Page 50 of Tattooed Vow

I expand my circle, moving deeper into the woods and checking the approaches. The occasional birdsong echoes through the trees, more frequently now as nesting season approaches, and the wind carries the scent of wet soil and new growth. A light morning frost still crunches beneath my boots. Still, it will melt away by midday, another reminder that winter is loosening its grip on these mountains.

By the time I completed my circuit, the sun had cleared the tree line. When I re-enter the cabin, I find her awake, wrapped in one of my shirts that hangs to mid-thigh. She stands by the window, coffee cup in hand, her red hair tumbling in sleep-tangled waves down her back. She turns at the sound of the door, and her smile spreads across her face like the sun breaking through clouds—warm, radiant, and entirely undeserved.

I want to cross the room, pull her into my arms, and bury my face in her neck. I want to carry her back to bed and spend the day learning every curve of her body again. I want to pretend we are just a man and a woman in a cabin in the woods with nothing more pressing than deciding what to have for breakfast.

Instead, I close the door, hang up my jacket, and keep my distance.

“I made more coffee,” she says, her voice still husky from sleep. “Everything okay out there?”

“All clear,” I answer, moving to pour myself another cup, careful not to brush against her as I pass. “You slept well?”

A faint blush colors her cheeks. “Very well. Though I missed you when I woke up.”

The simple admission stabs at something tender within me. I've never been missed before. I've been feared, respected, and perhaps even desired but never simply missed.

“I need to send some messages and check in with Aleksandr,” I state coldly.

Sandy takes a step toward me, and I see the moment my coldness registers. The light in her eyes dims slightly, but she nods, understanding washing over her features. This is thedance we've been doing since that first night together. Moments of overwhelming intimacy followed by my deliberate distance.

“Dimitri,” she begins, and I can hear the determination in her voice. This is the conversation I've been avoiding, the one where we will have to acknowledge what is growing between us and why it can’t continue.

But fate intervenes as my cell phone rings. The sudden noise is jarring in the cabin's quiet.

I pull it from my pocket and answer with a terse, “Da.”

Aleksandr's voice is tight and controlled, immediately setting my nerves on edge. “They found Eduard and Petrov. And Sonya.”

My blood turns to ice. Eduard and Petrov were soldiers, men who had chosen this life and its risks. But Sonya was Petrov's wife. A civilian. Someone who should have been protected.

“How?” I ask, turning away from Sandy's concerned gaze.

“Broad daylight. The marketplace in Brighton Beach. They left the bodies on display,” Aleksandr growls. “A message for us. For you.”

I close my eyes, fighting the wave of nausea that threatens to overwhelm me. “Who did it?”

“Morozov's new lieutenant. The one they call the Butcher.”

The implication was clear. The deaths had been slow and painful. A warning of what awaited us—awaited Sandy—if Morozov found us.

“There’s more,” Aleksandr says, his voice taut. “He’s put out word—if you surrender, Sandy will be spared.”

I feel Sandy move behind me, close enough that I can sense the shift in the air between us. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t reach for me, but I know she is watching, reading the tension in my stance like a second language. She’s learned to pick up on the small cues, the way my shoulders lock or my jaw tightens. She knows when to step back and when to stand close without pressing.

I exhale slowly, the decision already forming in my gut. “We can’t keep playing defense,brat,” I mutter, my tone low but resolute. “The longer we sit still, the more people he’ll hurt trying to drag us out. I’m not surrendering. But I’m done hiding. It’s time I take the fight to him—end this, once and for all.”

“You want to come back to the city?” Aleksandr’s voice sharpens, disbelief bleeding through. “WithSandy? Blyat!”

“Hiding out here isn’t a long-term plan,” I say. “He’ll find us eventually—or someone else will. At least in the mansion, we have numbers, firepower, surveillance. Out here, it’s just luck and isolation.”

There is a long pause. I can hear Aleksandr breathing on the other end and can almost feel the pressure of his thoughts bearing down on me.

Then came the reply, measured, resigned. “You’re right. But we do this smart. I’ll send Lev with a team. North road. Three hours.”

I give a firm nod, even though he can’t see it. “We’ll be there.”

I end the call and turn to find Sandy watching me, her arms wrapped around herself, my shirt hanging loose on her frame. The sight of her makes me want to tear the world apart to keep her safe.

“What happened?” she asks quietly.

---