Chapter 4

Four

MAXIMILLIAN

Livia… I would say she ruined my night at the Crimson Angel, but her informing me about Duke and Janna’s loyalties allowed me to escape before I got trapped in the church whorehouse. Once the lights went off in the building, I knew it was a shit time for me to play saboteur. Despite the disappointment in not being able to ruin something of Strauss’s, I was happy to be alive and sleep in my own bed that night.

Our rendezvous was a week ago, but I have jerked to her every night since. Ever since I saw her last when I was a teenager, I wondered what she looked like grown and did the same. Now that I’d seen her, I can’t get her off my mind. I have to, though. She’s the enemy and, even though they have a fox on their family crest, the Von Dovishes are snakes, Franklin Von Dovish being a prime example of that. Can’t even be loyal to their own spouses. On East Side, loyalty reigns supreme.

“Here, take a look at these. Says your grandfather and great-grandfather paid the Strausses ten percent for protection.” Markus shoves another set of yellowed papers in front of me on the desk in my office. Rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, he rifles through another pile with his stubby fingers.

With a loud squeak, I situate myself in the wingback leather rolling chair, propping my worn black boots up on the mahogany desk. Our new housekeeper must have lit the fireplace along the far wall, making it cozy in here. The smell reminds me of when Papa and I would play chess on Sunday afternoons, and an involuntary smile jerks at the edges of my lips.

For once, I feel at home being man of the manor. Like this was meant to be my place all along. Papa never wanted this gig. It’s the reason he took us far away. I took more after my grandfather, who I was named after: Maximillian Leon. I always hated my middle name. It’s why Livia called me her lion once she found out what it meant.

She would chase me around the yard, roaring at me, her hands raised as if they were feral claws. My frame was small for my age, and she was tough as nails, but I would never admit how much she scared me. Any time she didn’t get her way, she made damn sure someone paid for it. I both loathed and loved when she would come over to play with Cal, Ace, and I. I was the one who told them she could join our “boys only” tree fort in the woods. Of course, she made me regret it by burning it down after I beat her in a foot race.

It just made me revere her even more.

“But there’s nothing about any deeds or titles?”

“No. I haven’t seen them.” Markus shakes his head and continues his organization efforts.

Tonight’s mission is to inquire about the business licenses I need to get our family shops back up and running. Unfortunately, Strauss is the only one who grants permission for any commerce in Gnarled Pine Hollow. If you want your business to operate in peace, you need that certificate with his signature. Not having the weapons for the threat of constant war if we open unlawfully, I’m choosing the legal route. Otherwise, history tells me it will just be a string of “mishappenings” in the form of raided theft, dead employees, or burned down buildings.

Filing through the pile of paperwork I’ve needed to go through for a week, I spot nothing of use. These documents have been in the family for decades and are important for the estate, found in the attic trunk by a worker. Some contain our land deeds, but none held the titles to the car washes and body repair shops that we used to own, fronts for our gun running from the armories.

“I have to get them back. The people of Gnarled Pine Hollow, my people of East Side have been sitting ducks ever since Strauss stole all our armories.”

“Well… not all.” Markus points to the oiled portrait of my father above the mantle. Behind it sits our family safe. Inside is the location of the rest of the armories that has been a Freidenberg family secret for decades. This past week, I spent time studying it carefully.

Sadness strikes me peering at Papa’s smiling face in the picture, wondering if I’m disappointing him by coming back.

When I was fourteen, trying to exert my independence, I threw in Papa’s face that I was an heir to the Freidenberg throne, could hold a place on the senate when I became of age after his death. The look in his eyes was of utter pain, forbidding me from ever coming back to Gnarled Pine Hollow, saying that it was too dangerous, but he didn’t understand the true threat lay in leaving. Anyone who had tried ended up dead.

You can’t just leave a family name, no matter how many fake government documents you have. Secrets and history run as deep as the river flowing through the center of town, probably masking blood and a flurry of murder weapons. There are too many wrongs that the four families have done to each other over the centuries to just let things go. He didn’t know then what I came to learn over the last eight years.

No one gets out of Gnarled Pine Hollow alive.

