Page 38 of Twisted Vows

I step back without responding and let the door drift halfway closed behind me. “Take your time.”

Walking away, the silence presses heavier than before. My wife is right, of course. But it will be a cold day in hell before I admit it.

The sunlight cuts across the stone floors as I stride down the hall, blinding me for a second. Ari’s statement lingers…did I build this fortress to keep others out—or to trap myself inside with her?

The answer is not one I’m ready to face.

Ari

The soft click of the library door echoes as Maxsim leaves me alone in the space he curated for me. Should I be grateful and saythank youlike the perfect wife I’m supposed to be?

Turning in a circle, I take in the walls of carefully chosen books wrapped around me. There is no doubt this is a gesture of thoughtfulness, but what does it matter if all I feel is the suffocating weight of silence.

I run my fingers along the spines of the books—first editions, leather-bound classics, titles I’ve loved, and others I’ve never touched. How strange that he would take the time to curate this library. It doesn’t align with the cold and calculated personality he often shows me and the world.

I sink into the window seat, tucking my legs beneath me. Outside, the gardens sprawl in perfect, calculated order, trimmed hedges and manicured trees standing like obedient soldiers. Not a branch out of place. I wonder how long it would take for this place to fall into chaos if left unattended.

Would it unravel like we surely will?

The argument replays in my mind, sharp and vivid. His orders, my defiance. Neither of us backed down, and now there’s this... space between us. Wide and cold.

He likely won’t address it and believes that problems solve themselves if you tighten your grip hard enough.

But I’m not something he can choke into submission.

My gaze drifts back to the garden. Will he always keep me at arm’s length?

Don’t be a fool. Of course he will.

Because in his mind, I’m not an ally. I’m a liability.

I press my palm against the window, allowing the cool glass to ground me. One option is to stay in this room, flip through books, sip tea, and pretend I’m safe. The other is to make him see me.

Not as a pawn. Or some delicate piece on his chessboard.

But as the queen. The piece that can move anywhere, strike from any angle.

I close my eyes, letting the thought settle.

Maxsim is ruled by strategy. By control. But even he must know that alliances crumble when built on silence. I can force the door open if he won’t let me in.

But I must be smart. Calculated.

Storming into his world demanding answers won’t work. That much is clear. But inserting myself where he thinks I don’t belong? Proving I can see the game and play it just as ruthlessly?

Thatwill get his attention.

I think of Franco. Of André. Of theFamigliaand how fragile this alliance truly is. If Sal is testing the waters, probing for weaknesses, then Maxsim’s silence is more dangerous than my involvement.

My fingers tap against the windowpane in thought. Maybe it starts small. A carefully worded conversation with Carolina. She knows everything now that she’s the family’s cyber security star.

A quiet knock pulls me from my thoughts, and I open the door. Pasha. Maxsim’s shadow, always looming.

“Mrs. Volkov,” he says with that polite stiffness. “Dinner will be served shortly.”

“Thank you, Pasha.”

He pauses, studying me with sharp, unreadable eyes. “He doesn’t show it, but he notices. More than you think.”

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