Page 76 of Savage Vows
She blinks. “What?”
“We’re going back to the city,” I say simply, already reaching for her hand.
She stands there for a second, caught between disbelief and hope, rain gathering at her lashes. “But—now? What about your family? What about?—”
“They’ll survive,” I cut in, letting a hint of a smile show. “Go. Get your things. I’ll meet you at the car in ten minutes.”
For the first time all day, I see something new spark in her eyes. She nods, a little breathless, and when she turns to go, I watch her run—head down through the rain, blue dress clinging to her, looking more alive than I’ve seen her in weeks.
I stand in the downpour a second longer, letting it wash everything else away.
We come down the main staircase, bags in hand, Adriana walking half a step behind me. Her cheeks are flushed from the rush, eyes darting everywhere but never landing on any of the faces waiting below. The rain streaks the tall windows, thunder rolling somewhere in the distance.
My father waits in the foyer, jaw tight, his chair angled so he can block the front door. Liam stands off to one side, arms folded. My mother appears near the dining room archway, twisting her hands, eyes flicking between us and my father.
He’s the first to speak, his voice cold and public. “Leaving in such a hurry, son? With the whole house watching?”
I meet his eyes. “I need to be in the city. There’s business to handle. It can’t wait.”
My mother edges closer, voice soft but pleading. “Dante, please. Think about what you’re doing. The family—people will talk. You can’t just walk out. Not with her.”
My father’s voice cracks like a whip. “You’re making a mistake. You think running solves anything? You think dragging your wife back to the city fixes the disrespect she showed this morning?”
I look from one face to another, all the old expectations pressing in. “I’m not running. I told you—I need to be in the city. That’s all.”
He laughs, bitter, shaking his head. “Is that what you’re telling yourself? That this is about business? Not about her? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re letting a Petrova make a fool out of you.”
Something in me snaps. I step forward, voice steady but dangerous. “No, Father. I’m making my own decisions. I don’t need your permission—or anyone else’s.”
He narrows his eyes, face hard. “You think you’re different from me, Dante? You think love—or whatever you call this—lets you forget who you are? This family is built on loyalty, on blood. Not on whims. Don’t throw it away for a girl who’ll never belong.”
Adriana flinches beside me, but I keep my arm steady at her waist. “I know exactly who I am,” I say. “And I’m done letting everyone else decide what that means.”
Liam watches, lips pressed tight, torn between backing me up and staying silent. My mother blinks away tears, looking between us.
We step out into the rain, bags in hand, the heaviness of the house and all its eyes pressing against our backs. Adriana’s grip on her suitcase is white-knuckled, but her chin is lifted, her steps sure. For once, neither of us slows down.
The driver’s already got the car waiting by the curb. I open the back door for her, scanning the windows—half expecting to see my father’s silhouette in the glare, my mother wringing her hands behind him, Liam hovering in the hall, wanting to follow but knowing better.
I toss our bags in the trunk and slide in beside Adriana. The inside of the car feels too warm, the air thick with that mix of leather and something new—hope, maybe, or just adrenaline.
The rain hammers on the roof as the driver pulls away. I glance at Adriana. She’s staring straight ahead, breathing a little faster than normal, a strand of hair stuck to her damp cheek. I reach out, brush it away.
She doesn’t say anything at first, and neither do I. The city rolls closer with every mile, the mansion shrinking behind us, the family’s voices growing smaller and smaller until they’re nothing but static in the back of my mind.
After a few minutes, I lean in, keep my voice low. “You okay?”
She nods, swallowing hard. “I just didn’t think we’d actually leave. Not like that.”
“Me neither,” I admit, a wry smile tugging at my mouth. “But I’m not going back on it.”
She turns then, really looks at me, still uncertain, still raw, but there’s something steadier in her eyes. “Thank you.”
By the time we reach my building, the rain’s let up, but the world still feels washed clean. We ride the elevator to the penthouse in silence. I watch her from the corner of my eye, how she holds herself together—her stubborn chin, the line of her shoulders.
My apartment is all glass and dark wood, big windows looking out over the skyline, the kind of place that feels colder at night but alive with the city’s hum. Concrete floors, steel fixtures, a kitchen that looks untouched. I never bothered with personal touches. The only photographs are old, stuck in a drawer. The living room is sparse, huge couch, a low table, a TV I barely watch. Two glasses on the bar, always ready, just in case.
Adriana stands in the middle of the open space, letting her bag slip to the floor. She turns in a slow circle, taking it in.