Rebelling, wanting to see my homeland, I sneaked out of our suburban house one night. I was angry at him for denying me such an auspicious title and grabbed a Greyhound all the way into town after stealing their credit card. I didn’t really have a plan, but when I stepped off the bus, I ambled into West Tech, where Cal was squatting at an old computer behind the counter. The city already looked so much different in the six years since we’d left, the whole of East Side appearing like a deserted war zone.

The heir of the foxes didn’t recognize me at first, but after a scan, he grabbed my shoulders, half in a warm embrace and the other with terror as he shuffled me to the back of their store.

“Max, you shouldn’t be here. If Franklin finds us… If Strauss finds us… you’ll be in danger.”

Swallowing down my questions, I let my old friend move us toward the warehouse. “I know, but I wanted to come back to see my house. Thought I would take over when I got to be eighteen.”

Cal’s worried brow scanned my face. “I try to hang out with Ace, but he’s taken up with some guys on South Side. I bet he’d want to hang out with us if he knew you were back, though. Maybe we could head to the park where there aren’t any cameras. Make it like old times.”

Livia waltzed in, then through the open garage bay in the back, looking like my wet dreams come true. Her long black hair and hazel eyes beheld me with that ferocity she always had, a small, smug smile on her face. I was stunned. No longer a kid, I was completely mesmerized by what the vision of her did to my body. Unfortunately, the sight of her gave me an instant erection that poked dramatically out of my jeans. To add to my embarrassment, she glanced down at it and smirked.

Just as I opened my mouth to tell her some stupid line, some of Strauss’s men entered the store, their hand tattoos flashing as they reached for their weapons when they spotted me. Wasting no time, the three of us took off.

During the long chase through the city streets, Cal ended up getting split off from us while Livia and I were cornered into an alley with one of Strauss’s tanks. He crept straight for her, probably thinking she was just another asset for their trade. I threw myself on him and beat in his face until he stumbled enough that I could grab his gun. Apologizing and backing up all the way, the guy took off with his hands in the air, but I was ready to shoot him dead even at that young of an age, all to protect my little fox.

“Lion… don’t. He’s gone. We’re safe now.” My arm shook from the adrenaline coursing through my veins, but steadied when Livia placed a hand on my bicep. When I turned to meet her eyes, we held each other’s gazes seriously for a long moment.

“Are you okay, foxy?”

She swallowed audibly, the motion causing her plush lips to purse. A little nod answered my question, but like a homing beacon, my focus was on her mouth.

“H-how have you been?”

Livia’s breath came out in a snort. “We aren’t friends, Max. You’re the enemy. I just got chased around town because of you.”

“I came back to see you.”

Rolling her eyes dramatically, she crossed her arms. “Yeah, right.” But briefly, I saw a moment’s hesitation. A vulnerability like she wanted it to be real. That fleeting face solidified it for me. Even at fourteen, I knew… I wanted her. Strauss’s rules and family lines be damned.

Brushing some hair back from her shoulder, I leaned forward to take my reward after a hard-fought battle. “Can I kiss you?”

With a slight gasp, her eyes widened before dropping to my waiting lips. “We aren’t supposed to be together. Y-you’re a Freidenberg, a bear⁠—”

“Yeah, and you’re supposed to marry some mafia asshat. I don’t care. Please?” Like a poison, she’d infected me. If I drank her, I may die, but she was worth it. Still staring at my jawline, she barely blinked. “Just one kiss, little fox.”

Shoving her bottom lip underneath her front teeth, she shook her head. And just when I was about to block her in with my body, she kneed me right in the crotch.

My last vision of her was running down the alley, granting me a pitiful look back while I doubled over in sheer agony.

Markus found me wandering on the street nearby and brought me back to Papa, who was so disappointed in me, he cried. I’d never seen my mother so upset, and I felt so guilty about what I’d done; I spent the next year just trying to make them trust that I wouldn’t run off again, rarely leaving the house.

Papa’s idea to join with the other two families to produce a majority senate vote got people killed. Strauss somehow received word of the clandestine unions and, because of that, carnage rained down upon us. My parents were likely betrayed by one of the other families. Or, perhaps, Strauss found out himself. I wasn’t sure which.

