Bratvas vow, p.29
Bratva's Vow, page 29
Heat surged to my face. “No, sir. Sorry.”
The students around me snickered under their breath while I shoved my phone into my pocket and sat up straighter. My ears burned.
Dyer gave a dismissive wave and turned back to the projector. “As I was saying, when determining a property’s value based on its income, you must be careful with your assumptions. A miscalculated vacancy rate could ruin your entire model. Investors don’t take kindly to imaginary returns.”
My embarrassment lingered for a few minutes, then faded into the background noise of the lecture. At least no one was filming it for TikTok. The last thing I needed was to become a TikTok sensation. Or a meme.
I took down a few more notes, let my eyes glaze over some rent roll samples, and stole another glance out the window.
Almost over.
Finally, just before the hour mark, Dyer clicked off the projector. “All right, listen up.” He stepped around the podium, hands clasped behind his back. “This Friday, we won’t be holding class here. Instead, you’ll be meeting on-site at the Morozov development—the new luxury high-rise being constructed downtown.”
Wait… what?
That woke the class up.
Heads lifted. A few gasps of excitement rippled through the room.
“The site visit will serve as the first component of your capstone project,” Dyer continued. “You’ll get a chance to speak directly with the project team—developers, architects, and the firm’s internal valuation officers. Maybe Mr. Morozov himself if he’s not busy. You’ll take notes, gather data, and over the next few weeks, you’ll build a full-scale investment proposal based on the development.”
Someone muttered a low “holy shit” from the back row.
My heart skipped a beat.
Morozov.
I tried not to react, to keep my face neutral. Why hadn’t Maxim told me? We’d woken up in the same bed this morning. Hell, we had done things in that bed before he left for work. Would it have killed him to mention it somewhere between having his tongue in my ass and buttoning up his designer suit?
A heads-up would’ve been nice. It didn’t take much, just a “Hey, babe, your class is touring my multimillion-dollar luxury project on Friday.”
Nope. Just a kiss on the mouth, a slap on the ass, and a “have a good day, kroshka.”
Thanks, babe. Love being casually blindsided by your real estate empire.
Awesome. I would throttle him later.
“You’ll get the full itinerary emailed to you today,” Dyer said. “Dress appropriately. Bring your notepads. And keep your phones in your pockets.” His eyes flicked to me again.
I gave a sheepish nod.
The room buzzed with low chatter as students packed up their bags and laptops. I slung mine over my shoulder and slipped out the door quickly, already drafting a text to Maxim.
Me:
Why didn’t you tell me about the field trip to your new high-rise?
Maxim didn’t reply, and I huffed a breath. He probably had a meeting. I should probably ask him to send me his weekly itinerary. After all, he kept track of my classes.
“Dude. Morozov?”
The voice came from my left. Jakoby, tall, blond, and always dressed like he was shooting for a Vogue cover. He slung an arm around my shoulder before I could dodge. “Isn’t that where you interned over summer, Wren?”
I slid out from under his arm as casually as possible, making a big deal out of fixing an imaginary problem with the strap of my bag. “Yeah.”
“Who did you have to sleep with to get an internship there?” Marcus opened a granola bar. “I’m not even gay, and I would have sold my ass so fast just to get an interview.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t have to do anything that drastic. Just stole his coffee, and before I knew it, I was hired.”
They laughed, obviously thinking I was joking. If only they knew the whole truth. What would they think?
“What was it like, then?” Jakoby asked as we walked along the corridor. “Did they make you carry, like, diamond-encrusted blueprints or something?”
“Totally,” I deadpanned. “Every floor tile was carved from unicorn bone.”
Marcus snorted. “Come on, be serious. You ever actually meet the big guy? Or did they keep you chained to the copier?”
I grinned. “Depended on the day. Some days it was emails and coffee runs. Other days, I got to sit in on meetings with Mr. Morozov. Mostly admin stuff.”
“Bro, you so didn’t make it up to the executive floor.” Marcus nudged me with his elbow. “Bet you weren’t even allowed near the espresso machine with the golden spout.”
I laughed alongside them. They were cool guys I hung out with on campus, but our relationship didn’t go beyond that. Friends on campus, I called them. Whenever we had the same classes, we ensured we always teamed up for projects, but I used to work so many hours after classes that they stopped asking me to go for drinks and to parties with them because I never had the time.
I brushed a lock of hair that had fallen over my forehead. “Well, I should get—”
“Holy shit.” Jakoby grabbed my left hand. “Dude, are you like engaged or something?”
I looked down at the ring on my finger and froze.
Damn it.
I always took it off before class to avoid questions. Every morning, without fail. But this morning, I’d overslept. Hadn’t even gotten time to eat on the way out. Pilar had looked so disappointed that I had to turn down her breakfast. Hopefully, she didn’t hold it against me, but I felt less sickly if I didn’t eat much. “What? No.” My voice came out an octave too high, and I snatched my hand away. “It’s not. It’s just a ring.”
Marcus leaned in with a grin. “That is not just a ring. That’s a whole ass promise of forever on your hand, my guy.”
“It’s really not.”
