Page 45 of The Enforcer's Vow
The first image shows Damir in an empty garage, crouched beside a black crate marked with the Karpin crest. He’s wearing nitrile gloves. His head is down, but there’s no mistaking the tattoos or the white tank clinging to his back. The next photo zooms closer—his hands are sorting through vials, one of them labeledZ-083R. A sealed bag rests beside it, red marker scrawled across the front,TEST CUT – Petrov.Use with caution.
Then a transcript. A phone extraction. The number belongs to Damir’s burner, confirmed by the SIM card serial.
DM: 01:52: Vetrov crew won’t trace it. Rolan will think it was them.
UNKNOWN: 01:53: And the cousin?
DM: 01:55: He’s a bonus. They take the fall. We take the territory.
There’s a list below that—shipment dates, weights, target zones. All of it cataloged in someone else’s neat handwriting. But this part—the plan, the signature—this is Damir.
The papers slip from my fingers and scatter across the floor. I sink to my knees, my vision blurring. Damir didn’t just make a mistake. He killed someone. He killed Maksim’s cousin.
I don't know how long I kneel there, staring at the evidence of my brother's crimes. When I finally move, it's to gather up the papers with shaking hands and put them back in the folder. I close the drawer, but the sound carries too loudly in the quiet apartment.
"Zoya?"
I freeze. Maksim's voice comes from the bedroom, rough with sleep.
"I'm here," I call back, my voice barely above a whisper.
His bare feet move across the hardwood floor, and I quickly move away from the filing cabinet. When he appears in the doorway, I'm standing by my rumpled wedding gown, my arms wrapped around myself.
"What are you doing out here?"
"I couldn't sleep. I wanted some water." The lie comes easily, but my voice shakes.
He takes in the scene—me in his shirt, the desk area behind me. His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't ask more questions. Instead, he crosses to me and pulls me against his chest.
"You're shaking," he says.
"I'm cold."
He holds me tighter, and I let him. Because in this moment, after what I've learned crushed me, I need something to hold onto. Even if it's the man who's going to kill my brother.
"Come back to bed," he murmurs against my hair.
I nod against his chest, not trusting myself to speak. He guides me out of the living room and back down the hallway, his hand warm and steady at the small of my back.
In his bedroom, he pulls me back under the covers and wraps his arms around me. I lie rigidly against him, my mind racing.The order was dated today. How long do I have before they find Damir? How long before my brother is dead?
"Sleep," Maksim whispers, his lips against my temple.
But I know sleep won't come. Not now. Not ever again.
Because now I know the truth. And the truth is that I've married the man who's going to destroy everything I have left. Except, maybe my brother deserves it. Maybe Damir really did murder that man, and if so, how can I tell Maksim not to take an eye for an eye?
18
MAKSIM
Iwake at five thirty, the way I always do. The apartment is dark around me, Moscow still sleeping outside the windows. Zoya lies curled against my chest, her dark hair spread across the pillow. In sleep, she looks younger. Less guarded. The hard lines around her eyes have softened, and her mouth is slightly parted.
I watch her breathe for a moment before extracting myself from the bed. She doesn't stir. Good. She needs the rest, and I need to think.
The shower runs cold, the way I prefer it. The water shocks my system awake, clears the fog from my head. Last night was... complicated. The way she looked at me when I mentioned Damir, the questions she asked about mercy… She's not going to let this go. She's going to keep pushing, keep digging, until she finds out things that will destroy her.
I dress in dark jeans and a black sweater and check my phone. Three missed calls from Rolan, all from the past hour. My jaw tightens. He wants his report.
