Page 98 of Bratva's Vow
“No, your boy Aistov came through. He contacted Nik, and he and Sergei went to verify. We’ve got the chief zip-tied in the back of the van.”
A slow, dark satisfaction curled in my gut as I relieved myself, the steady trickle of piss hitting the water underscoring the faint hum of adrenaline now rising beneath my skin.
“Aistov never disappoints.”
“Should we take Stone to the spa?” Darius asked.
The spa was what we called the soundproof room beneath the old bathhouse on 82nd. An inside joke that had grown teeth. There was no steam, no oils, no relaxing music. Just tile floors, steel drains, and a single chair bolted to the ground. A place where men went to sweat, scream, and come out cleaner—one way or another.
“Yes. Send someone to pick me up now. This can’t wait.”
I had to see Stone for myself. Was he the one who had attacked Vova? He needed to draw his last breath by my hand.
“See you in ten.”
The line went dead. I flushed, washed my hands, and splashed cold water on my face. Looked at myself in the mirror.
The man looking back was calm. Composed. Sharp jaw dusted with stubble, eyes unreadable. My lover’s scent still clung to my skin. His cum dried on my thighs. And now I was about to step into the kind of night that could never touch him.
I cleaned up quickly and stepped back into the bedroom.
The bedside lamp cast a faint amber glow. Wren must’ve turned it on, probably half-asleep. He was curled on his side, one arm outstretched across the rumpled sheets, blinking slowly when I entered.
“Babe?”
His voice was groggy. Thick with sleep.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I murmured, entering the closet. Black trousers. Long-sleeved shirt. Coat. “Go back to sleep.”
Wren pushed up on one elbow, eyes tracking my movements.
“It’s so late. Where are you going?” he asked softly.
I sat on the edge of the bed to lace my boots, then leaned over him, brushing his messy curls back from his forehead.
“I can’t answer that, solnyshko, but I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay.” Wren lay there, looking up at me with quiet resignation and something else too. Something that twisted in my chest. Not fear. Not judgment. Just the ache of someone who knew he was still on the outside of something big. Something dark.
I bent forward and kissed him, curling my palm against the curve of his jaw.
“Wren, you’ll be here when I get back, won’t you?”
“Of course.” He brushed a hand over my shoulder. “I promised you. Didn’t I? If it makes you feel better, you can have one of your bodyguards stay here.”
I planned to anyway, but hearing him say it, placed a fresh bandage over the holes he’d ripped into my heart when he left me.
My phone vibrated, and I checked the message that popped up. It was Darius letting me know he was here.
“I have to go.”
I stood, grabbing my phone and keys, and turned to leave.
“Maxim?”
I paused in the doorway, glancing back.
He was still lying in bed, covers pooled low around his hips, lips parted like he wanted to say more.
