Page 69 of Unholy Tsar

“Wow,” I breathe.

“Stay in the car,” Maksim commands, getting out. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappears into the palace with three other men. They’re gone for a few minutes before I finally see them again. Maksim leads the way, a scowl twisting his handsome face. He says something to our driver that I can’t hear, then gets in beside me.

“What happened?” I ask, worried. “The owner didn’t want to host us?”

“I’m the owner. The problem is that the interior has been torn apart. Vandalized. Disrespected. Whoever did this must’ve thought the house was abandoned. They couldn’t have known who it belonged to. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have dared.”

I bite my lip as we leave the palace behind, a little disappointed that I didn’t get a glimpse inside its magnificent walls. But I don’t say anything. Instead, I put my hand on Maksim’s lap and try to quietly offer him some comfort.

He responds by placing his hand over mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze that fills me with warmth as we drive through this foreign land. By the time we arrive at the hotel, I’m barely awake. But I perk up a bit when Maksim lets go of my hand.

“Here we are,” he announces, and I peer out of the window in awe. The place is no less impressive than the palace, and it’s in the heart of Moscow, too.

Inside, the bustling atmosphere radiates with Maksim’s presence. Staff members instantly bend over backward to accommodate his ridiculous requests—which include kicking everyone off the top five floors.

I guess that’s where we’re staying.

The manager doesn’t even blink. He takes all of Maksim’s demands in stride. As he’s about to ask us to give him thirty minutes to prepare our room, someone shouts something in Russia and we turn to see a handsome older man approaching us with a jovial smile.

“I thought to myself, is that not the Tsar of America I see walking in? Maksim Smolov. What an honor.”

Maksim doesn’t budge.

“Mikhail Ivanov,” the man introduces himself. That seems to jog Maksim’s memory.

The two men shake hands. “I know who you are, Mikhail. I’ve heard of your business acumen. You’ve built quite the fortune over the past decade, haven’t you?”

Mikhail’s smile widens with pleasure as he turns to me. “And who is this pretty young jewel?”

It would seem Russian men are more polite and charming than their Italian counterparts. I smile at him and wait for Maksim to introduce us. Instead, he says something in rapid Russian that makes Mikhail give me a small bow and avert his gaze.

Puzzled, I look to Maksim for an explanation. I frown at Maksim, wondering what that was all about.

But he simply continues the conversation in Russian, leaving me out of the loop, and my frustration grows. I need to learn Russian if I’m going to stay by Maksim’s side. I hate feeling left out and not knowing what’s going on.

Thankfully, the manager returns to tell us our rooms are ready, and Maksim rounds up his conversation with the oligarch, who adds in English, probably for my benefit since he darts a quick look at me, “I would be honored if you’d join me for dinner tonight.”

I expect Maksim to decline—after all, we just arrived in Russia and need our rest. But to my surprise, he accepts the offer.

“I thought you’d say no to dinner,” I comment as we get into the elevator.

“Russia is different from America. We need to make the rounds first. Declining a dinner invitation from a powerful man like Mikhail could be perceived as an insult. Plus, I don’t want to step on any toes, especially since I’ll need their help with what I’m here for. I’m still a powerful man to be feared, but my power here isn’t as absolute as it is in the States.”

I nod in understanding. A moment later, the elevator opens right into a fancy foyer with a large twinkling chandelier. I gasp, taking in the luxury. Damn, I can’t even imagine how much a place like this costs per night.

Maksim doesn’t seem bothered.

My excitement dies down as I remember our plans for tonight. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how extravagant will tonight’s dinner be?”

“It’s going to be at Mikhail’s palace, so probably a 10.”

I gulp in dismay as I mentally flip through my limited wardrobe. None of my clothes are suitable for an event like that. “Shit, what am I going to wear?”

Maksim pulls out his phone and quickly types something. A moment later, I hear it buzz, and he looks back up at me. “I just took care of it.”

My heart skips. “You just bought a dress for me?”