Page 55 of Brutal Vows

“Then let me go,” I whisper. “If you really care—for your brothers, for your lives, for your own safety—you have to let me go, Luca. Please. Let me leave. Trust me when I say you don’t want to get involved in this thing with Russia. It’s too ugly.”

He stills, and after a tense half-minute of just glaring at me, he drags his fingers through his hair with a pained sigh.

“If I really care, I should let you go? Allow you to go to Russia and get deeper involved in something you call too ugly? Where your life will be in danger? This, when all I want is to protect you?” He takes a turn around the room, frustration radiating off him. “And then risk Gabriella’s life too, in the process? Suffer your brother’s wrath when he realizes you’ve gone? Start a war between Il Consiglio and the Petrov Bratva?” He comes to stand at the bed, his hands dropping from his hair to his sides, fully in charge of himself, of every emotion. “You’re not thinking straight, princess. If this is what you want, you don’t know ugly. I can’t let you go. I won’t.”

With that, he stalks out of the room, and I turn my face into the pillow, muffling a scream. I’ve set the trap, only to be caught in it.

26

LUCA

I stomp into the living area and circle the whole space like a caged tiger. I come to stand at the window and stare at the cityscape, hands fisted.

The fucker who took the photos of her is dead. She said as much. She also said there’s someone else, and not in the way I’d think. The line Masha messaged her, stating they would end this once and for all when Milana is back in Russia, is the one thing that eats at me. There is a vendetta here, one I’m not privy to.

Masha. She’s the one obligating Milana to return to Russia. Masha who can’t work. Masha who went through something Milana won’t talk about. I didn’t think it necessary before, but it’s time we dig way deeper into who this woman is and what her relationship with Milana entails. For all I know, her ‘friend’ is extorting money from her to keep quiet about something, money I’ve happily been paying.

But what?

Who knows. I’ve never felt this powerless before.

Her dad is the reason she might have been so absent since arriving here, but with him in Long Island, there’s more to her obsessive need to go to Russia. When he is dead, she will inherit her share of the Petrov fortune, and that won’t just be money. It’ll be the whole business. The Petrov Bratva was already subject to a failed coup this year. Someone desperately wants everything they have, and nobody is telling us anything.

Weapons. Her words are slowly sinking in, because when I’m with her, I clearly can’t think fucking straight. Is this what Petrov is involved in? Or does whoever is behind all this want to exploit his logistics network for weapons smuggling? Who the fuck knows.

Shit’s going to come to a head, and it isn’t going to be pretty. There’s no trust between us, and what with The Mole and Mara on our doorstep, tomorrow is going to be a shit show. I didn’t even tell her about these plans, but with the old Pakhan dying, Petrov might not even come this way. I’m so done.

“Luca.”

I turn at her quiet voice. She’s standing in the bedroom door, a wreck. I soften immediately, every anger and annoyance diluting as I take her in. My beautiful, stubborn, stoic wife has let go of her emotions in front of me. Who knows what it cost her in pride.

And this is just it. I can be a fucking asshole, torture her for all her secrets, for the information she clearly has but won’t share, but then I see her like this and I surge with this need to protect her, to make her pain go away, to stand between her and the rest of the world and all the hurt it hurled at her.

She doesn’t know this though, and I have no clue how to bridge the massive gap between us. It’s as if she wants to reach out to me, but every time we seem to gain some ground, there’s a mental reset for her that takes us back to the start.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers. “Please.”

I’m not going back into my bedroom with her. I won’t be that fucker.

“You want dinner?” It’s the only distraction I can think of now, given the circumstances.

“Sure. Thank you.”

She pads toward the kitchen, and I roll my shoulders, heaving out a quiet sigh. I bet she’d just poke at whatever I throw together, but I head to the kitchen and get some ingredients out of the fridge.

Milana settles at the kitchen island, and it’s quiet between us. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take.”

“It’s fine.” Death takes its time, until it’s suddenly on your doorstep. Now isn’t the time to probe further into all of Petrov’s affairs. “Ivan and Gabriella were supposed to come to Boston tomorrow.”

“They were?” Her eyes widen, but there’s no light in them.

“With what’s happening⁠—”

“Ivan will still come. My dad won’t live through the night.”

I just nod.

But in the end, it’s almost midnight before Petrov calls. We’re slouched on the sofa in my bedroom, watching TV to pass the time, Milana clinging to her phone. When it finally buzzes, I lean back with a silent groan as I switch the TV off.