Page 40 of Dark Promise

I shake my head, confused. “But if Mikhail was dangerous, if he was hurting people—hurting you—why would anyone protect him?”

A bitter smile curves Nikolai’s lips, one that sends a chill down my spine. “Because Mikhail had his own allies. He made sure of it. Men who owed him, men who feared him. Killing Mikhail without proof of betrayal would have fractured the syndicate. Killing my mother wasn’t betrayal.” He shrugs. “It was just murder.”

He pauses, his gaze distant as though he’s seeing it all play out in his mind. “Vlasta was trying to keep the family intact, to keep the power balanced. He thought he could control Mikhail. That he could manage him.”

His voice darkens, a razor’s edge cutting through the words. “He was wrong. My father poisoned him, killed him like it was nothing. Made it look like a heart attack. And then blamed your family for his death.”

His gaze locks onto mine, unflinching, his pain raw and unguarded, cutting into me like shards of glass. “I’ll take everything from him, Sabina. His empire, his power, his life. And when I do, it won’t just be for me—it’ll be for every life he’s destroyed, every scar he’s left behind.”

The air between us feels electric, heavy with something unspoken but undeniable. As I sit here, wrapped in the presence of this man who radiates both fury and control, I feel it—something deep and unshakable blooming between us. It terrifies me, this pull, this connection, because it isn’t just his strength or his refusal to break that draws me in. It’s his darkness, the shadows he’s embraced to survive. And, God help me, I’m not just drawn to it—I’m mesmerized by it.

What does it say about me that with each passing moment, I let go of another piece of myself, willingly offering it to this broken, dangerous, beautiful man? That I’m not just falling forhim, but into him—into the abyss he carries with him, one that promises both destruction and salvation?

13

Sabina

By mid-morning,the storm comes back with a vengeance, howling outside the cabin and rattling the windows like it’s trying to tear its way inside. The steady snow from last night has turned into a swirling tempest, icy needles hissing against the glass. But inside, the cabin feels like another world—warm, safe, a cocoon keeping the chaos at bay.

The hours drift by, filled with stories and laughter. Nikolai surprises me with how easily he shares pieces of himself, and I find myself doing the same. Some stories are light, others heavier, peeling back layers we’ve both kept hidden for so long. For a while, the outside world feels distant, like a bad dream I can’t quite remember. I push aside the thought that this interlude isn’t real, that the real world waits for us, the real world where I am a Russo and he is an Ivanov.

But here, it’s just him and me, our words filling the quiet spaces between the crackle of the fire and the relentless wind outside.

In the afternoon, Nikolai suggests we go outside. I laugh at the absurdity of it—there’s a literal blizzard swirling around the cabin—but his grin is contagious. Against my better judgement,I find myself bundling up against the cold. He wraps me in an absurdly enormous down coat he pulls from the small closet by the bathroom. For footwear, I have no choice but to resort to the makeshift boots he crafted for me from the dead man’s coat sleeves. He pulls a gray woolen hat over my head and finishes the ensemble with oversized sheepskin mitts.

“You look…” He steps back, assessing me with a lopsided smile. “Ridiculous.”

“Thanks. Really,” I say. “Every girl’s dream.”

The moment we step outside, the wind bites at my skin, its icy fingers sneaking into the gaps around my collar and cuffs. Snow swirls in chaotic patterns, glinting like shards of crushed glass in the weak afternoon light. The air is sharp and crisp, filling my lungs with each breath. I shiver, tucking my hands deeper into the mitts.

“It’s freezing,” I mutter.

Nikolai glances at me, a smirk curling his lips. “You’ll warm up once we start moving.”

“I’m moving straight back inside if this turns into some Bear Grylls survival episode,” I mutter, but I follow him anyway, my boots crunching through the snow.

Then my foot slides out from under me, and I let out a startled yelp. Before I hit the ground, Nikolai catches me, his hands firm on my waist. He steadies me effortlessly, and for a moment, the world narrows to the feel of his touch and the heat of his gaze.

“Careful, goddess,” he murmurs, his voice soft but tinged with amusement.

I blink up at him, breathless and flustered, which only annoys me more. “Don’t call me that. I’m hardly feeling divine in these tragic boots.”

His lips quirk, and he doesn’t let go immediately.

When he finally releases me, I shove a handful of snow against his chest with as much sass as I can muster. It lands with a satisfying thud.

He blinks at the snow now dusting his dark coat, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then his smile shifts into something sharp, dangerous, and utterly unfair. “Oh, you’re going to regret that.”

Before I can react, he scoops up a handful of snow and lobs it at me with impressive accuracy, hitting my shoulder. I let out a mock gasp of outrage. “You did not just—”

The next snowball hits me square in the stomach, and I double over, laughing despite myself. “All right, Ivanov. You asked for it.”

He has no idea what I’m capable of; I have four older brothers.

The snowball fight escalates quickly. We’re both slipping and stumbling, our laughter carrying across the stillness of the snowy landscape. I manage to duck one of his throws and retaliate with a surprisingly solid hit to his chest, which earns me a mock glare.

“Not bad,” he concedes, brushing the snow off. “But you’ll have to do better than that.”

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