Page 158 of Bratva's Vow
Sergei didn’t answer. His gaze drifted to Wren, then to me. He blew out a breath. “Given Pilar and her family are now dead… the trail leads to one place.”
I stared at him. “He’s been with me before everyone else. There’s a reason I made him my sovietnik.”
“I know.”
“If I can’t trust Archie,” I said, voice low and trembling, “then who the fuck can I trust? Does loyalty meannothinganymore?”
“It means everything,” Sergei said softly. “But people… people twist what it looks like. I think he’s still loyal toyou, Maxim. I don’t believe he wants to hurt you. I’m not even sure he can. But Wren…”
“What about Wren?”
“You two used to be together. Maybe he feels Wren threatens that.”
“Archie and I haven’t been intimate in years. That can’t be it.”
“Maybe.”
Silence settled between us, thick and unbearable.
My eyes fell to Wren’s hand, pale and slack on the blanket. I walked over to him, gently lifted his hand, and brushed my thumb across his knuckles.
I’d failed him. I let this happen.
“I’ll have to kill him.” I didn’t look at Sergei.
“You don’t have to do it yourself. I can?—”
“No, I do.”
“Maxim—”
“It has to be me, Sergei. I deserve to look into his eyes and know that he can’t hurt Wren anymore.”
Sergei didn’t argue. “Okay, I’ll stick around and relieve Nik so he can get some sleep.”
“It’s no use,” I said. “He won’t leave Wren either.”
“I’ll stick around anyway. Text me if you need anything.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and I was alone again. Nik had brought me food earlier, but I’d barely touched it. Whenever I looked at the meal, I felt sick that I’d allowed someone into my home who’d been poisoning Wren every day.
I ran a hand over my face, scrubbing away the exhaustion clinging to my skin like a second layer. The room felt colder now, quieter. Like even the machines were holding their breath. The drip of IV fluid, the soft whir of the oxygen—each sound was its own cruel metronome.
Wren’s fingers twitched beneath mine.
I snapped upright.
“Wren?”
His brow furrowed a little. Then his eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice. Finally, they opened, slow and sluggish like he had to convince himself it was worth the effort.
“Max…” His voice was dry and raspy, barely there.
“I’m here.” I leaned in, wiping his hair from his forehead. It was damp still, skin clammy. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He blinked slowly, gaze unfocused, drifting across the ceiling, then settling on me. His lips twitched faintly at the corners. A sad ghost of a smile.
“You look like shit,” he mumbled.
