Page 77 of The Enforcer's Vow
"Always."
"And for telling me what he said. Even if it doesn't change anything."
"It doesn't have to change anything. But you deserved to know."
She nods and leans against me, her hand resting on her stomach. "What happens now?"
"Now we build our life together. Away from all of this." I kiss the top of her head. "Just us and our child."
"And your family."
"Our family."
She looks up at me, and I see the future in her eyes. Not the shadow of her past, but the promise of what's to come. A life built on truth instead of lies, on loyalty instead of betrayal.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you too.”
31
ZOYA
The chapel feels smaller than it should, its stone walls pressing close around me as I pace the narrow aisle between wooden pews. My footsteps bounce around the sanctuary like a hollow reminder of the emptiness that's taken root in my chest. The streetlight outside filters through stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across the floor—blues and reds that shift and blur as I move.
Father Doroshev sits in the front pew with weathered hands folded over a worn prayer book. He arrived an hour ago at my request, though I'm not sure what I expected from him. Comfort, perhaps, or maybe just another voice in this tomb of a place where I've been hiding since the moment Maksim fell asleep.
The paper I snuck out of Maksim's file crinkles in my grip, and I force myself to stop pacing. The words are burned into my memory now and I'll never be able to erase them.
Damir Mirov. Recruitment confirmed. Karpin operative.
The official language makes it clean, clinical. It doesn't capture the way my world collapsed when I read it or the way my hands shake as I trace the date—three years ago, when I thought my brother was finally getting his life together.
"You carry a heavy burden, child." Father Doroshev's voice is soft, accented with careful Russian in a professional tone. "Would you share it with me?"
I stop at the altar and let my fingers trail over the smooth wood. The cross above us is simple and unadorned. Nothing about this place screams luxury or power, and maybe that's why I chose it. In Maksim's world, everything has a price or a purpose. This chapel feels separate from all of that.
"I lost someone," I say finally. "Someone I thought I knew."
"Death is never easy to accept." Father Doroshev nods slowly, his dark eyes holding mine with the sort of patience that comes from decades of listening to confessions, and I wonder how many grieving mourners he's given encouragement to. "Tell me about this person."
I sink into the pew across from him, the letter still clutched in my hands. "My brother. Damir. He was—" I stop, realizing I don't know how to finish that sentence anymore. What was he? A protector? A provider? A liar who built his entire life on deception?
"He was your family," he says gently.
"I thought he was." The admission feels raw, torn from someplace deep inside me that I've been trying to ignore. "When our father disappeared, Damir stepped up. He was seventeen, and I was twelve, and our mother... she wasn't handling it well. He took care of us. He worked, he brought home money, he made sure I had clothes and food and a roof over my head."
The priest waits, letting me find my words.
"I knew the work wasn't clean. I'm not naive. But I thought he was doing what he had to do to survive. To keep us alive." I unfold the letter, smoothing it against my knee. "This says he was recruited by someone very dark, very dangerous, three years ago. Not forced, not blackmailed... Recruited."
"And that changes how you see him?" The priest tilts his head and looks at me with compassion, and I feel seen for the first time. Because those facts really did change how I saw Damir—how I see him in my memory now. And I hate that.
"It changed everything." The words come out in a rush, years of suppressed doubt and fear spilling over. "Every conversation we had about being careful, about keeping our heads down, about not trusting anyone—he was already working for the people who wanted to destroy us. Every time he warned me about the dangers of this life, he was one of them."
Father Doroshev leans forward, his expression thoughtful. "You feel betrayed."
"I feel foolish." I fold the letter again, creasing it with sharp, angry motions. "I defended him. Even when Maksim—" I stop, realizing I'm about to reveal more than I should. "I defended him because I thought he was my brother. I thought family meant something to him."
