Page 94 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

I helped him.

“You’re a fucking monster, Pavel Sergeyevich,” she seethes.

I shake my head. “We need to go. Now.”

Kiril opens his mouth to speak. I’m curious what the injured man is going to say—will he agree with his daughter or defer?

But the moment passes, and he shuts his mouth. One nod tells me all I need to know.

While Liya carefully removes the tubes, I watch the entrance to the basement. Nothing so far. Not a damn peep.

It’s hard to say whether it’s good news or bad news at this point.

Once Kiril is upright and leaning against his daughter, I lead everyone back to the rear exit in the basement so we can ascend to the garage. Seconds later, we’re tucked into a Kia Picanto with tinted windows. It’s a far cry from what I prefer to be in, but we need to be discreet.

Liya leans forward while I maneuver through the garage.

Traffic is normal on the road. Way off to the left, NYPD cars are camped around the entrance of the building. Armed men line the sidewalk. I ease us right into the normal flow of city traffic and release a long breath, feeling smug as I peek in the rear-view mirror.

He’ll never find what he’s looking for.

The feral sense of satisfaction gets snuffed out by the realization that Sharp’s grubby paws are touching everything inside my home. I hate the feeling. It makes me feel vulnerable.

Violated.

I grip the wheel.

Liya touches my arm. “Pavel?”

“Yes,rodnaya?”

“Everything is going to be okay.”

I let a smile crook my lips. “Who taught you that,Lisichka?”

“Oh, some guy. He’s handsome.” She rubs my shoulder and then leans over to kiss my cheek. “He’s brave, too. He listens to me.”

The smile remains, a rare occurrence. And she knows that. I’m sure she’s enjoying it.

I let her.

“We should take the FDR,” she suggests. “It’ll be more direct.”

I nod and wordlessly maneuver through city traffic. As soon as we hit the FDR, traffic slows to a crawl.

I growl as I grip the wheel. “Suka blyat.”

“Ugh,” Liya groans while slumping in her seat. “A traffic jam. Of all the days…”

“Pavel Sergeyevich,” Kiril wheezes.

I glance at the rear-view mirror.

Kiril points over his shoulder and says, “We have company.”

He ducks his head to reveal the car behind us.

Liya turns around. “Do you think that’s an unmarked police car?”

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