Bratvas vow, p.16
Bratva's Vow, page 16
Instead, I got absence.
And then the footage. Grainy, black and white, time-stamped at 2:14 a.m. Wren, slipping out the door like a ghost, like he meant to vanish.
No note. No explanation.
Just gone.
After everything—after last night—I thought I’d been forgiven. I thought his kiss had meant something. That the way he clung to me, opened to me, let me in… that it was real.
But I’d been wrong.
He’d used me. Used my affection for him against me. He’d slept with me to lower my guard. To give me enough comfort to dull the blade before driving it in.
And that, somehow, hurt more than I wanted to admit.
He left me.
I knew he was hurt. I knew he was angry, but although everyone else told me he would never forgive me, I never believed it. Because we had something worth fighting for, dammit.
But he left.
Sergei drove in silence, reading the mood. No one said a word.
My hands rested on my knees, fingers curling and uncurling like they were trying to find something to hold that wasn’t breaking. I wanted to reach for him. To pull him into my arms, but his rejection stung more than anything else. What if he came willingly into my arms? What if I believed once more that he’d forgiven me? Only for him to run again?
My heart couldn’t take it. I’d trashed my office out of frustration. Archie had sent all the staff home and closed the office for the rest of the week. His fear that I might snap and shoot someone who offended me was real. But he was partly wrong. A gunshot wouldn’t be satisfying. I needed something solid in my hand that I could use to bash against a hard surface over and over until nothing was left of it. Violence boiled beneath my skin, waiting to bubble over. Waiting to flood the city in blood if I hadn’t found Wren.
The car pulled up to the driveway.
Clean gravel. Gated security. Everything that was mine, everything under my control.
Except him.
Archie stood waiting with Nik and Dezi flanking him. I climbed out of the vehicle first, holding the door for Wren. He slipped through the other passenger door. A muscle ticked in my jaw. I slammed the door shut and clenched my teeth.
Jess pulled in behind us, stepped out, and crossed her arms, eyes flicking to Wren, then to me. Her resentment radiated from her.
“Dezi,” I said, not looking at Wren, “take him inside.”
When Dezi gestured for him to follow, Wren didn’t move.
He lingered by the car, eyes finally on me now, narrowed, uncertain. “You’re not coming inside?”
“I have work to do.”
He blinked, inhaled sharply, and sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. For a second, I thought he would accept my words without questioning me. I should have known better.
“So that’s it?” he asked. “You get my best friend to betray me. You drag me back from the motel, then walk away? You don’t have anything to say to me?”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t trust myself to.
Because I was terrified of saying the wrong thing and pushing him away again.
I turned away.
“Dammit, Maxim, don’t walk away from me.”
“You’re embarrassing yourself by making a scene,” Archie said sharply from behind me. “Go with Dezi and don’t make any more trouble for Maxim.”
Irritated at Archie for reprimanding Wren, I spun to face him. Only Jess was already in his face, stepping protectively in front of Wren.
“Don’t talk to him that way,” she snapped, shrugging off Nik’s hand when he reached for her. “If Maxim had told him the truth in the first place, would things have been this bad? Who the fuck do you think you are anyway?”
Archie straightened his jacket, eyes sharp beneath the polished veneer. “I’m Maxim’s sovetnik,” he said coolly, his voice rising just enough to cut through Jess’s fury.
Jess blinked. “His what?”
“His adviser. His right hand. His”—he glanced at me—“trusted second-in-command. You don’t last in this world without someone who knows you inside and out. Someone who’s got your back no matter what.”
Jess scoffed, disgust bleeding into her voice. “And I’ve got his back.” She pointed at Wren. “To be clear, I don’t give a damn what you call yourself, but you come at him again—”
“Jess—” Nik stepped forward, placing himself subtly between his woman and Archie. “Baby, this isn’t about you.”
“Like hell it isn’t. You all roped me into a situation that made me betray him, and didn’t even have the guts to tell me the full truth. I’m mad at you too, Nik!”