“They all had it wrong… my father and mother, Asa Donovan’s parents, and Calum and Livia’s. Thinking they could combine and make peace. Look where it got us. Fleeing from the Day of the Raging Bull.” I snarl with irritation. Day of the Raging Bull… like it was some fucking holiday. “Why did the war between the families first start all those centuries ago, Markus?”

My right-hand man sighs and slumps into the club chair across from the dark wood desk. “No one is certain. There’re only legends. Maybe your ancestor killed a Donovan or a Donovan a Von Dovish. Who knows? There’s just been skirmish battles ever since.”

“Tell me about that day.”

“Why do you want to go over that again, Max?”

“I just need to.” It’s like an accident I can’t look away from, the story I’ve been over time and time again. Each recitation makes me ache for my childhood memories safe behind some manor’s comforting walls, playing with my friends, yearning to make that a reality for my people’s children.

Markus knots his fingers together and looks at his lap. “Vladimir Strauss killed his father on his eighteenth birthday. We always said it was a blessing, not sure which Strauss was most vile. For Vlad’s birthday party, he sent his men to slaughter your family. Your cousins, your mother’s and father’s siblings.” He shakes his head, remembering, his eyes growing distant. “We put you all in someone’s old station wagon. Hid you and Ari under some blankets in the back. I told your father and mother goodbye and stayed. They raided the house after you left, but I got away.” Tears form on his bottom lids until they fall over onto his cheeks. He takes off his glasses and cleans them with his soft, white cloth. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

That night, my mama awakened me in a state of rare panic. She was trying to hide it with calm instructions, but told me to leave everything I had. All I wanted was my little Barracuda matchbox car. That’s it. But I had to leave it all behind. It wasn’t here when I checked the toy box in my room the day after we arrived.

“And you’re sure it was Strauss’s men.”

He sniffs. “The men had nothing visible. Everyone wore black, covered their faces and skin. I didn’t see tattoos. I still feel like it could have been Donovan’s men. They always wanted inside the armories. Plus, like the wolves they are, they always travel in packs.”

“Yeah, but the day Vlad took over was the day all our businesses were razed, right? That was the day the armories were commandeered by Strauss.”

Markus nods slowly. He seems unconvinced.

“Strauss is powerful; I know that, Markus. But I have to get our businesses and armories back, sire a son, and then kill him.” It will be the last thing I do. I just need to stay alive long enough to see my plan succeed or have a son who would do it for me.

Markus darts his eyes to mine, pleadingly. “Maybe it isn’t too late to leave again. It’ll keep you and Ari safe, Max.”

One doesn’t just leave Gnarled Pine Hollow. There’s too much violent history in our DNA to allow anyone solace, to leave without retribution. My parents were found eight years after they left. Someone burned them alive.

My entire world changed that night when Markus walked into my buddy’s place where we were just hanging out, doing everyday stupid stuff, probably. I knew it wasn’t good if he’d traveled so far to find me at a friend’s house. Barely a word was said as he drove me up to the site of horror. When I saw their blackened bodies being zipped up in bags and carried away, I knew right then my life was about to change dramatically. That was the moment I set my goal: Return to Gnarled Pine Hollow and take back the senate seat for the East, rebuild, and become the leader of the powerhouse our family once was.

For years, I considered that Donovan’s people did it. An emblem of a white wolf was emblazoned on the hood of the scorched car. Before I arrived, their charred bodies had been trapped inside and were only identifiable by dental records. Ace was already head of his family then, at the young age of twenty, but he was too busy gambling and whoring to be distracted by the Freidenbergs. If he killed my parents in retaliation for his sister’s murder, he had the wrong family.

Calum and Livia’s parents were sneaky fucks. Rumor is, Franklin Von Dovish had their mother poisoned and ran away with his mistress, leaving Calum in charge of the clan for the last several years. But outright murder? That wasn’t their style. Not even if they were trying to frame someone else. Plus, they had no motive. My parents had taken us away years before; we were no threat to them.

