9. Max

Fate is not something I believe in. Tarot cards, fortune tellers, horoscopes, or any of that woo-woo bullshit does nothing for me. If I was a believer, though, I'd be concerned that Fate is fucking with me.

The minute I set foot inside the restaurant, I see her standing by the bar, a phone in her hand. She looks up just as the door swishes shut behind me. The restaurant is busy. The air is hot and humid, heavy with the scent of garlic, aromatic herbs, and perfume. Music plays, people talk, and my eyes lock on hers.

Tonight, she's all dressed up. The jeans and vest tee are gone, replaced by a silky green dress that clings to her generous curves. Her dark hair is pinned up, loose tendrils framing her face.

Before I can question my motives, I'm striding across the room, ignoring the hostess who steps toward me with a bright smile on her heavily made-up face.

"Do you have a booking, sir?" she asks brightly but I brush past her without acknowledging her presence.

I had planned to eat here. The food is delicious, and although the place is packed, I know the chef.

Karim always finds me a table, even if it means kicking some other poor bastard out. We've been friends for many years. Every time I'm in the city, I make a point of calling in to see how many new grandkids he has.

"Malyshka," I murmur in a low voice. She stares up at me, her eyes wide with shock.

"Is it really you?" she whispers.

"Yes." I reach out and push a curl behind her ear.

Her eyes narrow and she pulls back. "Are you following me?"

"No." I'm genuinely not; this is a happy accident. But she frowns. No doubt she thinks I'm talking shit.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I don't lie." Mostly.

There's a pregnant pause, then she asks, "Did you go after Rick that night?" I watch as she looks at me intently, so many questions in her pretty pale-blue eyes.

"Rick?" I play dumb, even though I know exactly who she's referring to. The bartender watches us curiously while polishing a glass. He's well aware of who I am. I throw him a warning glance and he quickly scurries away.

"The guy I was with, the one who…" She looks down, rubbing her wrist subconsciously. If that asshole was nearby, I'd take great pleasure in killing him slowly. I may still do that if he ever shows up again.

Not that he's likely to after the explicit threats to his health and wellbeing.

"I did." I could elaborate, but unless she asks me to, I'm not going to.

"He disappeared that night and I haven't seen him since. Did you hurt him?" I can't tell whether she's upset or happy about what she thinks I've done to her ex. I'm hoping it's the latter.

"Would it bother you if I did?"

She frowns a little, then replies, "No."

I grin. My malyshka is not as sweet and delicate as I thought. Perhaps I should see where this takes me.

My brain reminds me that having anything to do with this woman is a terrible idea, but I'm not thinking with my brain right now.

"All you need to know is that he's never going to hurt you again."

"Is he dead?" There's a faint thread of hope in her soft voice and I almost wish I had killed the bastard.

"Sadly, no, but he will be if he ever comes back," I smirk.

She visibly relaxes. "Good."

It finally occurs to me to ask her why she's here, in Karim's restaurant all alone.

"I had a date. He left just before you arrived." From the way her plump lips flatten into a line, the date was not a success.

Which is fortunate for him. The thought of her on a fucking date with some other man makes my teeth clench so hard my jaw almost cracks. "And how was the date?" I manage to grit out.

She sighs and fiddles with her clutch. "It was OK, I guess. No chemistry."

Good. She won't be seeing him again. That's one less person I need to add to my kill list.

"Why are you here?" she asks curiously, looking over my shoulder to check whether I'm alone.

I pick up a menu and cast an eye over the specials. Not that I care what Karim is serving. He usually tells me what I should try and I trust his judgment.

"The food."

Once again her eyes narrow as if she doesn't believe me, but this is a restaurant and the food is good, so she can't accuse me of lying.

"Maxim!" a familiar voice yells. I look up to see Karim striding out of the kitchen in his chef's coat, sauce splattered over his big belly, a wide smile on his face. "Hannah only just told me you were here, my friend!"

My malyshka shrinks away as he hustles in our direction.

"I have to go," she mutters, and before I have a chance to say a word, she ducks under my arm and practically runs to the entrance.

"You must try the sea bass this evening!" Karim is jubilant as always. The guy adores food. This restaurant truly is a labor of love for him. "And the chocolate hazelnut creme brulee is to die for, even if I do say so myself." He chuckles, oblivious to my irritation that the woman I'm apparently obsessed with has run away from me. "Oh, I'm sorry," Karim says eventually when he finally notices I'm not listening. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No." I sigh. There's no point chasing after her. She'll be long gone by now. And besides. I'm leaving tomorrow.

"The sea bass sounds good, Karim. I'll take a bottle of your best wine, too." Karim slaps me on the back.

"Good man. Your usual table is waiting." The couple who occupied it ten minutes ago have left. Presumably they were paid to leave, with their food packed up in a box.

I take a seat and listen as Karim tells me all about the new baby his daughter gave birth to last month. He's a good man and normally I enjoy the small slice of normal I get when I come here, but tonight, all I can think about is her.