Page 59 of Tattooed Vow

I hand up and fix Nick with a hard stare. “You have one chance, Nick. Don't waste it.”

“I won't, I swear.”

I nod once. “Rest. I'll send someone to coordinate your transfer within the hour.”

“Dimitri,” Nick calls out as I turn to leave. I pause, looking over my shoulder. “Take care of Sandy. She deserves better than all this.”

Themudak’sobvious feelings for Sandy irritate me, but I give him a curt nod before leaving. He isn’t wrong.

When I return, the mansion is silent except for the soft footfalls pacing the marble floor of the grand entrance hall. Sandy's slender figure comes into view as I shut the heavy oak door behind me. Her head snaps up, relief flooding her features before hardening into defiance.

“Where have you been?” she demands, closing the distance between us. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing an oversized T-shirt over her leggings.

“Handling the mess you helped create,” I reply coldly, shrugging off my jacket and handing it to Abram, who has materialized silently at my side.

“That's not fair.” Sandy follows me as I stride toward Aleksandr’s office. “I went to get information that could help us against Morozov. And I was right!”

I stop abruptly and turn to face her. She nearly collides with my chest, looking up with those fierce blue eyes that have captivated me from the first moment I saw her.

“You disobeyed my direct order,” I grumble, my voice dropping dangerously. “You slipped past security. You met with your ex-boyfriend who you knew was connected to my enemies. Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

“But it didn't happen,” she counters. “And the information Nick gave me saved you from walking into a trap!”

I push open the door to Aleksandr’s office. I stalk inside, pouring two fingers of vodka from the crystal decanter on the sideboard. I down it in one swallow, welcoming the burn.

“Dimitri,” Sandy's voice softens as she closes the door. “I'm sorry I went behind your back. But I'm not sorry I got the information.”

I turn to face her. The fierce determination in her eyes and the slight tremble in her hands that she tries to hide show me she is afraid, but she is standing her ground anyway.

“You could have been killed,” I whisper. “If Morozov's men had gotten to you...”

“But they didn't.” She steps close enough that I can smell the sweet scent of her skin. “And now we know about the trap at Red Hook. We know about the mole.”

“That's not the point.” I set down the glass with more force than necessary. “The point is that you are my responsibility. My—” I cut myself off, struggling to find the right word.

“Yourwhat, Dimitri?” Her eyes challenge me. “Your prisoner? Your guest? Your lover? What am I to you exactly?”

The question lingers between us.What is she to me?The woman I've taken in for protection has become something else entirely. Something I can’t define—or won’t.

“You are mine to protect,” I finally say, the words coming out rough. “Mine to care for. And I cannot—will not—allow anything happen to you.”

Sandy's expression softens momentarily before her brow furrows. “I'm not a possession, Dimitri.”

“That's not what I meant.” I run a hand through my hair in frustration, tugging at the ends. “In my world, the people I care about become targets. Vulnerabilities that my enemies can exploit. And you—” I stop, the admission catching in my throat.

“What about me?” She steps closer, her hand reaching up to touch my face. I catch her wrist but don’t push her away. She already knows. She just needs to hear it.

“You matter more than you should,” I admit. “And that makes you the most dangerous weakness I have.”

Something shimmers in her eyes—understanding of the seriousness of my admission. In the Bratva, an admission like that isn’t just honesty. It’s the type of truth that speaks volumes without needing to be spelled out.

“I'm falling for you,” she whispers. “And it terrifies me. This world you live in—the Bratva, the violence, the constant danger—I didn't ask for any of it.”

“No, you didn't.” I release her wrist, allowing her hand to settle against my cheek. Her touch is warm and gentle, everything my life is not. “And you deserve better than what I can offer.”

“Let me decide what I deserve,” she says fiercely. “I'm not afraid of you, Dimitri. I'm afraid of what I feel for you.”

I cover her hand with mine, allowing myself a rare moment of vulnerability. “Youshouldbe afraid. Everyone I've ever cared about has paid a price for it.”

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