Page 68 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

She hums. “And what does it mean?”

“That I was born—vor v zakone—in the house of thieves.”

She pushes my shirt down my arms and traces the ink there. “These skulls with writings on them. What do they mean?”

“Murderer.”

I can’t miss the way she flinches.

But she continues touching my shoulders. “And these?”

“Epaulette. I’ve commanded men in service of the Bratva.”

Her fingers drift over the twin stars on my chest.

I don’t need her to ask at this point. “The son of a pakhan.”

Wherever her fingers roam, I describe the meaning. She traces nearly every inch of my body, turning me around to reveal the face-up spider on my left shoulder blade.

She smooths her fingers through my hair while I lean against the couch. She’s still tracing the spider, quietly waiting for my explanation.

“Face up.” I lick my lips and whisper, “An active criminal.”

She squeezes my shoulder as her breath hitches. I can sense the question on her lips, almost predict it as I would nearly anything she’s about to say.

But I listen. I wait. I reach for her hand.

“Facedown?” she finally asks.

I turn my ear toward her. “One who has walked away.”

“And will there ever be a day when the spider faces down?”

“Yes,” I whisper, and she squeezes my shoulder harder. “But I’ve been afraid of that day.”

She sucks air into her lungs as though she’s dying to breathe. “Why?”

“I never believed it could happen for me, but…” I lick my lips. “But it feels right even though it’s scary to say.”

“But there is a day.”

I nod.

She trembles. That’s hope coursing through her right now. “I believe it could happen, Pavel.”

I sigh as I lift myself from the ground and grab the blanket, wrapping it around us as I embrace her. The cushions are big enough to hold us both easily, but I still tug her as close as possible, still bury my face into the crook of her neck.

And she lets me do it.

The cocoon I create brims with warmth and affection. Her fingers crawl up the back of my neck and tangle through my hair, nails barely scraping my scalp. My cock lazily springs to life, poking her thigh. It’s maddening the command she holds over my body.

But there’s something else that commands me more.

I rest my cheek on her shoulder and whisper, “That’s another thing I admire about you.”

“What?”

“You’ve never been defeated by any obstacle you’ve met.”

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