Page 29 of Savage Vows
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER…
The room hasn’t changed.Same faded wallpaper, same crooked bookshelf, same smell of dust and lavender that’s been sitting here for years. I’ve tried everything—the window, the balcony latch, even kicking the bottom panel of the door like I used to when I was a kid. Nothing moves.
The lock outside is new. Strong.
The door creaks open and Misha slips inside, balancing a plate of food and a glass of water. He glances over his shoulder before shutting the door.
“You should eat,” he says, setting the food down on my desk.
That’s when I see the small marks on his hands—thin, raw lines, like he grabbed something that fought back.
“Misha…”
He avoids my eyes, tugging his sleeve lower. “Dad’s been…scary.” His voice is almost a whisper.
He doesn’t have to tell me. I grew up in the same house, under the same shadow. I know what it feels like to measure every word, every movement, in case it’s the wrong one.
And I left him here. Left both of them here. I told myself I was running for my life, but the truth is I ran and left my siblings to deal with the fallout. The guilt has been sitting on me for years, heavy as stone.
He nudges the plate closer. “Eat. Please.”
I watch him for a moment, but he’s already backing toward the door. He slips out without another word.
The hours stretch until the door opens again. This time it’s my mother. She steps in quickly, closing it behind her, and for a second she just looks at me like she’s trying to place me back in this room.
“Do you know where she is?” I ask before she can start whatever speech she’s come to give. “Julianne. Do you know who she’s with?”
Her gaze drops to her hands. “She ran off,” she says quietly. “With one of your father’s men. She thought she was in love.”
“Maybe she was,” I answer before I can stop myself.
That makes her head snap up, her gaze sharp and almost panicked. “Don’t you see? There’s no place for love in our lives.”
Her words hang there, pressing the air out of the room.
I want to tell her she’s wrong, that there has to be more than this—more than deals and threats and empty promises. But standing here, locked in my childhood bedroom, I can’t think of a single piece of evidence to prove it.
“He’ll kill us all if you don’t walk down the aisle,” my mother says, her voice low but shaking. “Do you want Misha dead? Because that’s what will happen. He’ll hunt us down—every last one of us.”
I take a step toward her. “Who ishe?”
She meets my eyes, and for the first time, I see real fear there. “Dante,” she says. “Dante Volkov.”
Before I can ask another question, she slips out and shuts the door behind her. The lock clicks, sealing me inside.
Present day…
I watch my husband.
His profile is turned to the window, attention fixed on the blur of the city giving way to wider roads. He looks calm. Removed. Like I’m not sitting less than five feet away.
My fingers rise to my mouth before I can stop them. The kiss is still there, bright and strange, like a match struck in a dark room. For a moment I feel it again, the heat, the pull I did not plan for. I drop my hand to my lap and lace my fingers together.
There is no ring on my hand. We skipped that part. He didn’t offer one. The priest kept his eyes on the book and moved us along as if vows alone were weight enough.
He doesn’t look at me.
Is he disappointed? Probably. I look nothing like Julianne. Maybe that’s why he agreed to a replacement. Maybe he thoughtI would be half as pretty as my sister and easy to ignore once the doors closed.
