Page 134 of Bratva's Vow
Maxim emerged from the walk-in closet, buttoning his jacket. “What’s with the howling?”
“I think he senses we’re leaving him.”
“We’ll be back soon. In two hours at most.” Maxim picked up Jellybean and scratched behind his ears, then set him gently back down. “Let’s hope he doesn’t rip up the place when we’re gone. Tomorrow I’ll take him to a vet and ensure he’s okay.”
I crouched again and gave his soft ears one last rub. “Be good, and we’ll bring you back a treat.”
“Hate to break it to you, kroshka, but where we’re going, there won’t be any treats.”
“We can pick some up on the way back. Can’t we?”
“We’ll see.”
Sergei didn’t pull any stops for the drive to the funeral home. Not only were we flanked by a vehicle, but one preceded us along the way. Knowing the reason made mystomach flutter, but whenever Maxim asked me if I was okay, I smiled and nodded. The last thing I wanted was to add any more pressure to what would be a tough day for him.
The memorial was small. Private. A soft, echoing sort of quiet wrapped around the space. A few of Maxim’s most trusted men lined the back wall in dark suits, standing like shadows of the empire he built. Some of the men I’d never met. From a distance, Nik whispered in my ear, pointing out his brigadiers—the men who ran the day-to-day operations of the darker side of Maxim’s business.
Others were Vova’s friends from the salon. Stylists and clients who knew Vova as the charming, flamboyant man who made them feel beautiful.
Jess slid into the seat beside me, nudging my shoulder gently. She took my hand and squeezed it. “Nik said you’ve been sick. You okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Better today. Just a little tired, and my legs hurt.”
“You look pale.”
“Gee, thanks.” I managed a weak smile. “That’s what every guy wants to hear before a funeral.”
Jess gave a soft snort and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Have you told Maxim about the shooting range?”
I shook my head. “No, not yet. I’ll wait until I’m good at it so if he says no, I’ll already be a pro.”
Though that might take me quite a while. Our first day together at the shooting range hadn’t been bad. Jess had caught on faster than me, though Nik said I would get better. If only I could stop jumping every time the gun discharged.
The ceremony began. A soft instrumental played in the background—classical, nothing overly sentimental. The lighting was low and warm, and the urn sat on a pedestal draped in velvet. Vlad’s portrait rested beside it, the image capturing that joyful glint in his eyes.
Maxim stood to speak.
His voice, when it came, was steadier than I’d expected. Deep. Controlled. But he clenched his hands slightly on the paper in front of him, the only tell he was grieving, as he gave his tribute to Vova.
“He was my cousin, but he was my only family. Not just by blood but by choice.”
He spoke of Vova’s flair for making people comfortable and welcome, his loyalty, his annoying habit of never returning things he borrowed. He told a story about the time Vova got him out of a mess he’d made by claiming they were lovers. Half the room laughed. The other half looked scandalized.
“And he deserved better than what happened to him,” Maxim said, voice low now. “But I swear to him his name will not be forgotten, and the ones responsible will not breathe easy again.”
He stepped down, and for a moment, no one moved.
When he returned to his seat, I reached over and slipped my fingers back into his, grounding us both. I kissed his cheek. “Vova would have loved that.”
He nodded, his throat working to hold back the emotion. The ceremony didn’t take long after that. It seemed way too short to commemorate the life of someone who’d lived for forty-eight years.
After the ceremony, we went to Vova’s house. Sergei had security concerns about having the repast at Maxim’s. Vova’s place was a modest two-story home filled with warm bodies, the smell of food curling through the rooms like incense—rich, familiar, grounding. The salon girls huddled in the kitchen, laughing quietly over memories and toasting with small glasses of wine. Some of the Bratva men had already loosened their ties, plates balanced on their knees.
Maxim pressed his hand gently to the small of my back. “Get something to eat,” he said, low against my ear. “I need to talk to a few people before we can leave.”
I gave him a weak smile. “Okay, I’ll find something in a bit.”
He searched my face like he didn’t quite believe me. Then he nodded, kissed my temple, and moved off to talk with a group of older men near the bar cart.