That only leaves Strauss… Probably out to prove that no one can escape him and get away with it, especially after my Papa’s secret meetings with the other clans. You can’t leave and you cannot disobey.

The butler interrupts my thoughts and alerts us that the new security guard has arrived. Jakob and Markus have been hard at work, setting up a full team. Stretching to a stand, I get up with Markus to greet him in the kitchen.

“Max, this is Derichs.” Markus points to a tall guy probably a few years younger than me. He’s built like one of the men I’d fight with in the cage, covered from head to toe in tattoos, including a black bear underneath his right eye, the Freidenberg house sigil. His caramel brown curls fall over his forehead, giving him a boyish look, but the deep set of his eyes tells me he’s dependable. “Adal Derichs, this is Maximillian Freidenberg, your new master. Max, Derichs is Jakob’s right-hand, and since you won’t allow Jakob to leave Arianna’s side, Derichs will go with you.”

Extending a hand across the newly remodeled marble island, I greet him with a firm handshake. He grips mine just as strongly. “Sir, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“You can call me Max, not sir.”

He smirks and nods. “I won’t get in your way.”

So, he understands my concern.

“I have to tell you, I’ve watched every fight you were in,” he says as he glances at Markus, who is now raiding my fridge for lunch. “The ones that were televised here, anyway. Picked up some good tactics for myself.”

“You fought?”

“Not as good as you, but yeah. MMA and some boxing, too.”

Sleeves of faded tattoos tell me he’s spent time as well. “You got put away?”

“Uh, I got caught by Strauss’s men for about six months when I was nineteen.” His lips curl into a nefarious smile. “You actually start to like the waterboarding when they don’t give you anything to drink otherwise.” Catching a hint of his old-world German accent, my shoulders relax. He’s my kind. Maybe a distant relative I had lost.

“Your father⁠—”

“And mine were second cousins, yes.”

A sad smile crosses my lips, remembering the day of slaughter Markus and I had just been discussing. “Do you have anyone left?”

The corners of his mouth and eyes tighten. “No. Just me.”

Taking a deep breath, I clap my arm around his shoulder. “And me. And Ari.” He nods quickly at my reassurance.

The older woman hired as our chef bustles in from the cellar, carrying a sack of potatoes. “Mr. Freidenberg! I didn’t expect the master of the house in the kitchen. Lunch will be served promptly in ten minutes. Would you prefer it in the breakfast area or the dining room?” It’s not a question; it’s a choice given to me like I’m a toddler. She clearly wants us out of her area, just as she has screamed all week at the construction workers trying to do their jobs around the manor.

“Sorry, Mrs. Kroft. We’ll get out of your hair. If you want to set a table in the breakfast area, we’ll pick at it before we head out.” Motioning to Markus and Derichs, we amble toward the living room.

Hanging dark wooden beams are now in their rightful place on the boxed ceiling, and the room is clean, but empty. Rich brown wainscotting covers two stories leading up to plastered white walls. A tinge of fresh paint hits my nose as I study the worker balancing on a tall metal scaffolding, repairing the centuries-old portraits of my ancestors displayed along the upper-level picture rail. Unfortunately, the skilled craftsmen Jakob hired were also insistent on fixing the old pipe organ, too, but no one had played it on my order.

Skirting around the sheet-covered furniture parked along one wall, we amble back to my study and connected library, neither of which had been touched, other than with a duster.

“So, tonight?” I address my advisor and new guard. Markus is right; I don’t trust anyone to be near my little sister other than Jakob, whom I met with (and threatened to within an inch of his life). He was my mother’s third cousin, our fourth. It made me feel better that he, hopefully, was not into familial relations. Now that I know Derichs and I are also cousins, I feel safer to have the two near Arianna.

Markus looks toward the young Derichs, raising his scruffy eyebrows.

“Oh, right. Um…” I can tell Derichs feels put on the spot, taking charge of security for the boss. He clears his throat and the bear tattoo under his eye folds into the skin with his concentration. “So, we’ll enter the side doors of the warehouse. Aries and Gemini are your two spies, sir—Max. I’ve been informed we have three exits. Here." Pointing to the ledger on the desk, he grips the edge as I slide it over. He produces an ink pen from a small case on his belt and flips the large calendar paper. On the back, he draws a rudimentary layout of the building the meeting will be located in.

