The sound of a coaster followed by a mug set down on top of it made my eyes fly open. I studied the glass magazine table, where he'd set my hot beverage, and sat up, albeit reluctantly. It occurred to me Max wasn't someone I could let my guard down around, at least not yet.
"Thanks." I picked up the mug and sipped from it tentatively.
"So," Max began as he sat across from me and rubbed his hands together as if the arctic chill from the air conditioning had started to affect his ability to keep warm. "I gave you the time you needed to make a decision. I don't need a drawn out explanation or reasons for why or how you've made up your mind. I only want to know if you're in or out? No further commentary is needed from you at this point."
I arched one of my eyebrows at his casual disregard for my opinions. I didn't give a crap how he felt about me where feelings were concerned but I sure as hell wasn't the type of woman who allowed a man to treat me like I didn't matter.
"I'd think with the delicate operation you are planning, you would consider a woman with a brain an asset. I'm not going to go along with everything you think we should do. I will want a say with how we intend to handle the initial set up. If this is a problem for you then find another bimbo to be your ‘yes' girl," I explained in a calculating voice.
"Actually, I'm hoping that person is you. There is an air about you … a certain ‘Je ne sais quoi' I can't explain or put my finger on. I don't want a ‘yes' girl and I have a feeling you will challenge me. None of that is wrong just so you know."
"The answer's yes."
"Yes?"
"Did I not say that in English because I sure as hell know I don't stutter."
"I expected . . ." Max trailed off, his blue-green eyes magnetic in the suite lit by natural sunlight streaming through the open curtains. "I don't know . . . I assumed I would have to do some serious work trying to convince you to do this at all."
"Well, you don't." I stood and walked to the floor to ceiling window. There was a gorgeous view of the whole area and in the distance, I could see as far as the beauty and majestic qualities of Lake Tahoe.
"Thank you, Magnolia."
"Mags," I stated simply, my back to him.
"I will let our employer know we will proceed."
I turned toward him and admired the distance between us. I should have felt nothing for him. From what Max had shown me of himself, he was an egotistical jerk who was obviously a misogynist that probably used women like the toilet paper he wiped his ass with after taking a dump. Good as a necessity and although they had an intended purpose in his life, they were easily disposable and immediately replaceable.
Why couldn't I frighten myself enough to believe this man would hold me in the same careless regard? Furthermore, why did I feel anything remotely close to attraction toward him at all?
"I look forward to hearing what he has to say," I murmured.
Less than a minute later, I heard the door to the suite open and close.
Unfortunately, I didn't know whether I should feel elated in the slightest sense or just a feeling of absolute and utter fear at the beast we would eventually unleash in our target.
One thing was for certain. Angelo Abandonato would not take our plan or its consequences without putting up the fight of his life.
Chapter Four
Maxwell
Max knew what he should have expected and what could possibly be expected though with Magnolia, he found his razor sharp instincts failing him and he didn't appreciate it at all. She was certainly an unusual and peculiar woman though she kept him on his toes and was nothing like he expected her to be given the environment she'd grown up entrenched inside.
The White Knights were an MC he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy but not only had she thrived under their care, she seemed very sure of herself in who she was as a human being. Refreshing, when he thought about the lost, damaged souls he'd come across in the past. Pathetic creatures who believed in the "woe is me" attitude and bowed down to it like it was a form of religious dogma.
None of that could be found in Magnolia. She certainly didn't feel sorry for herself and yet, she still held on to a shred of her own humanity. Her past should have been her undoing and yet it appeared to be-in its own twisted, unexplainable way-what would ultimately redeem her.
He didn't allow himself too much time to contemplate the fate of Magnolia Reynolds. He had a boss to answer to, after all, and Dimitri was not the kind of man who appreciated or believed in delayed gratification. He expected answers promptly and courteously. He would definitely want to be made aware of the new developments in the works and he would be quite thrilled Magnolia had decided to join "their" side.
Even if she didn't know it yet.
Max didn't have far to go to visit the man he worked for and considered his only family. His real family was dead to him though his mother was actually a complicated situation he never had the time or energy to think about. Whether his father and brother knew about him wasn't his problem; they knew enough to stay away, even if they had any suspicions. Neither of them were worth the lives he'd viciously ended without a second thought, and he preferred to keep it that way.
The more of an enigma he remained in this particular situation, the better.
He was merely a cleaner for Dimitri Koslakov and that was all he was known to be with good reason. Raymond Jackson, Angelo Abandonato and the MCs in the area respected him and realized he was apart of the Koslakov Mafia. They never questioned him about his past because as far they were concerned, he'd come to America with Dimitri.
Over the years, learning Russian and speaking nothing but the language with his mentor, he'd nailed the slight accent of an immigrant. Though his parents were born in other countries and fled to the United States, he'd been born on American soil.
Although he worked for a Russian, he often used his Irish passport outside of the United States. He bore a French last name but it was false, and his real last name adorned both passports and his birth certificate though his driver's license, social security card and other documents used to work, live and pay taxes were all legitimate documents. Unfortunately, they were based upon a real human being his own age-a man he murdered a long time ago-and his identity assumed by Max.
He'd lived a lie for so long, it was hard to remember who he was exactly. However Dimitri was a good teacher and the longer he worked for him, the easier it'd become to live with the deception and untruths. It was part of his identity now like the color of his hair and eyes, his fair skin that lightly tanned in the summer and returned to its natural alabaster in the winter, and his manipulative nature.
Max found his mentor in the VIP Room where gorgeous waitresses who were also call girls entertained guests in the high-roller area of the casino. The minimum was five thousand dollars per bet and there were plenty of Dimitri's "friends" from Russia along with other wealthy businessmen who happened to be in the area. Unfortunately, the call girls were Raymond's-Dimitri couldn't use his women he brought over through human trafficking since one dumb bitch had tried to seek help from a john. The guy was smart enough to report back to Dimitri. The whore was disposed of and from then on out, the trafficked girls were kept in brothels around the Tri-Cities area while Raymond got a small cut of the profit and provided willing women over the age of eighteen.
"Goddamn it!" Dimitri swore in Russian as he played poker with a few of his associates he happened to be entertaining from the old county. "Yevgeny, you got lucky, my friend, but it won't happen again."
"Maybe it will . . . but perhaps it may not. Poker is a game about skill. Alas, you don't have as much as you believe you do," Yevgeny responded in a sly manner before he winked.
Max smirked, knowing if it had been one of Dimitri's boys who had insulted him that way, they would have received an icy smile and a bullet to the brain. Yevgeny was not only an acquaintance but also head of the Kitaev Mafia. They started out as criminals but he now owned a football team in England and a British newspaper too. Although considered a friend of sorts, Dimitri merely tolerated him rather than liking him per se, this Max knew as much.
His mentor eyed him with icy blue eyes and smiled before he stood. "You can carry on the next round without me. I have to talk to Max."
Yevgeny tsk tsked rather prominently. "The way you play favorites is unbecoming of a man of your stature, Dimitri. Do not grow like these lazy, fat Americans and start wearing your heart on your sleeve. Our biggest advantage is our coldness. It comes not only from whence we come but also the desperation of what men like us had to do to make it-to survive. Never give that up. Without our brand of fear and humiliation, we have nothing."