Page 155 of Ruined Vows
She looks away. Her fingers clench around the hem of her sweater. Then she stands, slow and careful, and walks past me. I think she’s leaving. But she stops…right behind me.
And I feel her hand—small, warm, trembling—slide into mine.
“I’m not shutting the door,” she whispers. “But don’t lie to me again. Don’t try to protect me with silence. I’d rather bleed with you than be kept safe in the dark.” She turns to face me with a steady gaze, fierce and calm. “We fight together. Or not at all.”
I nod once, making her the promise—a vow.
She leans into me, her forehead resting against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, holding her like a man who’s just been handed a second chance he never deserved.
Outside, the night is thick with threats. But here, in this moment, we are unbreakable.
Together.
Safe for the moment, but everyone knows safety is an illusion we can no longer afford.
Not when war has been declared.
I dress in silence.Bianca doesn’t speak, but she watches me with wide, guarded eyes. I want to tell her not to worry. I want to lie.
But I won’t. By the time we leave the room, Luka’s waiting downstairs, already armed, his expression grim.
“Talk,” I say.
He hands me a tablet. Footage already queued. I watch as the screen flickers—grainy security cam footage from one of our shipping yards downtown.
Time stamp: less than twenty minutes ago.
Three SUVs roll in, windows blacked out. Men pile out—fast, masked, armed. Efficient.
“They didn’t steal anything,” Luka says, jaw tight. “They didn’t even try.”
On the screen, I watch them move through the warehouse like they own it. One of them carries a canister—sprays something along the crates. Another sets a device on the main control panel.
Two minutes later, flames burst across the feed. Controlled. Precise. Targeted. Not meant to destroy, meant to disrupt and make his presence known.
“They torched the north line,” Luka mutters. “Three million in supply damage. Six men are unconscious from the gas. One is still in surgery. They knew exactly where to hit.”
Radovan’s signature, etched in fire and smoke.
A message.
He’s telling me this is his city now. I look up from the tablet, my pulse steady, and my voice calm.
“He left survivors,” I say.
Luka nods. “On purpose.”
Of course he did. Radovan doesn’t waste bullets when fear does the job cleaner.
“He’s trying to provoke a reaction,” Luka adds. “Draw you out.”
“Then we won’t give him one.”
I toss the tablet onto the table and turn to the map on the wall. Red pins mark known affiliates. Black ones—unknown assets we’re still tracking.
He thinks I’ll retaliate with rage that I’ll hit back loud and bloody.
He forgets who taught me how to stay quiet long enough to kill. My father was a hard man, a brutal man. A man who never asked for forgiveness. He only knew how to take. My mother left to escape his fists. It left a scar no one sees. Bianca and I have that in common, too.
