Page 54 of Vendetta Vows

Alone,I stand in the grand foyer, surrounded by all the trappings of my family's wealth and power.

But all I can feel is the crushing emptiness all around me.

I loosen my tie, feeling the weight of the day bearing down on my shoulders. In front of them all, I maintained the appearance expected of a Dragunov.

Cold. Composed. Untouchable.

But alone, I feel the familiar tightness in my chest threatening to crack open.

A door creaks upstairs, pulling my attention from the darkness threatening to consume me. I look up to see Aurora descending the staircase, bathed in golden light streaming through the open door behind her.

Her silhouette is soft against the harsh angles of this house, and her movements are hesitant yet deliberate.

For a moment, I'm struck by how out of place she appears in this mausoleum of memories. Yet somehow fitting, like a ray of light penetrating a fortress that hasn't known warmth in decades.

"Are you alright?" she asks softly.

Something inside me breaks. A hairline fracture appears in the wall I've maintained all day. With every step she takes, that fracture widens until a single tear escapes before I can stop it, trailing hot down my cheek.

I turn away, unwilling to be witnessed in this moment of weakness, but her hand finds mine. Her touch is warm, gentle. It's nothing like the firm handshakes and cold embraces I've endured all day.

Her simple touch soothes me in a way nothing else has today. Not the rituals of funeral preparations. Not the heartless nods of other pakhans.

Not even the tears of my mother and nieces.

Just her hand in mine.

I should maintain the distance that keeps both of us safe. But her touch feels like the first breath after nearly drowning, and I can't bring myself to break the connection.

"Don't," I start to pull away, but her fingers tighten around mine.

She doesn't speak, doesn't offer hollow words about how Lev is in a better place or how time heals all wounds. She simply stands beside me, her presence an anchor in the storm of grief that threatens to pull me under.

"That man," she starts.

"Gregor," I explain.

"Yes," Aurora whispers, her fingers still intertwined with mine. "I heard what he said."

My head snaps up. Those words weren't meant for her ears. The conversation with Gregor happened in the foyer, far from her room.

"How?"

"The heating vents." She gestures toward the ceiling. "Sound travels through them in strange ways. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but his voice carries."

The tension in my shoulders eases slightly.

Of course… The mansion's ventilation system has always been a great source of gossip. I suspect father had it done so that he might spy on his guests for information. Lev and I used to whisper secrets to each other from one corner of the house to another.

My thumb brushes over her knuckles. "Most people in this place wouldn't notice these things when they first arrive."

She looks down at our joined hands. "When you spend years hiding, you learn to pay attention to everything. Every sound. Every shadow."

That statement hangs between us, loaded with meaning I'm still piecing together. This woman notices things others miss. It's a valuable skill in my world, but a skill that's almost always learned at a great cost.

"So what do you think?" I ask, curious what she makes of the bratva's inner workings. "About everything you heard?"

15

---