Page 112 of Savage Vows
I shook my head. “I don’t buy it. Dante isn’t?—”
He cut me off. “Dante is a killer. That’s what he is, that’s what all the Volkovs are. They only know how to take. That’s how they have the entire city under their thumb, and they will go to any extent to protect their truth. Remik wouldn’t have covered it up for anyone else. And who else has access to that kind of power?”
I went numb. “We need to go to his apartment. My sister, she’s with him…”
“Julianne?” Maksim frowned. “What’s she doing there?”
“It’s a long story. You were right about that guy, Luka. He tried to hurt her, we got her back but?—”
“But what?” he pressed.
I quickly shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. We need to go back for her.”
Maksim frowned. “We can’t risk going back for her. It’s too dangerous for both of you.”
My breath caught. “But she’s my sister. I can’t just leave her.”
His expression turned cold. “No, Adriana. We have to plan. If we’re not careful, you’ll both disappear. I need to take you somewhere he can’t reach. Somewhere safe. After that, we’ll figure out how to get your sister back.”
I wanted to argue, to demand we turn around, but the way Maksim gripped the wheel told me there’d be no changing his mind. The silence stretched between us, heavy with dread and things unsaid.
Now, in the cabin, I shiver again—less from cold than from fear. I press my palm to my stomach, trying to calm the fluttering panic inside me. I hope Dante is looking for me. I hope he’s nothing like what Maksim believes. But as the morning slips in through the pine trees and the old dream still tingles under my skin, I can’t be sure of anything anymore.
I throw on a sweater and step into the kitchen, where Maksim is pulling on his jacket and checking the keys to his old truck. He’s tense this morning, eyes darting between the windows like he expects to see someone out there in the woods.
“I’m running into town for groceries,” he says, voice careful, as if he’s rehearsed it. “Don’t wander off while I’m gone.”
I smile, half-teasing, needing to shake off the nerves. “What, you think I’ll get lost in the trees?”
He frowns. “There are wild bears around here. I’m serious.”
“Maksim, there aren’t any wild bears in this part of upstate New York.”
He just shrugs, not even a hint of a smile. “Don’t go far.” He’s out the door before I can tease him further, the screen creaking shut behind him.
The cabin feels smaller with him gone, every old floorboard groaning louder, every draft a whisper against my skin. I pace the living room, peek out the front window, check my phone for the millionth time (no signal, of course), and finally give up trying to distract myself.
Restless, I step out into the backyard, boots sinking into the damp earth.
A sound catches me at the edge of the clearing behind the house—a faint, scraping noise, almost like claws on old wood or nails against metal. I pause, breath clouding in the chilly air. The backyard is a patch of damp earth ringed by tall pines, the ground soft with moss and fallen needles. A woodpile leans against the back wall, and the old toolshed sits hunched in shadow.
For a long moment, I stand still, listening, the hairs on my arms prickling. It’s probably nothing. A raccoon. Maybe a branch in the wind. But my heart races in my chest. Something feels wrong. The quiet is too heavy, the light too thin.
A knot of unease settles low in my stomach. I glance over my shoulder at the empty house. The urge to go back inside surges up, and I turn and retrace my steps, boots squelching in the mud, shutting the door quickly behind me.
Inside, the silence is thicker, heavy with dust and the tick of the old clock above the mantel. I try to shake the feeling, but the sound keeps echoing in my mind.
On a whim, I wander down the narrow hall to Maksim’s study. The door is half-closed, the light on his desk still glowing. The room smells faintly of tobacco and leather, stacks of papers littering the desk. I tell myself I’m just killing time, but curiosity drives me forward.
I sift through the clutter, fingertips trailing over documents, folders, keys. A battered notebook lies wedged beneath a stack of receipts. I pull it out, flipping through the pages.
Something catches my eye, a photograph, slipped between yellowed pages. I freeze, the scratching sound forgotten, as I read the names and dates scrawled in the margins, the faces looking back at me. My instincts scream now. Something is very, very wrong.
The photograph slides from the notebook and flutters to the floor. I kneel to retrieve it and my hand freezes. It’s a picture of Julianne, taken years back. She’s not looking at the camera, so it’s evident she didn’t know the photo was being taken. A bracelet is taped to the page beside the picture—thin silver links, a tiny heart charm. I’ve seen it before. In Anya’s picture that Bella showed me.
My pulse hammers. I flip to the next page and find a plastic charm from a cell phone, taped beneath another photo. I recognize the girl from an unsolved case I was reading about last year. She had disappeared. There was no connection to Portello, or Anya or Samie, so I ignored it. But now I know. The club was a decoy. The real story has been unfolding for years.
Page after page. A necklace, a lock of blond hair, a torn ticket stub. Every trinket paired with a face and a date. Almost all of the pictures were taken in a dark background, impossible to make out. But one thing is clear.
