Page 172 of Bratva's Vow
Maxim, I just saw. Are you all right?
Pick up the phone. I’m trying to call you.
You don’t have to do this alone. I’m coming over.
A couple of minutes later, Darius sent me a message.
Darius:
He’s on the move. Looks to be heading in your direction.
I led Jellybean upstairs to our bedroom. Wren would never forgive me if anything happened to him.
He padded in quietly and veered straight toward the T-shirt Wren had left on the floor the morning he got sick. It still lay there, crumpled, forgotten, and soft with the shape of him.
The bed was unmade. Pilar had been on the run by then, too panicked to care.
Jellybean sniffed the shirt once, let out a low, aching whine, then curled into himself on top of it as if he could press closer to Wren by sheer will alone.
And I stood there, useless, watching the interaction with the biggest fucking ache in my heart.
“Stay there, boy.” I slipped him the treat I’d brought, scratched behind his ears, and stood. It wouldn’t be long now.
I shut the bedroom door behind me and returned to the kitchen.
The silence was too much.
I reached for the knife block. Pulled one out—the one with the curved blade and ivory handle. Sharpened it slowly against the whetstone, the scrape of metal dragging through the stillness like a warning. When the edge gleamed just right, I slid it back into place.
Then I opened the fridge.
Container by container, I took them out—each one labeled neatly with Wren’s name. What we’d taken as a gesture of care, of nurturing… was poison wrapped in domesticity. An elaborate betrayal sealed with masking tape and a marker.
Fruit salad. Broth. Bottled juices. Apple slices in lemon water so they wouldn’t brown too fast.
I poured them down the sink, hurled them into the trash.
Every one of them.
This kitchen used to be a fun place for Wren and me. Every evening we’d had our dinner together and talked about the day. So many times, I’d slipped out in the morning to grab us breakfast because he was definitely not a morning person, but when he smelled breakfast, he would immediately come alive.
Now the only thing that remained of the kitchen was the ugliness of hiring the woman who tried to poison Wren.
I’ll have to sell this house.
Otherwise, every time I walked into the kitchen, I would remember.
The doorbell rang.
I didn’t move.
Let him come.
Archie:
I’m here. Open the door.
Maxim!
