Page 130 of Devil's Vows
Still, I’m clutching his hand. He’s busy on his phone and lets go every now and again to type, but reaches for me as soon as he’s done, his fingers resting gently with mine on my Bible where it takes up space between us in a manila envelope.
Yuri is in another car, and we’re in some type of convoy, but I’m still trying to figure that out. All of this security happens without me knowing how it works or who is behind the arrangements, which I find more and more annoying. I wantin. At least I know, as long as I’m with Ivan, I’m safe.
I’m nervous for many reasons, and I tell myself it’s mostly because we left the girls behind. Kostya is probably Bratva goodness itself, but still. I want to be home already.
The chances that this woman is the same one who did my piercing, who physically maimed me, is basically zero. But thethought she could be, and that I’ll have to face her again, has me raw with dread.
We enter the gated basement parking and are subjected to security checks.
“You’ve no weapon, sir?” a guard asks after he has scanned and patted Ivan down.
“Nope. They have,” he grunts, clearly annoyed, pointing to our bodyguards.
“Not a very warm welcome,” I say as I slide my hand in his, wanting to cling but trying to be brave. “I’m sorry.”
“No worries,moya ptichka. If this were my place, my guards would have put on fresh surgical gloves to dig where the sun never shines.”
“Oh.” I need to step up to get scanned, but Ivan’s arm shoots out to block the guard from getting closer to me. “Nobody touches my wife. She’s the Don’s sister, for fuck’s sakes.”
“Sir.” The man drops his gaze and steps away, giving Yuri a quick once-over. “Follow me, please.”
Ivan is as tense as I am as we approach the private elevator, and it swooshes open to reveal Stan, one of Matteo’s bodyguards, stepping out to meet us.
“Mr. Petrov,” Stan says. “Mrs. Petrov. And?”
“Yuri Sokolov,” Ivan says coldly. “My counsel.”
“Welcome,” Stan says with a nod. “Follow me.”
“My guards?” Ivan asks, waving to the two men on standby, eyes on us, watching every procedure as if we’re chickens being weighed for slaughter.
“They stay here with our security crew until you leave.”
Ivan’s shoulders remain stiff as we walk into the elevator.
“It’s okay. Remember I stayed here for weeks,” I murmur to him, trying to shake my own dread. “And to be honest, it’s safer than your place, what with being on top of a high rise.”
Ivan just grunts, and we ride the elevator in silence, Stan shooting me questioning glances and me shaking my head everso slightly to tell him to not take chances. My husband is on edge.
When we enter the apartment minutes later, voices and footsteps sound from the lounge. And then Dominic is there, heading straight for me, taking in every inch and doing mental checks. He shoots Ivan a quick glance as he pulls me close for hug.
“Any news on Chiara?” I whisper as he has me in his arms, but his firm hold steadies me just like Ivan’s does. Here, between these men, I’ll always be safe, and the tension in my body gives a little.
“This is the first visual I’ve had of you since you got married. Let me first make sure you’re okay,” he whispers back as he puts me at arm’s length and scans my face. “You’re glowing, but your eyes are filled with worry.”
“For Chiara.” It’s been weeks, and honestly, I want closure. Every day, I’m oscillating between expecting the worst—tortured, torched—and Yuri ambling over to me with his tablet, opening a livestream that would make me blush, and seeing my friend knee-deep into acts I’ve been thoroughly introduced to, but with strangers.
“Be patient,cara. These things take time.”
“I’m tired of being patient,” I groan, finding little relief from my nauseating anxiety.
Dominic lets me go as Matteo steps in to hug me.
“You look well,cara.”
“I am well.” I let go so Ivan can shake hands with my brothers. “Tasha?”
“She’s got classes today.”
