The Arrangement: An Age Gap, Mafia Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)
The Arrangement: Chapter 7

The sight in front of me defies belief. Mabel, normally a trembling ball of nerves around anyone but women, is pressed against Maksim as if he’s the safest place in the world. Watching the little dog replace solace in the arms of a man she’s just met—especially a man like Maksim—my heart softens a bit more toward him.

Ty speaks up, ‘Man, you must have some kind of magic touch with animals.’

Maksim offers a shrug. ‘I have a daughter,’ he says simply. ‘She taught me gentleness.’

The admission strikes me, painting a picture so at odds with the man I thought I knew. The idea of him as a doting father nearly floors me. There’s a depth to him, a complexity that’s both intriguing and alarming.

Ty, never one to miss a beat, turns the conversation, his tone playful but pointed. ‘So, you’re married?’ he asks, testing the waters in a way that’s bold, a little reckless, and painfully obvious.

Maksim’s response is immediate, his gaze replaceing mine. ‘I am not,’ he confirms. ‘I was actually hoping Tory would do me the honor of going to dinner with me.’

The room seems to pause, the air charged with anticipation. Ty, sensing the shift, lets out a sigh and takes the chihuahua from Maksim. The dog, not pleased with the change in custody, growls her displeasure. ‘Easy, girl,’ Ty soothes as he turns to me. ‘Don’t let your food get cold, Tory.’

He carries the chihuahua out of the room, leaving me to process Maksim’s unexpected invitation. The contrast of this moment with the earlier tension is disorienting. Maksim Morozov is asking me out to dinner. Not as a demand, but as… what? An offer? A date?

My mind races, torn between the practicality that’s guided my life these past months and the flicker of attraction I can’t seem to quell. Maksim is dangerous, a fact I haven’t forgotten. But he’s also a father, evidently, and a man capable of gentleness and warmth. The contradiction draws me in, despite my reservations.

The moment hangs between us, charged and heavy. I want to say yes, to accept the dinner invitation that feels like an olive branch and a chain all at once. But the memory of his initial ‘deal’ crashes over me like a cold wave—the offer that had nothing to do with dinner and everything to do with a transaction I can’t stomach. He had dangled freedom from my debt in exchange for a night in his bed, a proposition that had soured my view of him from the start.

Drawing in a deep breath, I replace the courage to hold my ground, to confront the man and the people behind him with the full force of my integrity. ‘I don’t care what you or your people do to me,’ I begin, my voice steady despite the tremor of fear that threatens to undermine my resolve. ‘ And I don’t know what you have in mind with this date, but I won’t have sex with you to clear they debt.’

His reaction is not what I expect. A chuckle, low and surprisingly warm, escapes him as he shakes his head, a gesture that seems almost… amused.

‘The debt is already cleared,’ he says simply with a sweep of his hand, as if it’s the most natural conclusion in the world.

‘Wait, what?’ I manage to stammer out, my voice betraying the turmoil of emotions churning inside me. “A few minutes ago, you were telling me I still had to pay. Asking me how much money I had.”

His response is almost nonchalant, a slight tilt of his head as he considers his words. ‘Consider it my good deed for the year,’ he says, but there’s a depth in his gaze that suggests it’s more than just a whimsical act of charity. ‘ I don’t want any obligations between us. I’d like to take you out on a date. But only if you say yes because you want to, not because you feel you have to.’

His admission sends my mind into a tailspin. There are a million reasons to reject his offer: the shadow of the dirty business clinging to him like a second skin, the veiled threats looming over my shop, the unsettling possibility that he or someone he commands could be behind Ned’s untimely demise.

He’s woven from danger, a fabric too volatile, too uncertain for someone like me, who craves stability, who’s fought tooth and nail for a semblance of peace in a world that seems constantly against her. He’s unpredictable—this thought echoes in my head, a mantra that should dictate my next words, guide me toward the safe choice, the smart choice.

Yet, as I look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity I hadn’t expected from a man of his reputation, my resolve wavers. There’s an honesty there, a genuine interest that goes beyond the transactions and power plays that define his world. It’s disarming, unsettling in its intensity.

Before I can marshal my thoughts, before I can weigh the consequences one last time, my mouth betrays me. ‘Yes,’ I hear myself say, the word slipping out in a rush of adrenaline.

His smile, warm and unexpected, slices through the tension. ‘May I have your number?’ he asks, a simple request loaded with implications.

I replace myself moving toward the counter, almost on autopilot, and grab one of the business cards in my apron pocket. As I scribble down the digits, the reality of what I’m doing sets in. I’m giving Maksim Morozov, a man who both intimidates and intrigues me, a direct line into my life.

He takes the card from me, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The brief contact sends a shiver up my arm, an electric charge that’s both startling and exhilarating.

Without warning, he lifts my hand to his lips, kissing the back of my knuckles. The gesture, so unexpectedly gentle from a man of his status, ignites a response in me that’s both immediate and intense. I’m reeling from the rush of sensation, the physical reaction undeniable and disconcerting.

‘I’ll text you. I’m thinking this Friday,’ he says, grounding me back to the moment.

All I can manage is a nod, my mind still racing from the contact, from the anticipation of what’s to come. As he turns to leave, Ty and I stand there, a silent duo watching him exit the shop. There’s a palpable shift in the air, a sense that something significant has just been set into motion.