Page 86 of Tattooed Vow

“Stay back!” I bark. My voice is sharp and protective. But I can’t take my eyes off the sea of federal windbreakers spilling into the house like a flood. I count quickly. At least fifteen agents, maybe more outside. This isn’t a simple arrest. This is a statement.

One of the lead agents steps forward, badge in one hand, a printed warrant in the other. Salt-and-pepper hair, eyes like flint, mouth set in a hard line. I've seen his type before. Career fed with something to prove.

“Dimitri Popov, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, obstruction of justice, and racketeering.”

I stare at him, unmoving, my mind racing through contacts, contingencies, and protocols we've established for exactly this scenario. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Before I can take a step, two agents grab me. My hands are yanked behind my back, and I feel the cold steel of handcuffs clamping around my wrists, biting into my skin. I flex my wrists against the metal, a muscle jumping in my jaw.

Sandy descends the stairs, her steps quick and uneven, her hand gripping the railing like it is the only thing keeping her grounded. Her cotton shirt clings to her form, her hair tumbling loose over her shoulders. Even in crisis she’s breathtaking. The sight of her makes my chest constrict.

“You can't be serious!” she shouts, shrill with panic. “This is a mistake!”

I catch her gaze, trying to communicate silently: Stay calm, stay back.

Aleksandr storms in from the east wing, flanked by Lev and Viktor. His face is a controlled mask of fury, but I can see the calculation in his eyes. My brother is always three steps ahead.

“Get your fucking hands off my brother.” His voice is deadly quiet, all the more threatening for its softness.

The lead agent turns to him without flinching. “Mr. Avilov, I suggest you don't interfere. We have enough probable cause to bring him in. You get in our way, and we'll add obstruction charges for you, too.”

Lev steps forward, hand instinctively moving toward the small of his back where I know he carries. My blood runs cold. If he pulls his weapon now, this will end in bloodshed.

Aleksandr stops him with a raised hand. His jaw is tight, his eyes sharp as razors. A nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Not now. Not like this.

“Let me see the warrant,” Aleksandr demands, voice icy.

The agent tosses it his way. Aleksandr snatches the warrant midair, eyes scanning the pages. His nostrils flare, and when he speaks, his voice is low, edged in fury, his accent thickening with each syllable. “This is bullshit.”

“That may be, but it's signed by a federal judge,” the agent replies, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “He'll have his day in court.”

When I finally speak, my voice is low and controlled, although inside, I feel like a powder keg with a lit fuse. “Who gave you this?”

The agent tilts his head, amused. “Like I said. You'll have your day.”

It was Morozov. It had to be. No one else had both the resources and the vendetta. No one else would fabricate something this elaborate to hit us where it hurt most. The realization made my blood boil.

The agents yank me toward the door, their grips bruising on my biceps. Sandy steps forward instinctively, but Talia catches her with one arm, holding her back while shifting Angelina higher on her hip. The baby's cries pierce my heart.

“Wait—wait! He didn't do anything! This isn't right! You can't take him!” Sandy's voice breaks, tears streaming down her face. Her pain grips something deep inside me, curling around my chest like a vice and tightening until it’s hard to breathe.

“Sandy…” I say, my voice tight, fighting to maintain control. “Stop.”

She doesn’t listen. She keeps reaching for me, raw desperation written all over her face like a storm about to break. She tries to wrench free from Talia's grip, nearly causing both women to stumble.

“I said stop!” I bellow, the command cutting through the chaos.

That stops her. Her lips tremble, but she gives a shaky nod, clutching Talia's arm. The look in her eyes guts me. Fear, confusion, and beneath it all, a dawning realization that our new life together is about to crumble.

I hold her gaze as long as possible, trying to convey everything I can’t say aloud.I love you. Be strong. This isn't over.

And I let them take me.

The ride to the federal building is silent. The SUV smells like bleach and gun oil. One agent sits beside me, and another isin the passenger seat. Both are expressionless. I stare out the window, cataloging every bump in the road, every turn, every stoplight. Old habits. Always know your escape routes.

My thoughts keep returning to Sandy's face, Angelina's cries, and the precise way Aleksandr had looked at me before they dragged me out, a silent promise that he would handle this.

When we reach the underground garage, my jaw is clenched so hard it feels like my teeth might crack. They march me inside past concrete walls and steel doors, into a sterile room reeking of old sweat and stale coffee. Cameras line the corners. A metal table sits in the center, flanked by two chairs.

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