We had a lot to talk through. I feared his answers might break us.
ALLIE
“Hey,” Max said softly, caressing my cheek. “I’m right here. No one can hurt you.”
“I know.” My reply was watery; I’d barely managed to suppress my tears on the way back to my place, and now that we were cuddled up on my couch, I couldn’t hold back my emotions anymore.
Max’s brow furrowed, and he gently brushed a tear from my face. “I hate that my cousins scared you,” he growled. “I’ll never let them touch you again. I swear.”
“It’s not that.” I drew in a hitching breath. I couldn’t put this off any longer. No matter how badly I craved for Max to kiss away all my worries.
His thick fingers stroked through my hair, soothing. “Then what is it? You’ve been upset ever since I picked you up from work.”
“It’s everything!” I burst out, and he blinked in shock. “All of this: the Mafia, the Bratva, my dad…” I cut off that line of thought before I could spiral. I wanted to focus on Max and his family, not the rot at the foundations of my own.
“Why are you loyal to them?” I asked, somewhere between a demand and a plea. “Your cousins are awful. Your sister is cruel to you. And you… You’re not like them,” I finished, unable to ask about his violent streak. I’d seen him beat up Gavin, so I knew he was more than capable of brutality. What turned my stomach was the possibility that he drew blood on behalf of his criminal family.
His jaw firmed, and his eyes tightened with pain. “I told you from the very beginning that I’m a monster. I never lied to you about that, Allie.”
“You’re not,” I insisted hotly, holding up a hand when he opened his mouth to argue. “I know you, Max.” I placed my palm over his heart. It beat hard and fast beneath my tender touch. “I don’t know everything you’ve done, but I do know you. What I don’t understand is why you haven’t distanced yourself from your family when they are obviously horrible to you. I’m not talking about their criminal activities,” I clarified. “I’m talking about how I’ve seen them treat you.”
If I could make him see how terrible they truly were, maybe he would forsake them. Maybe we could begin to untangle this mess between us and find a way to be together without the threat of his family coming after me.
I remembered the cold steel of his cousin’s blade against my throat, and a shudder of residual horror shook my body. Max’s stony expression melted, and he pulled me close to his muscular chest. I leaned into him, allowing this strength to envelop me. This was how it should be: Max and me, together. With no threats or vendettas separating us.
“They threatened me because they know you care about me,” I said quietly, cajoling rather than accusing. “That’s not something a loving family would do. That’s not love, Max.”
“Sometimes love is hard, but blood is everything.” He said the rote response like a well-worn litany. It wasn’t the first time he’d told me that.
My heart squeezed. What had they done to him to secure this twisted loyalty?
I peered into his face, and he absently rubbed at the scarred flesh around his eye. My stomach dropped as something awful occurred to me.
“How did you get that scar?” I whispered, my heart fluttering too fast in my chest.
He went utterly still, his face carved from granite. “Why would you ask me that?” The question was harsh, meant to shove me away from his pain.
“Tell me, Max,” I insisted, although I kept my tone gentle. Volatility brewed just beneath the surface of his skin, and it would explode into a fiery wall of protective rage if I pushed too hard.
I didn’t want him to be angry anymore; I didn’t want him to hurt.
His chin tipped back, and his nostrils flared. “I was being a disrespectful little shit, so my father burned some respect into me,” he seethed, flinging the words at me like daggers. “I was a worthless bastard back then: I had no sense of duty or loyalty. I was drunk—like I always was—and I accused my father of being responsible for my mom’s death. When I was the one responsible. Me.” Shame colored his cheeks, and twin white flames flickered over his night-black eyes.
“That’s not true,” I countered, my voice wavering with tears. Pain for him pierced my heart. “You told me the Russians stabbed you. You almost died. There was nothing you could’ve done.” My own rage swelled. “Is your father the one who ordered my mother’s murder?” I demanded. “Because if everything you’ve said is true, then it is his fault that the Russians came after your mom. You did nothing wrong, Max. And your father…” My stomach churned, and I swallowed down bile. “He burned you? He did this to you?”
I touched the ruined flesh on his brow, and he flinched away, his face twisting with anguish. Suddenly, he drew me into a tight hug, bracing one hand between my shoulders to hold me close.
“Allie.” He rasped my name, and something wet warmed my cheek. They weren’t my tears.
I wrapped my arms around him and tucked my face against his chest, clinging to him. His heartbeat hammered beneath my ear, as though he’d been sprinting a mile. He didn’t have to answer; he didn’t have to say aloud that his father had burned his beautiful face. I knew the truth now.
And the truth had cut too close to the awful suspicions that’d assailed me all day.
“So, you believe me now?” Max rumbled. “You believe that your father colluded with the Russian Bratva to murder my mother?”
I cringed, but I only pressed myself deeper into his arms. “I don’t want to believe it,” I whispered. “But Mike told me that my dad had an anonymous Russian informant that broke the Mafia case for him. You said he worked with the Russian Bratva to bring down the Mafia. He didn’t keep a record of the man’s identity. Why would he keep it secret? And now, I think the Ivanovs might have Bratva ties. They’re my dad’s biggest donors. They’ve paid him millions. And today…” I choked on the admission, unable to put the awfulness of it into words.
“Tell me what happened.” He soothed me, stroking my back with his big, warm hand.
I blew out a shuddering breath. “I tried to pull my mom’s autopsy and the arson report, but they were missing. How could they be missing? The D.A.’s office said something about losing the files, but how could they lose the files about the mayor’s wife’s death? I wanted to prove to myself that she died in an accidental fire, but now I can’t. I can’t prove that my father is innocent, Max.”
I sobbed into his chest, and he let me cry for a few minutes.
I felt him hold his breath for a moment, as though debating saying something. Then he admitted, “I have the original autopsy and arson report.”
I stiffened, but he kept me caged against his chest. “You took the records?”
“No. Kelvin McCrae had them. He confessed to me that your father asked him to make the reports go away, but McCrae held onto them as insurance. That’s how I found out that your mother was murdered and that my family was responsible. I have the evidence, Allie. But I don’t want you to have to see it.” He kissed my forehead, and I burrowed deeper into his arms. “Do you believe me now?” he murmured against my skin. “Do you believe that your father is guilty of everything I’ve told you?”