“Must she be here?” Archie asked no one in particular. “She has nothing to contribute to the situation, and if it’s not a solution, it’s a problem.”
“Hey, she has every right to be upset,” Nik growled, baring his teeth at Archie. “If not for Jess, would we have found Wren? And what the fuck do you mean by ‘it’?”
Of course I would have found Wren. Did Nik really doubt that? It might have taken me longer to comb every nook and cranny, but as long as I had breath left in my body, I would always find him. There was no distance he could run that I couldn’t reach.
“Enough,” I snapped, low and biting. “Standing here and arguing isn’t going to solve anything. Archie, you are out of line. Jess has every right to be here. She’s Wren’s family.”
“For fuck’s sakes, Maxim, he already knows,” Archie said. “What if I tell the truth like it is? What’s the sense of carrying on as if you don’t deal in blood and bullets? It’s a part of our world. It is who we are, and having the hots for some twenty-one-year-old doesn’t change that. If he can’t handle that life, then maybe you should let him go.”
“I’ll never let him go!” I roared, blood rushing hot behind my eyes. “He’s mine. Do you hear me? Mine.”
I took a step forward, fists clenched at my sides, the rage clawing to the surface from a place so deep I didn’t know if it would ever stop burning.
“He belongs to me and always will.” I was so fucking angry. Spittle flew from my mouth, and with every word, my voice swelled, piercing the open space. “Nothing will ever change that. Nothing. This is his fucking home, so stop fucking telling me to let him go. The next person who so much as suggests it, I will cut his tongue out and feed it to him, and I don’t care who that is. He”—I pointed in Wren’s direction without looking at him—“is always going to be mine.”
Jess had stepped back into Nik’s arms as though he could protect her from my tirade. Archie parted his lips like he was about to argue again but thought better of it. He must have seen how dangerously close he was to becoming mute.
But I didn’t look at Wren.
I couldn’t.
He always complained about how possessive I was with him. I’d practically pissed on him in front of everyone. What if I looked at him and his face was painted in disgust?
Worse—what if he was afraid? Of me?
I’d rather face a hundred enemies with guns at my head than look into his eyes and find fear. His anger I could accept, but not his fear.
The silence that followed was total. Even the wind had the decency to stay quiet.
A beat passed.
Two.
My heart thundered like it meant to tear through my ribs.
“Sergei,” I said finally, voice like steel against stone, “let’s go.”
I turned away, needing to move, needing to put distance between myself and the wreckage I’d probably just caused. Had I made the situation between Wren and me worse?
At the car, I looked back. My gaze landed on Nik and Dezi. “Guard him. If he’s not here when I return, if anything happens to him, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
“You’re really leaving after all you said?” Wren cried.
I wanted to go to him but needed some space. To regulate my emotions. To think of a way I could reach him. A way that didn’t include him walking out on me again. I never wanted to relive the horror of waking up to a Wren-sized hole in my heart.
“We’ll talk later.” I used my gentlest voice, but my throat was too scratchy, so the words came out more like a threat.
Wren swept his gaze around the circle of people standing around—Jess, Nik, Viktor, Archie. Me.
Then he laughed.
Short. Bitter. Hollow.
“Well, isn’t this fucking perfect?” Wren said, trembling. “Everyone knew. Everyone. Except me. I was the punchline in a joke no one had the decency to tell. Sleeping with the mob like some wide-eyed idiot while you all smiled and played along. I hope you got your laugh. I hope it was worth it.”
“Wren—” I stepped forward.
“Don’t.” He turned without another word and walked toward the house.
No one stopped him.
Not even me.
“Maxim,” Sergei said. “I can cancel—”
“No. Stone hasn’t been found yet, and that’s top priority.”
It was time to meet with my brigadiers.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MAXIM
WINE CELLAR VAULT, BLACKRIDGE HOTEL
The elevator sighed open, releasing a whisper of cooled air into the hidden cellar beneath the Blackridge Hotel.