“Ah fuck off. Don’t try hiding it.” Marcus slapped me on the back of my head. “I see how it is. You’re driving that sweet car, and now look at the size of that ring. Must have sucked off a rich bloke over the summer working at Morozov’s. Come on, you can tell us. We won’t judge.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you guys. I never hid that I was gay, so why act shocked?”
“No, we know, we know,” Jakoby said quickly. “We just didn’t know you were claimed or that you had it in you to go after some rich dude.”
“I’m not—he’s not—”
Marcus made a dramatic show of placing his hands on his hips. “Wren Holloway. Intern by day, kept man by night.”
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Can we not do this right now?”
They all laughed—teasing but good-natured. No malice.
“Can you hook me up?” Marcus asked. “I mean, I can’t pass for a twink, but I don’t mind wearing a dress if it gets me one of those sweet rides.”
“You’re not even gay. And I don’t wear a dress.” Just some really sexy lingerie.
“I could be for the right pay.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re impossible! I’m going!” I walked away, heading for the parking lot where Nik was supposed to be waiting for me.
“Don’t think I can’t see that lace peeking out of the waistband of your jeans, Holloway! And that crop top. Since when do you wear crop tops?”
I flashed him the finger, all two of them, and ran off toward my car. I jogged across the lot, adjusting the strap of my bag, cheeks still hot from all the teasing. Where was Nik? He usually waited for me outside the lecture hall.
I pulled up short. Next to my car stood Maxim, all sleek and smug in a dark coat that probably cost more than my tuition. Sergei was nearby, arms folded, sunglasses on like we weren’t in the middle of a sunny campus but guarding a high-value target in Moscow.
My stomach did this stupid little somersault—equal parts nerves and giddy relief. Since Maxim had given me my father’s urn, it felt like all the debris that had cluttered our relationship had been washed away.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Jakoby and Marcus were walking in the opposite direction. Thank god.
I hurried toward the car. “Maxim? What are you doing here? Where’s Nik?”
Maxim straightened and arched an eyebrow like I’d insulted him. “Is that how you greet me, kroshka?”
“I’m on campus,” I hissed. “We aren’t invisible to the people around us, you know.”
“Good.” His smirk was pure menace, and before I could protest, he reached for me and pressed his lips to mine in a kiss that was not nearly as chaste as it should’ve been in broad daylight.
Someone across the lot let out a whistle.
Another called, “Damn, is that Wren?”
I flushed scarlet and fiddled with the key fob to open the car door. “Get in.” I ducked inside, groaning, and Maxim followed me in like he had all the time in the world.
“I gave Nik the afternoon off.” He casually buckled his seat belt. “He’s been working a lot lately.”
I squinted at him. “So… you came for me instead of sending a replacement?”
“Yeah, I took the afternoon off. You don’t seem happy to see me.”
His frown and uncertainty deflated my fear. Taking a deep breath, I reached over the seat to take his hand in mine. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect you to be here, and—” I took his face in mine and kissed him the way I should have outside. When I drew back, I glanced down at the tent in his pants.
“Oops, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“I’m not complaining.” He placed my hand over his erection. “Do you plan to take care of that?”
Hmm.
“I have an even better plan.”
“Oh?”
I bit my bottom lip, heart thumping. What if he objected? Well, he had to find out sometime, and I didn’t want to keep this secret from him anymore.
“I’ll show you.”
He narrowed his eyes, just the faintest glint of suspicion—or anticipation—flickering behind them.
I smiled.
He had no idea I was about to take him to the gun range and show off. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when I nailed the bull's-eye.
Payback for ambushing me with that kiss in the parking lot.
Karma, baby. Mafia-style. The language he understood best.
“You look hot by the way,” Maxim said. “Absolutely fuckable.”
“Geez, Maxim.” My cheeks burned, but a tingle of happiness fanned out inside me.
“Too fuckable for school, though,” he muttered.
And the happiness vanished. “It’s just a crop top.”
“That shows your cute belly button.”
“I doubt anyone sees a belly button and immediately thinks of smashing someone, Maxim.”
“Wrong. I’m thinking about it right now. I’m thinking the next time I want to come all over your beautiful stomach.”
“That’s because you’re you! I don’t know where you get the idea that a bunch of people find me attractive, but trust me, you’re the only one hitting on me.”
Maxim scoffed. “I doubt that. Knowing you, you’re just too clueless to realize it.”
“Ouch.” I clutched my chest with one hand, the other still on the steering wheel. “First slut shaming me, then insulting my intelligence. Someone’s not looking to get lucky later.”
“Why would I slut shame you when I love you the way you are?” He placed a hand on my bare tummy and stroked. I sucked in a deep breath, distracted. “I’m just jealous, solnyshko. Don’t pay me any mind.”
“It’s hard not to pay you any mind when you’re touching me like that.”
Chuckling, he teased the ring in my navel, then tugged his hand away. “All right, I’ll behave. For now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
MAXIM
Wren drove like he did everything in life—carefully.
I watched him from the passenger seat, the way his hands rested easily on the wheel, how his eyes flicked between the road and the mirrors with calm focus.
