Page 47 of Tattooed Vow

“Lev,” he answers. His entire posture shifts, shoulders squared, voice clipped. “What is it?”

The rain intensifies outside, drumming against the roof. Through the window, I watch the forest disappear behind a curtain of water. I suddenly feel cold, though the cabin is warm.

I watch him pace in front of the fireplace. He doesn’t speak again for a long time. He just listens. His free hand curls into a fist.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice low. “How many of ours?”

Silence. Then, “Understood. Keep them close. Don’t make any moves without checking in first. And Lev—watch your back.”

He ends the call and tosses the phone onto the counter with a clatter.

“What is it?” I ask, tension curling in my chest.

“Morozov’s doubled his efforts,” he replies, staring at nothing. “He’s turning factions inside the Bratva. Men we thought were loyal.”

“You think there’s a mole?”

“No. I think there is a traitor. A weak link in a chain that keeps not just us, but everyone we care about, safe.”

He slowly drags a hand through his hair. His expression is unreadable when he looks at me, but his eyes betray him. Anger simmers there, sharp and focused, but beneath it is unease. Low and heavy, reserved only for the people you can’t afford to lose. It is the first time I've seen him like this, cracking but refusing to break.

“This isn’t just about us anymore,” he states. “It’s about Aleksandr. Talia. The kids. Everyone.”

I nod, my throat tight. I thought about little Angelina—her pink party dress, the way she clung to Dimitri, her favorite uncle. The idea of Morozov hurting her, hurting anyone in our family, makes my stomach turn.

Dimitri grabs his phone again. I watch him dial and walk to the far side of the room, voice low but urgent as he talks to Aleksandr. I catch pieces: “too risky,” “not yet,” “wait until we have eyes on him.”

When he finally returns, he looks like someone who’s aged five years in five minutes.

“I told Aleksandr we should go back,” he says, sitting beside me. “He said no. Until we know Morozov’s location, it’s too dangerous. He doesn’t want us walking into a trap.”

The storm rages outside, mirroring the turmoil I feel inside. We've been sent to this cabin temporarily as a way to stay off the grid while Aleksandr deals with Morozov. Now, it feels like exile.

“What about Talia and the children?” I question, worrying about their safety.

“They've been moved to the lake house. Aleksandr has doubled the guards.”

I don’t argue. I don’t say the hundred things I was thinking. Instead, I reach for his hand.

He doesn’t pull away.

We spend the rest of the day in the cabin. Dimitri barely leaves the window, always watching, always listening. Each crack ofthunder makes him tense, like he is expecting it to be something else. Something worse.

Around sunset, the storm finally breaks, the rain slowing to a gentle patter.

Dimitri steps into the kitchen and starts dinner. He cooks in silence, and I sit at the table like a guest in someone else's life.

The meal is simple. Steak, potatoes, and steamed greens that I barely touch. The news from Lev has stolen my appetite, replacing it with a gnawing anxiety that no amount of food can fill.

Afterward, I pour myself a glass of wine and curl by the fire. My ankle throbs dully, but the pain has subsided to a manageable level. Dimitri joins me, stretching his legs with his back against the couch. We don’t speak for a long time.

The only sounds are the crackle of the fire and the soft patter of rain. In the distance, an owl calls, its haunting cry echoing through the forest.

“I used to think I was good at being alone,” I say, watching the flames.

“You’re not alone,” he breathes.

I stare at him. His face is half in shadow, the firelight dancing across his features, turning his eyes to liquid amber. He looks younger, somehow. Less the hardened enforcer and more the man I've glimpsed in rare, unguarded moments.

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