No signage marked the floor. No buttons led here. Only a fingerprint scanner and a voice ID. This place didn’t exist. Not on blueprints, not in the fire escape plans, not even in the building’s deepest permits.
The room looked like old wealth. Arched brick ceilings, ambient amber lighting, and floor-to-ceiling wine racks that held both priceless bottles and poisoned fakes. At the center stood a wide walnut table, its surface polished to a mirror sheen, its shape to coffin-like to be accidental. Six leather chairs surrounded it. The one at the head was mine.
Popov was reclined lazily in his chair, tapping the rim of a crystal glass with his silver ring. As I entered, he sat up, flashing his gold tooth in a half smile that never quite reached his eyes.
“Good to see you, Boss,” he said.
Gusev, dressed in dove-gray as always, offered a polite nod, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Mr. Morozov. Word is you’ve made the city quite interesting today.”
“Shouldn’t you know by now not to listen to rumors?” I took my seat while Archie claimed the one to my right. Sergei stood a few feet away from me, his back against the wall.
Vasiliev remained standing behind his chair, eyes alert. Unlike the other two, he was more astute. A lot more observant, and it was harder to get one over on a man like that. He was also the one I trusted least of all the brigadiers who ran the underground dealings for me while I took on the face of my legitimate businesses. He merely nodded in acknowledgment.
“Where’s Aistov?” Archie asked.
Popov chuckled. “Probably balls deep inside that curvy brunette he picked up in the lobby. You know how it is with him.”
The elevator hissed, and Aistov sauntered in, swaying slightly on his feet. The twenty-two-year-old young man was too young to be a brigadier. Or so they’d told me, but I’d seen some of myself in Aistov. He was ruthless with a blade. I had taken a chance on him two years ago, and so far, he hadn’t disappointed. If only he could control his dick. I always believed he wouldn’t die in a mob deal gone bad, but some woman would stab him in his sleep if he kept playing them the way he did.
“Can’t hold your liquor?” Gusev raised a brow.
“Figured I wouldn’t be required to shoot straight in this meeting.” Aistov laughed. “Am I, Boss?”
I scowled. “We’re here to go hunting.”
The levity dried up. Aistov’s smile dropped, and he became serious as he flipped the back of his chair around and straddled it. “What or who are we hunting? Must be important for you to call a meeting. It’s been a long time since we’ve all gotten together. Usually, it’s Archie breathing down our necks.”
“I want all the eyes you’ve got watching out for Chief Stone.” I sat. “I want to know everything you can find about him—who he fucks, who he owes, what time he pisses, and which hand he scratches his balls with.”
Vasiliev blinked slowly. “Chief Stone? He’s the one you’re looking for?”
“Yes. He’s made an attempt on my life at least twice, and you know what they say about the third time.”
“Is that all?” Popov asked. “That should be easy enough.”
“Good. If he’s found in twenty-four hours, I’ll offer each of you three million dollars.”
Aistov whistled. “Damn, Boss. You sure he didn’t piss you off some other way? You’ve had attempts over the years and never been this generous before.”
“May have something to do with the fact that the boss got himself a boyfriend,” Vasiliev said quietly.
“I heard the rumor too but didn’t believe it,” Gusev muttered under his breath.
“First of all, who I fuck is nobody’s business but me and him.” I confirmed Wren’s gender with his pronouns without making them feel that I owed them any explanation. “Our relationship is about business and business only.”
“But seems like what you got is a personal problem you want us to help you fix,” Vasiliev said. “Not to mention the backlash if people find out, and if we’ve heard…”
“What the hell are you saying, Vas?” Aistov snapped.
“We’ll be a laughingstock among the other mobs. People may not give a damn about your indiscretions, but the Pakhan’s reputation alone keeps everyone in check. Will anyone take us seriously when they find out where the boss is getting his dick wet?”
