Page 54 of Unbreakable Vow

Pieter, one of Sergei’s men who’s been assigned to babysit me this afternoon, is sitting in the back of the coffee shop where he can see both exits and me at the same time. Dimitri did the same yesterday and the man before him did as well. The baristas have already realized when I’m here, there will be some big Russian man sitting there.

“You are not broken,” she says seriously. “You’ve just been with all the wrong guys.”

“You’re right.” I can concede the point in that area. In high school I was too busy trying to get scholarships for college, and in college I was too busy trying to get good grades, and more scholarships to cover the next year. And then Mom got sick and anytime I wasn’t studying I was going home to spend time with her, trying to make memories.

Memories that lasted for me, but not for her.

So, the guys I dated weren’t serious.

“How is it having your mom there?” Krista’s own mother passed away when we were in middle school, so Mom’s practically hers as well.

“It’s good. I go over in the morning for breakfast with her. I check in with her after dinner. She’s sleeping a lot these days. Most days she’s pretty quiet, just sort of lost in her own mind.” I sigh. “She needs help with almost everything now.”

“When I come over next time, we can go over for a visit. Unless you think it’ll upset her?” The last time Krista popped into the nursing facility, Mom had a moment of paranoia that Krista was there to kidnap her. It didn’t go well, and Krista’s been afraid of going back for fear of triggering her again.

“I think it would be fine.” I slide my finger over the pad on my laptop to wake my screen up. I’ve gotten a few paragraphs written, but nothing of real value.

“And work?” She changes the subject. “I thought you were supposed to have a shift at the country club this week.”

“I was.” I sigh again. “But Sergei doesn’t want me working there. He doesn’t like Jonathan and said that I don’t need to work now. That my job is to work on school.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No.” I silently wince. “I’m completely taking advantage of him, right? I mean, I can’t accept all this. Taking care of Mom, and now this? I’m going to have to get a job soon, maybe something in an office.”

“Cora. He’s right about Jonathan; the guy’s a complete prick. And now you can focus on finishing your degree. You get to live in that mansion, have your mom with you, and be well taken care of.” She pauses to say something to someone on her end of the call. “I have to get back, but it sounds to me like he’s taking care of you like he would a real wife, Cora.”

“No. He’s just being nice.”

She bursts out laughing. “Sergei Petrov isn’t nice. I’ve heard some horror stories of things he’s done to people who deserved it, but still. The man is not nice. He’s treating you like a mafia boss’ wife, because you are a mafia boss’ wife.” She shouts something behind her. “And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. You deserve to be taken care of. I’m just saying, maybe he’s not planning to ever let you go. Agreement or not.”

“You’re nuts,” I scoff. Though I can’t shake the fact that I couldn’t get him to address the issue. If I so much as brush up against the topic that our marriage has a time stamp, he changes the topic or he just walks off.

“Well, I guess we’ll see. I gotta run. Talk soon, byeeee!” And she’s gone.

I sit back in my chair with my phone cradled in my hands staring at it.

He’s not acting like this because he sees a future.

He’s only doing it because, for the time being, he’s taking his role in this pretend fantasy seriously.

“Hey, I was getting ready to leave. Figured you’d chickened out.” A familiar voice pierces my thoughts. I swing my gaze around the shop until I find him.

John. The cop.

And he’s not alone.

There’s a man in a dark blue V-neck shirt and jeans sitting across from him at his table. His head is shaved, and his arms are covered in tattoos. They’re only two tables away, in front of me and little to the right. I can’t see his face from this angle.

I try to find Pieter, but his seat is empty.

“I had something to deal with,” the man says with a thick Russian accent. He turns to the right and then the left, like he’s making sure he’s safe. There’s a thick, raised scar running from his mouth to his ear. Like he was cut, and the wound wasn’t treated properly and didn’t heal right.

“You want a coffee?” John offers.

He shakes his head. “No. I want to get this over with. Why are you not moving in on him?”

“You’ve given me nothing I can use yet; you have something now?”

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