As the ink flows over the paper, he discusses the strategy. “We enter through this door. And here are escape routes if things go poorly. We meet here if we get separated and here for rendezvous or retreat. Holland has point position here if they don’t see him, and Aries will be playing sniper tonight from here.”

Holland, another of Jakob’s security team. I hadn’t met any of my tanks yet, nor any of my spies. Derichs’s face meets mine for approval, and I study his sober brown eyes. He’s young, but he’s not reckless. He’s me about four years ago. And he, too, has a bone to pick with Strauss.

Derichs’s nature appears more serious than my own. That’s a good thing. Where I am brash, he can be more calculated. We’ll work well together, and I believe he knows what he’s doing. I won’t fully trust him; that would be unwise, but Markus’s words come back to me. The ones about having to rely on others. Adal Derichs seems like the place to start.

“Alright. This sounds like a solid plan. What’re you carrying?”

“Just my Smith and Wesson. Aries has the sniper rifle. The tanks and spies have handguns. We have a few rifles and one machine gun leftover in storage. There’s also a box of grenades in the dungeons below us, but I’m not sure if they even work.” He snorts. “We could try tonight.”

“Ha. Yeah, actually. Let’s take two. Just in case.”

Pulling out his phone, he instructs his lackey, Holland, to pick two up for us. I hear some argument, but Derichs handles it as a good manager would. Like a commander, he ends the call saying, “I expect them here in ten.” Slipping his phone in his back pocket, he sees me looking at him. “Taken care of.”

“Okay, I’ll talk with Strauss⁠—”

“Oh, it won’t be him. He never shows for meetings. It’ll be Sergei Antonov, his right-hand.”

I huff at the slight. “I’m Maximillian fucking Freidenberg. He’s not going to meet with me?”

Derichs and Markus cast their eyes down.

Taking a deep breath in, I calm myself. “Tell me about Antonov, then.”

“He’s a big brute. Ugly, too,” Markus says. “About my age now, I’d say.”

“Still got a good right hook,” Derichs says, rubbing his jaw as if recalling a run-in with him. He runs a hand through his dark brown waves and points to the shoddy map. “We enter here. Antonov will probably be here. His men will likely be here and here.” As he points his finger, I memorize the locations. “Antonov will say no to your business license request. Be prepared.”

“And then offer him something in return.” Markus stands and wanders toward the dark green marble fireplace along the far wall, gold veins glistening in the light of the flames.

“Like…” My mind scrambles to find something I could offer before doom strikes me. Fuck. “Like the armory locations,” I say, almost to myself. “The ones he doesn’t know about.”

Markus nods and Derichs appears unconvinced, but says, “I suppose so.”

“I can’t give him that. They can’t know that I know where they all are. It would be a sure way to get captured and tortured. Perhaps I could offer him 10% of the profits, like my grandfather and his father did.” Gripping a fragile document from the table, I hold it up for them to see. It was extortion, but that plan worked for hundreds of years before me. At least it left our businesses standing.

Markus’s jaw flexes. “Yeah... it did keep some semblance of peace for a while. See what Antonov says.”

“You want a drink?” Standing, I amble to the mirrored bar cart in the corner of the room. It has freshly cleaned decanters refilled with liquors. Hopefully, one is an old scotch.

Markus’s eyes sparkle behind the thick frames of his glasses. I remember Papa telling me he had a drinking problem back in the day. “None for me, thanks.” Licking his bottom lip, he looks like he wants to say anything, except no.

“Yeah, I’ll take whatever you’re having.” Derichs checks his gun and magazine before sliding it back in its hip holster.

Pouring two neat scotches, I hand him the crystal double. With a look of victory, I raise my glass to toast. “Should we drink to the old saying? The den of the beast lies in the east?”

Derichs nods, but with a small grin, his dimples fold into his cheeks when he says, “How about, good men die young… so, let’s go be badass motherfuckers!”

With a chuckle, I clink my glass to his. “I’ll drink to that.”