Page 70 of Bratva's Intern

Nik rounded the car and assisted him. Maxim let him, though his posture was stiff, his movements slow. Should Ifollow them? Lingering by the car, I stared after them. Would he really not invite me in?

“Wren, come on in,” Nik called over his shoulder. “This might take a few minutes.”

Relieved, I hurried after them, the heels of my new shoes clicking against the stone pathway. I stopped at the entrance. I shouldn’t be here. Nik was the one who extended the invitation, but it was clear Maxim didn’t want me around.

When else will I have the chance to be inside Maxim’s house?

That thought pressed against my ribs as I stepped through the heavy double doors. The space swallowed me whole.

I’d expected wealth—of course—but this was something else. It wasn’t just expensive. It was cold, calculated, built for intimidation. It was Maxim.

The floors gleamed like polished obsidian, smooth and dark beneath my feet, reflecting the low glow of recessed lighting along the towering walls. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, disappearing into shadow. Everything was clean, sharp, minimalist in a way that felt more curated than lived in.

My god.

To my right, an open-concept living space sprawled out, furnished in sleek blacks and cool grays, the furniture looking more like modern art pieces than anything someone would actually sit on. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, revealing an inky night sky.

To my left, a floating staircase of glass and steel twisted upward, where Nik was guiding Maxim with slow, measured steps.

“Do you need help?” I took a step toward them.

Nik shook his head. “Wait here,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Maxim didn’t spare me a glance. He was moving stiffly,still shaky, his grip tight on the railing. I didn’t like how he leaned into Nik, as if he didn’t trust his legs to carry him.

He wouldn’t even let me help him. I’d thought we were getting along.

Did you think he was interested in you?

A part of me had secretly hoped tonight wasn’t all about business. Clearly, it was. I clenched my jaw.

Nik kept his hand close to Maxim’s back but didn’t touch him, giving him just enough space to preserve whatever shred of dignity he had left. As much as I wanted to be up there—demanding answers, making sure he was okay—I wasn’t part of his inner circle.

But god, I wanted to.

I did as Nik had said. I waited.

At first, I stood in the grand entryway, hands shoved into my pockets, unsure if I was even allowed to breathe too hard in a place like this. But the longer I stayed there, the more my eyes wandered.

This was my chance to learn something.

Maxim was a mystery. I’d seen him in control, seen him lose it. I’d heard fragments of his past, glimpsed a vulnerability I knew he didn’t want anyone to see. But this house?

This could tell me more than Maxim ever would.

My footsteps barely made a sound as I walked toward the living room, taking it all in. A massive stone fireplace stretched along one wall, but there was no fire, no warmth.

This wasn’t a home.

It was a museum. A display.

My stomach twisted.

I moved deeper inside, taking in the details. Because that was all there was. Details. No personal touches. No family photos. No clutter. Even the furniture looked barely used.

In the corner of the room stood a sleek, black grand piano.

It was the first thing that didn’t match the sharp, controlled aesthetic of the rest of the house. It wasn’t a showpiece; it lookedused. The bench off-center, a single sheet of music left on the stand, like someone had sat down in a hurry and forgotten to put it away.

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