Page 144 of Bratva's Vow
He had no idea I was about to take him to the gun range and show off. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when I nailed the bull's-eye.
Payback for ambushing me with that kiss in the parking lot.
Karma, baby. Mafia-style. The language he understood best.
“You look hot by the way,” Maxim said. “Absolutely fuckable.”
“Geez, Maxim.” My cheeks burned, but a tingle of happiness fanned out inside me.
“Too fuckable for school, though,” he muttered.
And the happiness vanished. “It’s just a crop top.”
“That shows your cute belly button.”
“I doubt anyone sees a belly button and immediately thinks of smashing someone, Maxim.”
“Wrong. I’m thinking about it right now. I’m thinking the next time I want to come all over your beautiful stomach.”
“That’s because you’re you! I don’t know where you get the idea that a bunch of people find me attractive, but trust me, you’re the only one hitting on me.”
Maxim scoffed. “I doubt that. Knowing you, you’re just too clueless to realize it.”
“Ouch.” I clutched my chest with one hand, the other stillon the steering wheel. “First slut shaming me, then insulting my intelligence. Someone’s not looking to get lucky later.”
“Why would I slut shame you when I love you the way you are?” He placed a hand on my bare tummy and stroked. I sucked in a deep breath, distracted. “I’m just jealous, solnyshko. Don’t pay me any mind.”
“It’s hard not to pay you any mind when you’re touching me like that.”
Chuckling, he teased the ring in my navel, then tugged his hand away. “All right, I’ll behave. For now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
MAXIM
Wren drove like he did everything in life—carefully.
I watched him from the passenger seat, the way his hands rested easily on the wheel, how his eyes flicked between the road and the mirrors with calm focus.
I used to hate that I couldn’t drive anymore. After the seizures started, I’d placed my license in the drawer of my desk at home. Too much risk. Too much pride swallowed. I’d learned to live with it, but I’d never stopped resenting it.
Yet sitting next to him, with his playlist humming softly through the speakers and the golden afternoon sun casting warm stripes across his face, I felt something close to contentment.
Sergei followed us in one of the black sedans, never far, but I hardly noticed. It didn’t feel like surveillance today. It felt like a drive with the person I loved.
I looked over at him. “Who taught you to drive?”
“My dad,” Wren said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Hewas pretty cool about it. Had me on his lap, steering the car before I could even reach the gas.”
His voice was lighter than it had been in days. Laced with a quiet fondness, a warmth that had been missing before when he spoke of his father.
I studied the side of his face, the slope of his nose, the ends of his hair that danced in the wind from the open window.
Maybe finally knowing the truth, all of it, had given him something to stand on.
Closure.
Somehow he seemed happier. More at ease with himself and life.
