Page 50 of Vow of Silence

He nods. “I thought it was fucking strange too.”

We’ve never had an issue with the Albanian street gangs before now. Of all our associates, they’re the most reliable. They need us to ensure the product reaches the streets without interference, and we rely on that trust for a third of our income.

Why the fuck would they try to start a war between us and the Russians?

I launch from the chair and stride toward the door, reaching for it when Dion calls out behind me.

“You need to let the old man know, Benito.”

I hesitate, hand to the lever.Fuck.

“You can’t head out there and take this into your hands without his blessing.”

No. I can’t.

But I also can’t sleep another night knowing that Nastasya’s killers are not only still out there but very much still occupied with their end goal.

Once the news of our engagement hits the streets, the price on her head will double.

I’m only one man.

I can’t stop them all.

TWENTY-ONE

Nastasya

Whatever my father had Ivan doing these past years, it sure hasn’t made him any prettier to look at. I sulk with arms folded, one leg slung over the other, and glare at the asshole. He sits on the armchair opposite, legs wide and thick arms crossed over his barrel chest.

I tried to leave our estate yesterday after the brute arrived and found he’d already briefed the guards at the gate to keep me contained. Naturally, I waited until the brick wall of muscle was preoccupied with one of his ten protein-packed meals per day and ran.

I made it as far as the garage before the nutcase tackled me to the polished concrete floor. My gaze drops to the bruise on my shin where I collected a steel storage box on my way down. It’s the least of my worries, given the bruises that still paint my shoulder and the cut that heals on my leg. But it’s the premise of the fucking thing.

Who the fuck tackles a woman half their size? He could have flicked one of his solid fingers and knocked me over with the breeze it created. The jerk had no reason to put his hands on me.

As much as it pains me to say it, I miss Marcus.

“Do you plan to do this all day?” I snap, eyeballing the clean-shaven man-monster.

Rumor has it that Ivan was admitted to a mental institution at the age of nine by his poverty-stricken parents. Not only did they alleviate themselves of a rather large expense, but they received payment for the part their son played in an experimental treatment program. One look at the firm set of Ivan’s brow over hauntingly dark eyes, and I’d say the institute failed.

Or maybe they succeeded? If you’re sane, to begin with, do treatments turn you mad?

Hang around this silent asshole long enough, and I might find out.

“You know, the time will pass quicker if you talk.”

I’m already facing a life with a man who can’t hold a conversation. I don’t think it’d be too much to ask for to have at least one person to bounce ideas off.

Ivan leans forward painfully slow, setting his shirt-clad elbows atop his perfectly pressed slacks. “I find chit-chat unnecessary.”

For a guy who’s supposed to have spent the last ten years state-side, he still has a thick accent. Maybe he hasn’t been here all along? Who’d fucking know with my father?

“I can’t stay away from my work forever.”

“I have instruction from?—”

“My father to keep me here. Yeah, yeah. I know.” I wave the stoic beast off as I rise to my feet. “Can I step outside? Or will that make you develop an unwanted tic?”

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