Page 80 of Brutal Vows

Vitali catches my hand, lacing our fingers together. His warmth is an anchor, grounding me in a way no medication ever could.

“She’ll be okay?” he asks, his voice rough with something unspoken.

The doctor nods. “Physically, yes. Emotionally?” His gaze flicks to me. “That depends.”

Vitali’s grip on my hand tightens.

“I’ll take care of her,” he says, voice laced with quiet, deadly promise.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, I truly believe him.

Forty-One

I watch her sleep.

She’s curled up beneath the blankets, her face relaxed for the first time since I found her in that godforsaken warehouse. The bruises are already darkening, spreading across her cheek and jaw like shadows of the hell she’s just endured. My stomach twists at the sight. I failed her. I should have gotten to her sooner.

The doctor’s words replay in my head.Physically, yes. Emotionally? That depends.

I don’t give a fuck about emotional wounds. I’ll fix whatever needs fixing. I’ll tear apart the world to make her feel safe again.

But for now, I can only watch over her. Protect her in the only way I can at this moment.

I sit in the chair beside the bed, keeping a careful hold of her hand. My thumb moves in slow, rhythmic strokes over her bruised knuckles. She needs sleep—needs rest—but every time her breath hitches or her body tenses, I prepare myself to wake her.

And then it happens.

A sharp inhale. A whimper. Her fingers twitch against mine, curling as though trying to find something, or someone, to hold on to.

Then she starts trembling.

My jaw tightens as I watch her face twist in pain. Whatever she’s seeing, whatever memory is playing behind her closed eyelids, it has her gasping for air. A broken sob leaves her lips, and I can’t fucking take it anymore.

“Gia,” I murmur, leaning closer, careful not to touch her too suddenly. “Wake up,amore mio. It’s just a dream.”

She jolts awake with a gasp, wild eyes darting around the dimly lit room before locking onto mine. For a moment, she looks lost. Then her breath shudders out of her, and she clutches my wrist in a bruising grip, pulling me closer.

“Vitali,” she breathes, her voice small, raw.

“I’m here,” I say, cupping the side of her face that isn’t as bruised. “You’re safe.”

Her lower lip trembles, and then she presses her face against my chest, clinging to me as if I might disappear. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight, feeling the erratic beat of her heart slowly begin to settle.

“I dreamed I was still there,” she whispers against my shirt. “That you didn’t find me in time.”

“But I did,” I remind her, stroking her hair. “And I always will.”

She exhales shakily, her fingers curling into my shirt. I don’t know how long we stay like this, her in my arms, me grounding her in every way I know how.

But I do know one thing.

I’m never letting her go.

Her fingers clutch at my shirt, her breath stilluneven from the nightmare. I hold her tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in despite the lingering scent of sweat and blood. She’s here. She’s safe. But my chest still burns with the rage I haven’t yet unleashed.

She shifts slightly against me, her voice small when she speaks. “I need a bath.”

I pull back just enough to see her face. Her eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, but there’s something else there. Shame. My gut clenches. I know why.

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