Page 14 of Tattooed Vow

Lying back against the pillows, I stare at the ceiling. My emotional walls are high for a reason. I’m not sure I can let him in the way I did with Talia. The risk feels too big. But watching him earlier, hearing his voice on the phone so certain and determined, I’m not sure I can stop him even if I want to.

I turn on my side, facing the door. Knowing he’s on the other side helps me fall asleep despite everything.

And that terrifies me most of all.

6

SANDY

The soft glow of dawn creeps through the edges of the curtains, filling my room with pale light. The scent of coffee and bacon pulls me from sleep faster than any alarm ever could. For a heartbeat, I think I’m dreaming. But when I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I can hear the low hum of Dimitri moving around in my kitchen.

Outside, the city is just beginning to stir. I hear car horns in the distance, and the first subway trains rumble beneath the pavement. But inside my small apartment, time feels suspended in a strange, intimate bubble I never expect to share with someone like him.

I glimpse myself in the mirror as I slide out of bed. Dark circles shadow my eyes, and remnants of last night’s terror are still etched on my face. My fingers brush against the bruise forming on my wrist. It’s evidence that what happened isn’t just another nightmare.

I tiptoe quietly down the hall and peek into the small space. Sure enough, he’s in all his brooding, lethal glory, standing by mystove, flipping bacon like he belongs there. Coffee brews steadily beside him, and the rich, familiar aroma fills the room.

Dimitri moves with a fluid grace that seems at odds with his massive frame. Even dressed in a simple black T-shirt that clings to his back and shoulder muscles, there’s no mistaking what he is. His scars tell stories of violence and loyalty I can’t begin to decipher. Yet those same hands now carefully monitor the heat beneath the pan, adjusting it with unexpected gentleness.

I lean against the doorway, watching him. “So, this is your thing now? Mafia enforcer by night, short-order cook by morning?”

He flips the bacon with practiced ease, not bothering to turn around. “Multitalented.”

Despite everything, I smile. It feels foreign on my face after last night’s events but somehow natural in his presence.

“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” he says over his shoulder. “You should freshen up.”

The casual way he says it like this is normal for him, makes my stomach flip.

I quickly shower, the hot water doing little to wash away the tension still knotted in my shoulders. Steam clouds the small bathroom, and I lean against the cool tile, trying to gather my thoughts.What has my life become?One minute, I’m a bartender worrying about rent. The next, I’m caught in some dangerous game I don’t understand with a man who terrifies yet fascinates me, making breakfast in my kitchen.

When I emerged, my hair was still damp around my shoulders, and Dimitri had already set two plates at the small counter. He stands, tattooed arms crossed, waiting.

I sit down, eyeing the perfectly cooked eggs and crispy bacon. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“You need it,” he replies simply, his accent thickening the words slightly.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. It isn’t awkward. It’s…comfortable. The type of quiet that settles between people who don’t need to fill every space with words. But Dimitri doesn’t waste much time. His eyes flick up to mine, calculating and intense.

“Tell me everything you remember. About last night. The men. The car.”

I swallow hard, pushing a piece of egg around my plate as images flash through my mind.

“There were three of them. One was tall with dark hair, maybe in his thirties. He had a scar above his right eyebrow.” I trace the spot on my face, remembering. “Another had light brown hair and a neck tattoo. It was some type of symbol like a compass, but with extra markings I couldn’t make out. The third one was big and built, bald head and black goatee. Wide nose, like it’s been broken before.”

Dimitri’s expression stays impassive, but I notice his jaw tightening.

“They drove a black SUV. Newer model, tinted windows. And the license plate was...well, I only caught part of it. K39.”

His hand tightens around his coffee mug. “Make of the car?”

“I think it was a Cadillac Escalade,” I say, surprising myself with the detail. “My foster father used to work at a dealership. I remember the shape.”

Dimitri pulls out his phone and dials. “Lev. I need you to run a partial plate. Black Escalade, K39, New York. Yes, now.”

He ends the call abruptly and turns back to me, studying me like I might vanish if he blinks. A muscle in his neck ticks.

His voice softens, catching me off guard. “Tell me about your parents.”

---