Page 51 of Vendetta Vows

"Lev was never supposed to be my husband." She steps closer, her mint and basil perfume choking me. "It was always supposed to be you."

I grab her wrist, squeezing until she winces. "Take your hands off me."

"Why?" Her lips curve into a predatory smile. "We both know this is what you want. What you truly want."

"The only thing I want right now is for you to stop disrespecting my brother's memory."

"Lev is dead. Gone." She presses against me, her breath hot on my neck. "Don't waste your time pining for corpses. Life is for the living, Ruslan, and I can show you just how alive I am."

I shove her away, harder than intended.

She stumbles back and catches herself. Then, all pretense of warmth disappears.

"Are you still mourning the little whore Vitaly killed?"

"And have you forgotten your role in her death?" My hands shake with fury. "You were the one who handed her to my father."

"Do you know why I did that to her?" Tamara's perfect mask cracks, and for a moment, the shadow of a scared nineteen-year-old girl swims to the surface. "I did it because I knew I would have to marry one of you, and I was terrified of marrying Lev. To you, he was the protective older brother who looked after you. But not to me."

My chest tightens.

"Your Lev snuck you candy behind your father's back." She steps closer, choking me with the overpowering scent of her perfume. "My Lev held me down in our bed for nineteen years while I screamed with tears on my face."

The raw pain in her voice is real. That's not something you can fake.

"For nineteen years, I dreamed that you would save me from him." Her fingers brush my jacket, "And now that dream is about to come true."

"I'm not your savior, Tamara." I step back, putting distance between us. "Go be a mother to your children. Go be a good daughter-in-law to my mother. They need you now more than ever."

Her eyes flash with familiar hunger before she masks it.

"Don't think you can walk away from me, Lanchik."

She gives my arm one final squeeze before she walks over to help escort my mother and nieces out the mansion.

When the door closes behind them, footsteps approach from behind and I turn to find the glacial blue eyes of Gregor Belov staring at me.

The godfather of theZapadniye Vori, the pakhan of pakhans,stands before me in a pristine pale suit. His white beard is neatly trimmed and his presence fills the room even after everyone else has departed.

"Ruslan Vitalyevich, a quick word?" Gregor's voice carries the quiet authority that has kept theZapadniye Voriunified for three decades.

My hackles rise immediately. Gregor Belov never requests "quick words."

"Of course." I gesture toward my father's office.

"No need." Gregor puts up his hand. "We can talk here."

I cast a quick glance behind him towards the stairs and notice that Aurora's door is still closed. I feel a small drop of relief that she won't bear witness to any of the awfulness in this world that I've dragged her into.

"What did you want to talk about, Gregor Iosifovich?" The words taste like ash in my mouth.

His pale blue eyes assess me like the winter sun challenges fresh snow. I can almost see the calculations running behind them, the assessment of my worth, my potential usefulness.

"A pakhan is dead," he finally says. "And so is his heir. The succession of the Dragunov Bratva concerns all of us in theZapadniye Vori."

I don't speak, choosing to let my silence prompt Gregor to keep talking.

"With Lev Vitalyevich and Mikhail Lvovich's unfortunate passing," Gregor continues, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from his immaculate suit. "It would seem that young Mikayla Lvovna is next in line."

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