I used to hate that I couldn’t drive anymore. After the seizures started, I’d placed my license in the drawer of my desk at home. Too much risk. Too much pride swallowed. I’d learned to live with it, but I’d never stopped resenting it.
Yet sitting next to him, with his playlist humming softly through the speakers and the golden afternoon sun casting warm stripes across his face, I felt something close to contentment.
Sergei followed us in one of the black sedans, never far, but I hardly noticed. It didn’t feel like surveillance today. It felt like a drive with the person I loved.
I looked over at him. “Who taught you to drive?”
“My dad,” Wren said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He was pretty cool about it. Had me on his lap, steering the car before I could even reach the gas.”
His voice was lighter than it had been in days. Laced with a quiet fondness, a warmth that had been missing before when he spoke of his father.
I studied the side of his face, the slope of his nose, the ends of his hair that danced in the wind from the open window.
Maybe finally knowing the truth, all of it, had given him something to stand on.
Closure.
Somehow he seemed happier. More at ease with himself and life.
God, I’d needed this. To see him with his guard down. To feel like I hadn’t ruined everything by telling him the last piece of truth I’d hidden from him..
At a red light, he stopped and glanced at me. “Why are you staring?”
“I’m not,” I said, deadpan. “Just surprised you haven’t crashed yet. You usually have nervous energy.”
“Please. I drive better than you.”
“I don’t drive.”
“Exactly.” He winked.
I shook my head, biting back a grin, but something in my chest expanded.
Ten minutes later, Wren turned off into a lot I didn’t recognize. A sign flashed past.
Shooting Range.
I frowned. “What are we doing here?”
Wren only smirked as he parked. “What do you think?”
He slid out of the car without waiting for me. I got out slower, cautious, not entirely sure what I was walking into. Sergei pulled up and joined us, raising a brow.
“What’s happening right now?” he asked.
I placed my hands akimbo. “Wren?”
Wren looked between us, then squared his shoulders. “I wanted to show you that I’ve been learning. That I’m not just going to stand back and let you fight everything alone.”
Sergei nodded slowly, approval glinting in his eyes. “You want to learn how to shoot?”
“I have been learning. Nik takes me and Jess after my classes end for the day.”
My hand twitched at my side, instinct warring with pride. “Whose idea was this? I don’t recall Nik running this by me.”
Wren grabbed my hand. “Because it was my idea, and I asked him not to tell you. I wanted it to be a secret in case I embarrassed myself and stank at it. But I’m not! I’m getting pretty good, actually.”
Frowning, I reversed his hold on me so now my fingers were wrapped around his. “But why? This isn’t who you are.”
“But it’s who I choose to be.”
The words landed in my chest like a small explosion. “Wren—”
“No, listen to me, Maxim. I’m not the same guy you met in that coffee shop. I chose you, Maxim. So this is my life now. I don’t want you worrying every time I step outside. I want to learn how to protect myself. How to protect you if I have to. You’re willing to bleed for me. Why can’t I do the same for you?”
“Dammit, Wren. Have you forgotten you’ve bled for me once already?” I tightened my grip on him. “I didn’t like it then, and I won’t ever want you facing off with someone who had a gun for me.”
“I’m sorry, Maxim, but you don’t get to control this. At least see what I can do before you get all stubborn.”
“He’s absolutely right, Maxim. Wouldn’t you want to know he can take care of himself if he has to?”
Fuck. I hated how much sense they made.
I looked back at Wren, really looked. He didn’t flinch. His stance was steady, voice calm. This wasn’t stubbornness. It wasn’t recklessness. It was resolve.
And still, fear prickled under my skin.
I was supposed to protect him. That was my job. My vow. If he was learning to fight, was it because he thought I wasn’t enough? That I’d failed him somehow?
But beneath that fear, something else stirred. A fierce, reluctant pride.
Because even if it twisted my gut to imagine him holding a weapon, there was no denying it. He looked strong. Grounded. Ready.
The tectonic plates of our relationship shifted in that moment, subtle but seismic. And I knew we were no longer just me shielding him from the world. We were partners.
I met his gaze, those maddeningly calm hazel eyes, and gave a sharp exhale.
“Fine,” I said quietly. “Show me.”
The shooting range was tucked into the basement of an old industrial building, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless someone pointed it out or unless you needed somewhere discreet to learn how to kill someone legally. The exterior was unremarkable: faded brick, a flickering security light, and a nondescript black door with a keypad entry.
Inside, it was all hard edges and LED panels. Concrete floors, steel beams, thick glass observation windows overlooking the lanes. The air was stale with gunpowder and oil, and something colder underneath—discipline, maybe. Or danger. Every sound echoed. The sharp cracks of firing rounds, the distant hum of the ventilation system, the occasional bark of a range officer correcting someone’s stance.
A few other shooters were scattered across the range, most of them men. One had the thick forearms and military buzz cut of someone who didn’t need training. Another was clearly a newbie, probably early twenties, flinching every time his pistol discharged, his coach shaking his head beside him. At the far end, a woman in sleek tactical gear was emptying a mag into a target with such speed and precision it felt surgical. I noted Sergei nodding once in appreciation before returning his attention to Wren.
