Page 76 of Bratva's Vow
I turned away, needing to move, needing to put distance between myself and the wreckage I’d probably just caused. Had I made the situation between Wren and me worse?
At the car, I looked back. My gaze landed on Nik and Dezi. “Guard him. If he’s not here when I return, if anything happens to him, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
“You’re really leaving after all you said?” Wren cried.
I wanted to go to him but needed some space. To regulate my emotions. To think of a way I could reach him. A way thatdidn’t include him walking out on me again. I never wanted to relive the horror of waking up to a Wren-sized hole in my heart.
“We’ll talk later.” I used my gentlest voice, but my throat was too scratchy, so the words came out more like a threat.
Wren swept his gaze around the circle of people standing around—Jess, Nik, Viktor, Archie. Me.
Then he laughed.
Short. Bitter. Hollow.
“Well, isn’t this fucking perfect?” Wren said, trembling. “Everyone knew. Everyone. Except me. I was the punchline in a joke no one had the decency to tell. Sleeping with the mob like some wide-eyed idiot while you all smiled and played along. I hope you got your laugh. I hope it was worth it.”
“Wren—” I stepped forward.
“Don’t.” He turned without another word and walked toward the house.
No one stopped him.
Not even me.
“Maxim,” Sergei said. “I can cancel?—”
“No. Stone hasn’t been found yet, and that’s top priority.”
It was time to meet with my brigadiers.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MAXIM
WINE CELLAR VAULT, BLACKRIDGE HOTEL
The elevator sighed open, releasing a whisper of cooled air into the hidden cellar beneath the Blackridge Hotel.
No signage marked the floor. No buttons led here. Only a fingerprint scanner and a voice ID. This place didn’t exist. Not on blueprints, not in the fire escape plans, not even in the building’s deepest permits.
The room looked like old wealth. Arched brick ceilings, ambient amber lighting, and floor-to-ceiling wine racks that held both priceless bottles and poisoned fakes. At the center stood a wide walnut table, its surface polished to a mirror sheen, its shape to coffin-like to be accidental. Six leather chairs surrounded it. The one at the head was mine.
Popov was reclined lazily in his chair, tapping the rim of a crystal glass with his silver ring. As I entered, he sat up,flashing his gold tooth in a half smile that never quite reached his eyes.
“Good to see you, Boss,” he said.
Gusev, dressed in dove-gray as always, offered a polite nod, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Mr. Morozov. Word is you’ve made the city quite interesting today.”
“Shouldn’t you know by now not to listen to rumors?” I took my seat while Archie claimed the one to my right. Sergei stood a few feet away from me, his back against the wall.
Vasiliev remained standing behind his chair, eyes alert. Unlike the other two, he was more astute. A lot more observant, and it was harder to get one over on a man like that. He was also the one I trusted least of all the brigadiers who ran the underground dealings for me while I took on the face of my legitimate businesses. He merely nodded in acknowledgment.
“Where’s Aistov?” Archie asked.
Popov chuckled. “Probably balls deep inside that curvy brunette he picked up in the lobby. You know how it is with him.”
The elevator hissed, and Aistov sauntered in, swaying slightly on his feet. The twenty-two-year-old young man was too young to be a brigadier. Or so they’d told me, but I’d seen some of myself in Aistov. He was ruthless with a blade. I had taken a chance on him two years ago, and so far, he hadn’t disappointed. If only he could control his dick. I always believed he wouldn’t die in a mob deal gone bad, but some woman would stab him in his sleep if he kept playing them the way he did.
