Page 45 of Savage Vows
She saw what I am. Not the man at the dinner table, not the hands that touched her last night, not the quiet monster her family told her about. She saw the truth—what I have to do to keep this city in line. What it means to be a Volkov.
I could drag her out and ask what she thinks of me now. I could tell her she’s no safer than anyone else. But I don’t.
The men do their work quickly—nothing left but silence and the faint metallic tang in the air. Markov slips away to his next call. Only Maksim lingers, standing just outside the shadow of the old wall, arms folded, gaze distant.
We haven’t spoken in months. He’s always been too clever for his own good, always watching from the edge of things. Myfather used to call him the house fox. Too useful to lose, too dangerous to let close.
He glances at me, jaw tight. “Clean job,” he says quietly, almost bored.
I nod. We both know that’s not a compliment.
Maksim’s eyes follow the retreating men. “You keep making messes, you’re going to run out of stone to clean.”
I bristle, but don’t show it. “You have a suggestion, or just commentary?”
He almost smiles. “If I had suggestions, you’d ignore them.”
We stand in silence. There’s history here—childhoods intertwined, families twisted together and then broken apart. He knows what I am. He knows what it costs.
Maksim scans the edge of the hedge, squinting against the sunlight. Then his gaze lands on something at the distance. “Adriana?” he calls out, voice cutting across the garden. “You can come out, you know.”
I turn, pulse ticking faster. So she didn’t run. She stayed.
I wonder what she’ll do next. And I realize I want to know.
There’s a long pause—then she steps out from behind the hedge. She’s pale, tense, but she faces us. No running, no denial. She stands in sunlight, her hair loose over her shoulders, eyes moving between us.
I watch the way Maksim’s entire posture shifts. He smiles—an actual smile, something rare—and steps toward her with arms wide. She goes right to him. Her arms slip around his waist, his around her shoulders. It’s the kind of hug that comes froma lifetime of shared secrets, the sort of closeness people like me never really had.
Something in my chest tightens. I don’t let it show.
He murmurs something into her hair—too soft for me to catch. Her hand squeezes his back. She looks relieved, even a little shaky, like for a second she forgot where she was or what she just witnessed. I hate how easy it is for her to fall into his arms, how natural it looks.
She pulls away, but she doesn’t step back. They’re still close, and for a moment I catch the echo of kids running through old hallways, all innocence and trust.
I step forward, arms folded, voice easy. “You two know each other?”
Adriana glances at me, her face suddenly careful. “We grew up together,” she says, quiet but clear.
Maksim turns his attention to me then, finally, his expression somewhere between guarded and defiant. “Our mothers were close. I was at her house more than my own sometimes.” He smiles at her again. “Long time, huh?”
She nods, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Feels like a different life.”
I can’t help but study her—the way she lights up around him, the way she relaxes, even in the middle of all this. It unsettles me. There are layers here I don’t know.
I watch the way she turns to him, the way her face softens, and something inside me coils tight. She leans in, almost conspiratorial. “Maksim, can we talk alone?”
The request scrapes across my nerves. I step in before he can answer, my voice just a little too smooth. “If you have something to say, you can say it here.”
Adriana blinks, frustration flickering across her face. Bella, who’s been silent at her side, takes the hint—she slips her arm through Adriana’s, pulling her gently away with some excuse about needing to talk, her eyes darting warily between the three of us. I watch Maksim watch Adriana go, his shoulders stiff, his mouth twisted with something that looks too much like disappointment.
He sulks, just for a second. I don’t miss it. The thought needles at me: Does he want her? I’m not blind. I saw how he looked at her, how she melted into his arms. The way old friends sometimes look at each other when they realize time has changed everything and nothing all at once.
Maksim clears his throat, trying for casual as we walk toward the house. “By the way, Dante, the invitation for next weekend still stands. The ball. I’d love to see you there—both of you.”
We’re nearly to the doors when my father’s voice breaks in—hard and certain, rolling down from the top of the marble stairs.
“We’ll be there,” he says, without waiting for my answer.
