Page 115 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

I huff. “It’s not the end,” I echo my thoughts from earlier. “It’s just the beginning.”

“With respect, Pavel Sergeyevich, you’ve started something you can’t finish.”

“I’m more than committed to seeing this through.”

He shakes his head. “With so much at stake, don’t you think those men will want to keep what they think belongs to themselves?”

My features twist with concern and agitation.

“How many of them will try to knock down your door, Pavel, if it means they won’t have to die fighting your war?”

I don’t deign that question with an answer. I don’t want to think about it.

And I don’t want to acknowledge that he’s right.

I’ve dug myself a hole—and I’ve taken Liya with me.

Most of all, I’ve takenmy childwith me. What the hell am I supposed to do about that now?

Stepan rises from his seat with a sigh. He leaves me in pensive silence as he prepares two cups of tea on the kitchen counter. When he brings them over, I gratefully accept one, sipping it carefully while mulling over everything he’s said.

He clears his throat. “Do you know how the Chechens lost?”

“No.”

“We forced them into Grozny. Then we shelled the city until it was nothing but rubble, and then we shot anyone or anything that crawled out.”

I sigh while staring into the pool of tea staring back at me. Nobody makes tea like Viktoria. But she’s not here right now.

Frowning, I glance at Stepan and ask, “Where’s Viktoria? Kolya? Did you hear from either of them at all before you came to pick us up?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve heard nothing, Pavel Sergeyevich. And I fear the worst.”

At Stepan’s words, I feel the strength sapping out of me. “Sharp…” I mutter. “Bring me Sharp.”

Stepan nods. “As I said, Pavel Sergeyevich,” he continues. “You’re the Chechen commander. Trapped in the middle of Grozny, and the steel rain of artillery is coming.” He peers into his cup. “And you’ll lose more and more as it approaches.”

Thunder booms in the distance. Artillery approaches.

I’m cornered.

Nowhere left to run.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Liya

I haven’t moved since Pavel sent me upstairs. My bladder screams at me for release. My stomach aches with hunger. My head pounds with a brand-new tension migraine that stings my spine.

But I can’t move.

I don’t want to move.

Not with the weight of Janine’s death on my shoulders.

The fluffy sheets on the bed cradle me as I stare at the door. For several minutes—or maybe even for several hours—I’ve been waiting for Pavel to collect me.

Commotion reverberates from the foyer below. Voices rise. The alarm beeps when someone opens the door. But nobody comes upstairs. Nobody brings me food.

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