“How dare you—”
I raised a hand to cut Archie off. I didn’t need him to speak for me, and he was doing too much of that lately.
“I sense you have a grudge, Vasiliev. Do you have a problem with me fucking other men?”
“He should be so lucky to be the one sucking your dick,” Aistov grated out between his teeth. As irreverent as always. But this was why, of all four brigadiers, I got along well with him the best. He took the business seriously but not life. Plus, everyone knew about his indiscretions with other men. He just wasn’t high enough in ranks for it to become a problem. But a Pakhan being gay? It was my father’s reaction all over again.
“Let’s be frank. I don’t care who you fuck.” Vasiliev got to his feet. Sergei pushed off the wall and, in a second, had shoved him back down in his chair. “But I care about the reputation of the man we’re supposed to be working for. I don’t need people getting bolder and coming after me because they think my Pakhan is a joke. They already question whether you are really committed to the mob. You spend most of your time running a business, while we do all the dirty work. Then the one time you decide to meet us instead of sending your lap dog,”—he glared at Archie—“it’s because of some bitch boy you’ve decided is more important than the people who’ve done all the work for you for years.”
Vasiliev’s glare held, but something in him shifted. Maybe he expected me to argue, to shout, to call him disloyal and banish him like a sulking prince. He wasn’t ready for silence.
And silence was all I gave him—for a beat too long.
“If you’re so unhappy,” I said at last, tone even, “you’re free to leave.”
Popov froze, glass hovering an inch from his lips. Gusev’s fingers twitched where they rested on the table. Aistov sat up straighter, watching us.
Vasiliev blinked. “Leave?”
“You heard me.” I rose, slow and controlled. “If you have such an issue with how I run things… if my bedmates and business model offend you so deeply… the door’s in front of you.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again.
I took a step forward, gaze never leaving his. “After years of working for me, you should have enough to strike out on your own, shouldn’t you?”
I reached out and picked up his crystal tumbler—still half-full.
Then, without breaking eye contact, I slowly tipped it over.
The liquid spilled in a lazy arc across the table, dripping onto his lap. He sprang up but got shoved down again by Sergei.
“Morozov, I’ve worked for you for years!” he growled.
“And for years, you skimmed from my profits off the narcotics pipeline.”
His eyes flew wide open, and he glanced around the room as if appealing to the other three brigadiers for help. “He’s lying. Morozov, if you want to kill me, at least have the decency to say why. You don’t have to make up lies.”
“Would you like to see the evidence? I’ve got account details, voice recordings, surveillance camera footage.”
Silence fell in the room. The air was thick with anticipation, hearts beating a staccato rhythm of anxiety. Vasiliev’s face went white as a sheet, sweat beading on his forehead as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat under Sergei’s firm grip.
Vasiliev’s throat bobbed. “You knew? All this time?”
“I knew,” I said. “For years.”
Popov coughed. A sound like something choking in his throat.
“I knew,” I repeated, voice low, calm as rain. “And I didn’t care. Because I was getting my share, and you were smart enough to keep the streets quiet.”
“Morozov, you bastard. You—”
I snatched up the heavy crystal tumbler near his hand and shattered it against the edge of the table in one clean, deliberate motion. Glass splintered everywhere. Sharp, vicious teeth glinting in the low cellar light.
Before he could blink, I slashed the jagged glass clean across his throat.
Vasiliev’s hands flew up, clutching at his neck as blood erupted in thick spurts between his fingers. He gurgled, eyes wide with disbelief, mouth opening and closing like a fish choking on air.
He tried to speak. Tried to curse me. Tried to live.
But all that came out was a wet gasp and a stream of red pouring over his collar. He dropped to his knees, then collapsed sideways, his chair clattering over behind him.
Vasiliev’s movements were desperate, trying to hold the pieces of himself together. Blood pulsed between his fingers in thick, rhythmic gushes, spilling down his shirt and dripping onto the floor.
