Page 82 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

While adjusting my position, the little voice that was screaming just minutes ago isn’t screaming anymore. But it’s not gone. In place of the screaming is a faint, steady whisper.

And when I hear it, it makes my blood run cold.

You just ordered the death of dozens, it whispers.If not hundreds.

Chapter Twenty-One

Pavel

“It’s time for the execution,” I tell Stepan. “Tell Gennadiy and Kostya to move their teams into offense.”

Stepan bows his head. “Da, Pavel Sergeyevich.”

“Styopa?”

He pauses at the door of my office. I chew the next phrase in my mouth for a few seconds, my jaw tensing slightly when I formulate the words. “Tell them to be careful. I would prefer that they remain alive by the end.”

He nods, an edge of worry in his eyes that’s been there for weeks. He’s as concerned about his brothers as I am. This is my Bratva. I’m responsible for their lives in many ways.

It would be a huge blow to lose more men to this war than I already have.

When Stepan leaves, I run my hand over my tie, focusing on the sensation of the fabric greeting my fingers. The moment Liya gave me her decision was the moment I began mentally preparing for the way the rest of the war will pan out.

I peer at the ceiling, knowing she’s upstairs waiting for me. We haven’t got any more time to waste. When the boys hit the streets, we’ll have to wait while listening to the police scanner.

It’s the only step we can take next.

When I glance at the door, I wait for the usual elation to slide into my system. I always feel giddy when delivering execution orders. It’s the thrill of knowing that my enemies will cease to exist soon. It’s the possibilities that open up once they die. I wait for several more minutes, wondering when it’s going to hit.

But it doesn’t.

And then something else hits me instead.

The reason this is happening is because of Liya’s green light. I could have made my own decision about it and secured our investments without my wife. I could always do that.

But I don’t. I involve her.

Because I care about her.

It’s different when it’s about her well-being than it is when I’m preserving the Bratva. Because protecting herispreserving the Bratva. She’s my family. She’s everything to me.

I can’t afford to lose her.

Along with the usual concern dwelling in my gut is a passion more intense than my dedication to my Bratva. It’s the kind of care and affection for Liya that I could never have dreamed.

And it seems she feels the same for me.

I scratch my scalp and then collect my things before heading out the door. The lobby is a ghost town with most of my boys out on the streets. Gennadiy and Kostya will lead teams as well as Stepan.

I have no doubts about their impending victory.

When I step into the living room of my home, Liya is huddled on the couch in her cardigan. She’s been wearing it more and more these days, lost in the memories of the fabric that Viktoria keeps having to repair.

Even now, I notice the way Liya’s fingers worry over the knitted fabric. I take her hand and run my thumb over her knuckles. “You’re going to hurt your hands doing that.”

“I’m going to hurtViktoria’shands if she keeps repairing the loose threads.”

“She knows you love it.”

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