Page 117 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

I blink, my face draining of emotion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I won’t repeat myself.”

I advance toward him. “Killing Sharp will only invite more trouble on our heads, Pavel.”

He doesn’t respond, turning toward the den. He looks like he’s about to order Gennadiy to do something when I step into his line of sight.

“Especially if the NYPD finds out that Sharp washereof all places,” I add. “You need to slow down.”

“Why?”

I glare back at him. I know the game he’s playing, but I won’t take the bait. “You need to cool off instead of acting on your emotions. It’ll give you time to think about what you’re doingbeforeyou do it.”

Damn him for sucking me in.

It’s too late. There’s not much else I can do except stay the course. “Please, Pavel.”

“I can’t do that,Lisichka.”

“You’re the one who thinks I’m clever,” I reason. “You’re the one who sees me as your unbiased third party.”

Amusement seeps into his features, but it’s not because he thinks I’m funny. It’s more like he thinks I’m an entertaining exhibit. Or a car crash he can’t tear his eyes away from. “Unbiased?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Enough,” he says. “I’m doing things my way.”

I shake my head, refusing to let him pass. “You can’t make another mistake, Pavel.”

“So, you think I’ve made a mistake?”

“I think maybe you’ve…” I shudder when he pierces me with his glacier-green eyes. “Slowing down a little bit now can avoid a huge mess in the future.”

“You mean the messyoumade?”

I blink rapidly. “You asked for my advice.”

“A mistake I won’t make again.”

The knife lodges deep into my heart and twists. It takes me a second to realize I’m holding my breath—and the only reason I bother to inhale oxygen at all is that I’m seeing spots in my vision. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and I’m aching to lie down.

But I can’t.

This needs to be handled first.

After I recover from the blow, I take his hand and run my thumbs over his knuckles. The gesture seems to temporarily soothe him. At the very least, it reduces the ice in his gaze.

“My love,” I whisper. “Why do you want Sharp to die? What did he do?”

And then, all the sharpness is gone.

What takes its place is deep-seated grief. “He killed Viktoria.”

Cold. I feel so cold.

My lips can hardly move, but I manage to whisper, “What?”

He squeezes my hand. “Sharp had no intention of carrying out a search warrant. It was a ruse to get inside.”

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