Page 19 of Vendetta Vows

I spot a small window high on the wall. Without thinking twice, I climb onto the toilet, push the window open, and hoist myself up. It's tight, but I'm skinny enough to squeeze through.

I tumble out into an alley, scraping my palms and knees on the rough pavement. I don't care. I scramble to my feet and start running.

"What were you thinking, Aurora?" I hiss between breaths.

But I know exactly what I was thinking.

I was stupid enough to let my guard down for just a single night.

I was stupid enough to fool myself into believing that Jamie Fields could ever stay dead.

6

RUSLAN

The way Siennahowls as security drags her toward the waiting car reminds me of men I've seen dragged from interrogation rooms.

The same desperate, animal sounds of someone who knows they've lost but refuses to accept it.

I know that sound all too well.

Sienna continues her theatrical performance, all flailing limbs and screaming accusations to no-one in particular as they stuff her into the back of the car.

I straighten my cuffs, feeling the familiar weight of the tattooed skin beneath the expensive fabric. In another life, I'd have handled this differently. More permanently.

But that's not my job anymore.

"You can't treat me like this, Ruslan Dragunov!" she screams before the door slams shut. "I'll fucking ruin you!"

I almost smile.

As if she could.

As if anyone could after that blood-soaked night when I lost everything.

The car peels away. Already, my mind is turning to the collateral damage assessment: shattered glass, potential lawsuits from anyone hit by debris, repair costs, disruption to my club's reputation.

Inconvenient, but manageable.

The biggest concern weighing on my mind is the look I saw in Aurora's eyes when Sienna took her photo.

That was fear.

Real fear.

I take the stairs two at a time back to the VIP level, nodding curtly at guests who recognize me. Security parts to let me through the hallway. Something's wrong. I feel it in my gut, the same instinct that's kept me alive through territory wars and betrayals.

When I reach our private room, Alina stands outside, hands clasped nervously in front of her. Her eyes don't meet mine.

"Mr. Dragunov, I'm so sorry. Your guest... she insisted on leaving."

I keep my voice neutral though my jaw tightens. "When?"

"Just after you went downstairs. She seemed... distressed." Alina shifts her weight. "I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't accept no for an answer."

I dismiss Alina with a nod, maintaining the professional distance required from staff.

Alone, I step into the empty VIP suite. The broken window is letting in the throbbing bass that has resumed from below. Aurora's glass sits untouched. Her coconut scent still lingers in the air.

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