Page 68 of Savage Vows
I hold his stare. “I don’t forget.”
“I thought we were friends,” he says.
“We are,” I say.
Remik dusts a fleck of ash from his sleeve, casual as a cat. “Speaking of remembering—nice little gathering the other night. Maksim’s family does love a room full of mirrors and witnesses.” He tilts his head. “I saw your new wife there. Hard to miss the…red dress. Loud, but not doing her any favors.”
My jaw ticks. “Careful.”
“Relax,” he drawls. “I’m not questioning your taste—just your judgment.” His mouth quirks. “And I’m not talking out of turn either. I was one of Serrano’s closest partners. I know the faces that drifted through his orbit.” He taps his temple. “Hers? I’ve seen it twice. The party was the second time.”
I go still. “Where was the first?”
“Chicago. Serrano’s club. Week before the feds peeled him off the floor.” He doesn’t blink. “She wasn’t there for fun.”
The room tightens around us. “You’re sure.”
“Dante, I don’t confuse faces.” He taps his temple. “I thought maybe she was tagging along for a thrill, but she looked like someone with a taste for trouble. Or maybe someone who doesn’t know when she’s out of her depth.”
He lets the silence stretch, studying me for a reaction. “All I’m saying, Dante, is not every woman knows what lines not to cross. Sometimes you bring someone home and you never really know what you’ve got until she finds a way to embarrass you. That’s how Serrano ended up with half the feds in his books—too many pretty faces in the wrong rooms, getting noticed.”
He stands, brushing down his coat. “Port papers, Tuesday. And if you’re smart, keep your wife out of places that don’t suit her.No need to attract the wrong kind of attention. Some men don’t like surprises.”
He leaves me with that thought, and the taste of old distrust in my mouth.
Remik’s words stick with me long after he’s gone, like grit under my tongue. I drive back to the city with the radio off, knuckles white on the wheel, mind spinning through every look, every detail he threw at me about Adriana. Out of place. Awkward. Not knowing her role.Some men don’t like surprises.
Fuck him for saying it. Fuck me for listening.
By the time I’m home, my mood’s gone sour as old whiskey. I scroll through my phone, type a terse message to Oleg:Where are you? What’s Adriana doing?
Oleg replies quick, always the soldier:Stopped at the church she used to go to. Just a few minutes. Now at her family’s house. Everything fine.
I stare at the screen, the wordchurchcircling in my head. Why would she stop there? For who? For what?
Remik’s words echo—you never know what you’ve got until she finds a way to embarrass you. My jaw clenches. Was Adriana praying for something? Meeting someone? Looking for answers?
It shouldn’t bother me this much. But it does. I toss my phone onto the table, stand in the middle of the room, and try to shake off the feeling that I’m missing something big, something that’s been right in front of me all along.
Suddenly, I’m not so sure who I’m really trying to protect—her, or myself.
I pace the length of my office, hands shoved in my pockets, every muscle tight.
She’s never talked much about faith. Never asked for a ride to Sunday service, not even to play the part for my family. Why today?
I scroll back through Oleg’s message, searching for anything that feels off.Just a few minutes.Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s everything.
Remik’s voice needles in my head:Sometimes you bring someone home and you never really know what you’ve got…
A sick, restless energy claws at me. I send another message to Oleg:Did she talk to anyone? Anyone approach her?
His answer comes back, careful as ever:No one except an old nun. No one else close. She lit a candle, spoke a few words, nothing more.
It doesn’t settle me. If anything, it puts me on edge.
Outside, the streetlights flicker on, but the silence inside the house feels anything but peaceful. My jaw aches from clenching it all afternoon. The staff keep their distance; even the old dog in the kitchen flinches when I walk by.
I pace from room to room, never settling. I try to read the same report three times and still can’t remember a word. I end up in the library, staring at nothing, the drink in my hand forgotten.
