Page 135 of Bratva's Vow
I wandered through the living room, past the food-laden table. The smells—stuffed cabbage, roast pork, peppered rye bread—turned my stomach, not out of disgust, but a strange, persistent queasiness had clung to me for days now. I had no appetite, and the discomfort in my legs was back.
I sat heavily on the edge of a couch. The last thing I needed was to faint and have Maxim worry about me.
“Here.” A plate appeared in front of me.
Archie.
He held it out with both hands—roasted vegetables, a small scoop of rice, nothing too heavy. “Maxim told me to bring this to you.”
I blinked up at him, frowning. “That’s… thoughtful. But I’m really not hungry.”
Archie’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You should try. Eat up, or he’ll worry. You don’t want to worry him, do you?”
I hesitated.
“He already feels guilty because he was too busy looking for you that day to answer Vova’s last phone call.”
My heart skipped a beat, and the chatter around the room fell away.
“W-what?” I asked.
Archie’s expression flickered. He straightened, clearly realizing too late what he’d said. “Shit. I thought you knew. I wouldn’t have—fuck, Wren, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
My stomach turned, ice pooling in my gut. “So Vova… he called Maxim?”
Archie nodded slowly. “Apparently more than once. But Maxim was… you know. Distracted. Searching for you after you ran away. When he got back to Vova, it was too late.”
The room blurred around me, amplifying the noise of someone laughing in the kitchen. A plate clinking. Someone calling for more wine. The mundane sounds of life going on while my world crumbled.
I stood abruptly, my chest tight, the air too thick. I handed the plate back to Archie, untouched.
“Excuse me.” I needed space, needed to breathe.
Outside, the cool air wrapped around me like a balm, but it couldn’t soothe the ache in my ribs. I gripped the railing of the porch, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Maxim hadn’t told me.
He hadn’t told me Vova reached out.
He hadn’t told me I was the reason Vova was dead. Because maybe if I hadn’t run away, Maxim would have gotten to him sooner.
Did Maxim blame me?
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MAXIM
Iwas choking on air and blood that wasn’t mine.
Wren’s blood. So much of it.
My fists were red with it. My shirt soaked through. He lay on a gurney that refused to move fast enough, eyes half-lidded, skin gray, mouth trembling with a plea I couldn’t hear. Someone was screaming.
Maybe it was me.
Maybe it was?—
I jerked upright, heart slamming against my ribs, breath ragged. The sheets were twisted around my legs, soaked with sweat. I reached for him on instinct, the way I always did now after dreams like that.
