Page 114 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

My throat dries the more I try to swallow. The floorboards above me creak, reminding me of Liya’s whereabouts. As I glance skyward, Stepan does the same.

I draw a deep breath. “Do you think I’m acting like your old commander?”

“No,” he replies. “I think you’re acting like the Chechen commander.”

I focus on Stepan. “And what happened to him? This Chechen?”

He shrugs. “Died. They usually do.” He scratches his chin thoughtfully and then rests his hands on the table, avoiding my gaze. “On the third day, the army brought the artillery forward. If he was still there, then he got buried under the rubble.”

I almost laugh. Old war stories from surviving soldiers only hold so much truth. If he’s trying to scare me into taking another course of action, it’s not working. But Stepan doesn’t just speak to hear his own voice. When he speaks, there’s a purpose. Even if he doesn’t allow you to see it immediately.

I absentmindedly scratch the surface of the table, appearing more bored than I do restless. “What’s your point, Styopa?”

“You’ve gotten so caught up with what’s in front of you that you’ve forgotten the most dangerous piece on the board. For the Chechen, it was our artillery.”

My fingers freeze on the table. “And for me?”

“The NYPD.”

Now I really want to laugh. “What can a bunch of little pigs do, Stepan?”

“Little pigs are dangerous when they band together, Pavel Sergeyevich,” he warns. He leans forward, an edge of worry rising in his tone. “And let pigs run feral long enough, and they’ll revert to wild, unpredictable boars.”

I look toward one of the barred windows, staring at the raging surf on the shore. Rain beats the earth mercilessly. It shows no signs of letting up.

Just like me.

“Rolling up the NYPD before we had all of them was a mistake,” Stepan continues. “Perhaps the biggest mistake you’ve ever made as pakhan.”

My fists clench. “It was the right thing to do.”

“It was. But haste leads to mistakes, Pavel Sergeyevich. And in war, a single mistake is all it takes for everything to fall apart.”

Stepan is right. I need to be careful.

The floorboards above my head creak. I don’t look up this time. I don’tneedto look. It’s the ceaseless reminder that Liya is the one who made this decision. She disappeared for a few hours and then told me exactly what should happen.

I listened.

I made the calls.

I did asIwanted under the guise of her counsel.

“There’s still a way out,” I tell Stepan. “If we can get Sharp and remove the hub between him and Cardona, then that can paralyze the NYPD long enough for us to go after Cardona himself.”

He closes his eyes, and tiredness slips into his voice. “That’s what the Chechen commander thought as well.”

“How do you know what he was thinking?”

“In my field, you learn how to think like your enemy.” He pauses for a moment as his eyes darken. “You just have to be careful that thinking like your enemy doesn’t turn you into your enemy.”

My voice scrapes as I spit, “Iwon’tbecome Cardona.”

“You don’t have to, Pavel. You can go after him all you want. You can grab the Citta Nostra right out from under him. You can pick off whomever you like, but—” His eyes sharpen. “You started a war with the NYPD. Even without Cardona directing his little piggies, you’ve let the other pigs out to pasture.”

I stare at him when he pauses.

He sits back. “And theywillfight you to the bitter end.”

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