.

My brain cells are scrambling, too busy fighting against the pleasure I shouldn’t be feeling. Each movement, each brush against him sends waves of unwanted sensation through me. It’s like my brain has short-circuited, unable to process anything beyond this raw, physical response.

“That’s right. Get yourself off on my thigh, wife.” He spits out the last word like an insult.

He runs a single finger along my collarbone, a deceptively innocent touch. I shudder, releasing a low moan, surrendering to the sensation. How can I be responding like this, under his control and in a situation so twisted? I’m infuriated with myself, with my body’s betrayal, but I’m helpless to stop it.

“That’s it. Keep going. Rub yourself on me,” he growls, licking his lips and watching me with dark intensity, like he’s enjoying my conflicted pleasure. “Beg me to come.”

It’s as if every logical part of me has taken a back seat, leaving me at the mercy of these overwhelming, primal sensations. Maxim’s gaze grows more hazy, his breathing uneven as I hover on the edge of need and bad decisions. His hold on me tightens, his fingers pressing into my skin, the moment taking its toll on both of us. If I’m going to fall, he’s going down with me.

Just as I’m cresting the peak, unable to fight the wave building inside of me any longer, the kitchen light flicks on.

Nadya stands in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. Her usual composed demeanor crumbles for a moment as she takes in the scene before her—me, drenched and disheveled, pressed up against the wall by Maxim.

I stand there, trying to catch my breath, feeling a thousand different shades of awkward and exposed.

Maxim doesn’t even flinch. He releases me casually, stepping back with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. The sudden absence of his body against mine leaves me feeling cold, despite the warm flush still covering my skin. My T-shirt clings to me, my hair a wet mess around my face. I desperately want to shrink into myself, away from Nadya’s penetrating gaze and Maxim’s unsettling calm.

“I heard a noise,” is all she says, her expression shifting from surprise to disapproval. She’s seen much in this house, but I bet this is new. I’m sure it’ll only give her further reason to scorn me.

“We’re perfectly fine,” Maxim assures her, picking a piece of lint off his suit jacket as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. As if I wasn’t dry-humping her boss’s leg, about to reach orgasm.

Nadya’s eyes flick to me, heavy with judgment. Maxim being a lunatic, soaking me in ice water and chasing me around the house is certainly not my fault, but I bet she won’t see it that way.

Well, fuck her. And for that matter, fuck him. Maxim seems to be deriving way too much amusement from this moment.

“Excuse me,” I say, attempting to brush past Maxim to go… Where, I’m not sure, but I do know I need to get the hell out of this kitchen and as far away from Nadya’s intrusive glare as possible.

Of course, Maxim doesn’t allow that to happen. “So what will it be, lastochka? Will you be joining me in my bed, or would you prefer to sleep outside with the dogs?”

The dogs? This man is as savage as they come.

“Fine,” I hiss back. “I’ll sleep in your bed, but don’t expect anything else from me. My legs are sealed shut.”

‘We’ll see about that,’ he murmurs, his voice a low rumble.

Before I can react, his hand clasps my upper arm in a firm grip, guiding me past a frowning Nadya, towards the grand staircase.

Choosing the most remote bedroom in the house for my temporary sanctuary was my bright idea to hide from Maxim. I thought distance might grant me freedom. But now, as Maxim’s unwavering hold steers me, I see there’s no escaping his grasp. Maxim Belov is capable of finding me anywhere on his property. Anywhere in the city. Hell, I get the feeling he could find anyone anywhere in this world if he really wanted to.

As we enter his bedroom, a shiver racks my body. Maxim frowns like he disapproves of me being cold. Which is insane since he’s the reason I’m feeling this way.

Without further discussion, he grabs a dress shirt off the back of his chair and holds it out for me. “You need to get out of your wet clothes. Put this on.”

Perhaps if I was thinking straight, I’d argue that I have a closet full of clothes ten feet away, but I’m so desperate to be out of this wet T-shirt and for this night to be over with that I reach for his clothing.

‘Turn around,’ I demand, trying to reclaim some control.

Maxim responds with a cocky half-grin. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ he drawls. “I think I’ll sit right here and watch you.” His eyes glint with intrigue.

I’m about to tell him to go to hell and stomp off to the bathroom to change, but something stops me: the realization that I don’t entirely hate the idea of him watching me. In fact, the thought of making him squirm by looking at something he could never have, adds a wicked thrill. It’s payback time.

‘Suit yourself.’ With deliberate slowness, I peel off the drenched fabric clinging to my skin and toss it directly at him, maintaining unflinching eye contact.

Refusing to be intimidated, I stand my ground. He may think he holds the upper hand, having brought me to the brink of orgasm and now witnessing me strip, but I’m determined to show him differently.

I don’t cover my body, my full curves on display. He goes still, his gaze slowly lifting to examine my every inch. His eyes darken, and his body holds tension like a coiled spring ready to snap.

There’s twisted pleasure in knowing I have the power to affect him just as he affected me. Slipping on his shirt, I’m immediately wrapped in his rich scent. It smells like leather and something smoky—aged whiskey, maybe? Rich and undeniably masculine. Like him.

When I finally look up, there’s a slight quiver in his clenched jaw. Without another word, he turns and storms away towards the bathroom. Moments later, I hear the shower running.

I sure hope it’s a cold one.