Page 57 of Twisted Vows

Anton answers in Russian, his tone darker. One word in English latches onto me like a hook.

“Traitors.”

A cold weight drops into my stomach.

Franco. André. Traitors.

“What about the alliance?” Anton’s voice lowers.

There’s a pause. Then Maxsim speaks again, voice like steel.

“If André moves against us, we don’t wait. We retaliate immediately.”

The air leaves my lungs. If Maxsim is right—if André and Franco are plotting something—what does that mean for me? For us? Can I stand beside a man willing to destroy my bloodline? Can I betray them to save him?

My heart slams against my ribs. Anton responds, too soft to hear, but Maxsim’s next words are unmistakable.

“Make no exceptions.”

I lean in closer, needing to hear more. And the floor betrays me.

Creak.

The voices cut off. Silence presses against my ears.

Footsteps. Heavy. Slow. The door handle shifts. Panic seizes me, and I scan for cover and dart behind a heavy curtain that covers a long window. Pressing my back to the cold wall, the door creaks open. Maxsim steps into the hall, his figure half-shrouded in shadow. His eyes slice through the dim light, sharp and searching.

He knows.

I don’t move. Don’t breathe.

Anton’s voice drifts from the room. “Problem?”

Maxsim’s head tilts, listening. “No.” His voice is quiet. Measured. “Eavesdropping’s a dangerous game, Ari.”

My pulse thrums in my ears.

Finally, he turns, disappearing back inside. The door clicks shut.

I exhale shakily, legs trembling beneath me. I head toward the stairs that lead to our bedroom.He knows that I know.

The room feels cold when I enter. All the warmth of the morning has disappeared. I close the door behind me, leaning against it as if it might keep the world out.

The bed is perfectly made. All evidence of how we spent last night has been erased.

I cross the room and sink onto the edge of the bed, gripping the coverlet with both fists.

Franco. André. Traitors.

Act first.

I try to piece it together, but nothing fits.

Is he planning to move against my family? Or is he warning Anton of someone else?

The doubt coils tighter. I thought I was starting to understand Maxsim. But maybe I’ve been wrong all along.If he sees my family as traitors, where does that leave me?

The fragile thing we’ve been building—whatever it is—feels like walking a tightrope. One moment, we’re two people clinging to something that might be real. The next, I’m doubting everything. What if I’m just a pawn in his grand strategy? The thought comes sharp, bitter. What if last night was another calculated move, another step to keep me in line?

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