Page 3 of Tattooed Vow

He raises his glass. “To family. To love. And to the ones we would kill for.”

Cheers ripple through the room. Toasts echo. Glasses clink.

“To family!”

“K sem’ye!”

I lift my glass, but my hand trembles slightly. I take a sip, trying to steady myself. Then I look across the room and find him.

Dimitri is watching me. Not just glancing. Not looking around casually. Watching me.

His coffee-colored eyes burn into mine across the space between us. Intense. Unwavering. Like I’m the only person in the room.

My breath catches. My heart stumbles.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t need to. That look is enough to turn my blood to fire.

I look away first. Because if I don’t, I might never look away again.

2

DIMITRI

The birthday party is a calculated display of wealth and security, an Avilov tradition. Aleksandr spares no expense, not just for his daughter’s celebration, but as a message to the world that the Avilov Bratva is untouchable.

I stand near the edge of the grotto beside the opulent underground pool, eyes scanning the crowd. Today is my niece’s first birthday, but I can't afford to relax. As Aleksandr’s brother and second-in-command, protecting him isn’t just my job. It’s my life.

There are moments, rare and fleeting, when I think about the life I could’ve had. Not a different life. I’ve never wished for that. I was born into blood and brutality, shaped by a world where mercy is weakness. But sometimes, I wonder what it would feel like to stand at the top of this empire, not beside it. To be the one with the crown, not the blade guarding the throne.

But I’m not an Avilov. Not by blood. I’m a Popov.

My father died before I could form a single memory of him—a car crash, they said. A twist of metal and flame when I was barelybreathing. My mother married Otets a year later. To the world, he was Viktor Avilov. But to me, he was my father, a legend I was never quite part of.

He treated me fairly. Trained me and raised me like his own. But even as a boy, I understood the truth. Only Aleksandr, his true son, would inherit the seat of power. It was in his name, bloodline, and every glance Otets shot when he thought I wasn’t looking.

And yet...I never resented him. Not Aleksandr. Never him.

Because he earned it. Every scar, every triumph, every hard decision he made since taking the reins of the Avilov Bratva... he’s done it with fire in his veins and steel in his spine. I’ve seen him kill for this family. I’ve seen him bleed for it. And now, with a daughter in his arms and a future finally worth protecting, I take on more than ever to keep that future safe.

Because if he’s the king, I’m the shield. I’ll burn the world before I let anything touch what he’s built.

I watch Sasha laugh as she marvels at the confetti shooting out of the party poppers. Maxim, a true Avilov with his sharp gaze and protective nature, hands her another. I love my niece and nephew as if they are my own. My jaw clenches as I remember the horrors they endured last year—their father being murdered and then being kidnapped—and I scan the crowd again, looking for threats.

Aleksandr is not subtle about security. Every camera is manned, and every entry point is guarded. Guests are vetted three times before stepping one foot past the entrance. I personally handled the final list. Anyone even remotely questionable didn’t make the cut.

Still, I don’t let myself relax. I never do. I won’t let anyone hurt my family ever again. But my focus keeps slipping. She’s here.

Sandy.

Her laugh cuts through the chatter, a husky, unfiltered sound that curls around my spine like smoke. She’s wearing an amethyst-colored sundress that fits her like sin, her red curls tumbling down her back, lips painted in a shade that should be illegal. I’ve seen her in jeans and leather jackets, boots and attitude. But today, she’s a weapon of a different kind. One I have no defenses against.

I shouldn’t look at her. Not like this. Not when the lines are so blurred already.

We danced around each other for months, always on the edge of something dangerous. I tell myself she’s off-limits. She has Nick. Then she doesn’t. And now…I don’t know what we are. All I know is that my self-control and prized discipline forged through years of blood and war fractures every time she’s near. One look from her, one laugh, one fucking smile, and I’m undone.

Aleksandr moves to my side, lifting a glass of whiskey. “You’re staring,” he says casually, not even looking at me.

“She shouldn’t be here,” I mutter, more to myself than him.

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