Chapter 1 - The Shadow of Maverick’sThe air inside Maverick’s grew ice-cold the moment Adrian Markov laid his black card flat against the polished wood of the bar.
Trevor Ashford’s eyes darted down to the embossed gold lettering. In the high-society circles of Chicago and New York, the Markov name was spoken only in hushed, terrified whispers. Adrian Markov wasn't just a powerful venture capitalist—he was the undisputed head of an international crime syndicate whose reach stretched from the docks of Eastern Europe to the highest corporate towers in the Midwest.
Harper Lane let out a small, anxious gasp, taking an involuntary step back, her champagne glass trembling in her manicured hand.
"M-Markov...?" Trevor stammered out, every drop of arrogant color completely drained from his face. His confident demeanor shattered into pathetic, panicked fragments. "I... I didn't realize... Camilla, what is this?!"
Adrian didn't glance at Trevor. His broad, towering frame remained positioned as an iron shield between Trevor and me, his slate-gray eyes fixed entirely on my face. His grip around my waist was firm, protective, and unmistakably possessive.
"I gave you an order," Adrian spoke softly, his Russian accent dropping into a quiet, lethal register that made the surrounding patrons back away toward the exit. "Walk away."
Trevor swallowed hard, his jaw working silently as he looked from Adrian’s severe, scarred face to my fingers, which were still clutched tightly against Adrian’s black shirt. Realizing he was outmatched in every conceivable way, Trevor grabbed Harper’s arm and practically dragged her toward the front entrance, disappearing into the dark, rain-soaked night.
I let out a shuddering breath, my knees suddenly feeling as weak as water.
Before I could stumble, Adrian’s grip tightened around my waist, lifting me slightly off my feet to steady me.
"Are you alright, malaya?" he murmured near my ear, his deep baritone carrying a strange, unexpected warmth.
"I... I think so," I whispered, looking up into his storm-gray eyes. "Thank you. But... what did you mean when you said your enemies were called?"
May you like
Before Adrian could answer, the double glass doors at the rear of Maverick’s shattered in a sudden, explosive spray of crystal.
Four broad-shouldered men dressed in dark tactical jackets flooded into the bar, pulling suppressed sidearms from beneath their coats.
Related Stories
