Page 122 of Bratva's Vow
“What’s your day looking like?” he asked, eyes on the knot. “Hopefully not working too much?”
“I have a couple of meetings. Then later, I need to collect Vlad’s remains.”
His hands stilled. He looked up at me. “You want me to come with you?”
I shook my head. “No. I can handle it.”
Vova was gone. I couldn’t focus on the loss when his killer was still out there. No one had bitten yet at the five-million-dollar reward I’d offered for information leading to the killer’s identity.
There was a beat of silence. Wren didn’t argue. He leaned in and kissed me softly. No heat. Just lips and breath and the weight of grief and comfort passing between mouths.
It steadied me more than he could ever know.
Wren grimaced, clutching his stomach.
I pulled back, worried. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” He sat quickly on the edge of the bed. “Just a stomach thing. Probably something I ate yesterday on campus.”
“Wren—”
“I’m fine.” He waved me off. “It’s just some cramping. If it gets bad, I’ll stay home. But I don’t want to fall behind already in my first week. I can make it through today and can rest over the weekend.”
“You sure?”
He nodded, smiling at me. “Maxim, don’t worry about me. The feeling is already passing. Don’t work too hard today, okay?”
I wasn’t sure I believed him. Not completely. He looked a little pale. Or was that my imagination?
I leaned down, cupped his cheek, and kissed his forehead, which felt clammy. I lingered there, letting the heat of him seep into me. Letting that quiet moment anchor me before I had to step out into the world and pretend to be unshakable again.
“Call me if it gets worse.” I straightened. “It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. I’ll come.”
“Yes, babe,” he said.
I liked that so much.
Him calling me babe.
I stared at him for one more breath, drinking him in. That beautiful, ridiculous boy with his tousled hair and bad posture and too-big heart.
He was my sanity.
And I had no fucking idea what I would do if I lost him too.
Nope, I couldn’t let my thoughts go there, or I would be back to undoing all the freedom I’d given him lately. But I didn’t want to return to him being sad and hating me all the time. Now if he got angry, all I had to do was kiss him, finger him a little, and he went putty in my hands.
I kept myself busy at work. I had to, or I would go stir crazy from not being able to make any progress in Stone’s death and now Vova’s. Were they even related? Had Vova’s death been a warning to me? For what?
Grief had a sharp edge, but work dulled it. Vova and I had been close, but since I became the Pakhan, I’d always kept a distance from him. Not because I didn’t care, but because he didn’t choose the lifestyle. I did. It was so easy to forget that he was gone. That he wouldn’t be able to fulfill our next appointment for him to cut my hair.
I threw myself into meetings, contracts, numbers. Things I could control. Things that made sense.
The morning started with a teleconference with the city’s planning board. They were dragging their feet again on therevised zoning permissions for The Orion Towers, one of the biggest projects my firm had ever taken on. Twin skyscrapers on the waterfront—residential penthouses, fine dining, rooftop pools, panoramic skyline views. A real empire, built from glass and steel. And I wasn’t about to let red tape slow it down.
After that, I spent hours on-site, weaving through scaffolding and safety tape, listening to engineers and contractors rattle off updates.
Tower A had made decent progress, but Tower B was still playing catch-up. I stood in the shell of what would soon be a marble-clad lobby and imagined the space finished—guests checking in, concierge desks buzzing, investors clapping me on the back. I gave instructions, made hard calls, and reminded everyone that delays weren’t an option.
