Page 73 of Brutal Vows

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

34

LUCA

By the time Rosalia knocks on my door, I’m in my leathers.

“Thanks for coming. I left Milana a note so she won’t freak out if she walks out and sees you here.”

“All good.”

Rosalia has her iPad with her and I bet she’s going to watch something.

“I won’t be too long.” With all the thinking I need to do, I could ride for days, but that’s a luxury I don’t have.

“What’s going on, Luca?”

I hesitate. Rosalia—Rosie to us younger lot, as we were around each other enough as kids—has always been part of our lives. She’s now Matteo’s housekeeper, and her husband Burley is Tasha’s bodyguard. Being born into this life herself, she knows exactly what we do and where we hail from. “Just the usual Mafia shit, but we’ve invited the Russians in so best you develop a taste for vodka.”

“Eww,” she jokes, but her gaze is serious. “Gabi’s in the hospital. That isn’t too close to home, Luca, it is home.”

Ain’t that the truth.

“I know. Trust me, everybody is dissecting how this happened.” I squeeze her arm. “It won’t happen again.”

She shakes her head. “Just get going. And be safe.”

I nod and stride out, closing the door behind me and making my way to the basement. Ten minutes later, the last gate to the outside world rattles closed behind me and I slip into the night. Black helmet. Black leathers. Black bike. A sliver in the dark. As fucking incognito as it gets. Freedom in the only sense I’ve ever known it.

I navigate the city streets and make my way to the nearest highway that will take me out of town. I know this road so well, the off- and on-ramps are mapped on my brain. I open the gas and the bike powers away with a screech you’d hear miles away. Tonight, I don’t care. I weave through the traffic, knowing I’m playing with fucking death. I drive like this for a good twenty minutes, until the blood roars in my ears and my mind is cleansed of the rage I’ve bottled up inside.

Eventually, I slow down, hitting a pace that allows me to think. I try to find alternate solutions, but eventually, I have to face that there is only one: go to Russia and fetch Milana’s baby. Getting Annushka out of Russia is key, because if Chertnikov learns that his last remaining son’s child is in the country, he’ll probably burn the world down to get her. Not because she’s his only grandchild, but because she’s Milana’s. Ivan’s sister. The man he wanted to kill in a coup. The man who is married to Chertnikov’s girl.

Worst of all is, I—or us, Il Consiglio—hold the one thing Chertnikov could want if he really cared for his illegitimate son: the truth about how his life ended and the fact he left a child behind. Powerful stuff if used in the right way, but I would never betray Milana’s trust like that.

Would I use this knowledge to save my own family? I pray to never be tested in this way. Which brings me to my biggest concern: we need to hide Annushka in plain sight.

I’m not worried about the paperwork. That’s just a matter of money and the right connections, which we have aplenty.

I’m not sure how we get Chertnikov off Milana’s scent long enough for us to kill him. There is no question here: Chertnikov must be eliminated. As soon as possible.

The even trickier question: who do I trust with my wife’s secret? Milana and I can’t do this alone, and the more people who know, the riskier it gets.

My mind keeps spiraling back to a baby, a daughter. A beautiful little human my arms yearn to hold. It’s weird how I’m wired to be protective of her, even if I’ve never seen her, smelled her, or held her. A longing took hold in me ages ago, and now it’s found fertile ground to shoot roots into the heart of me, only to bloom with love for a baby who will live as if she’s mine.

Milana is my wife. Her child, almost by default, becomes mine.

Mine.

A baby to hold and cherish and love.

Through some weird twist of fate, I’m getting the one thing I never thought I’ll be honored to have in my life.

By the time I head back to Boston, I’ve been out for more than two hours, but a plan is taking shape in my mind. It’s strange, because I poured the foundations for it months ago, never knowing I was going to use it like this. But I have to run everything past Milana first. If we go ahead with my plan, we’re together, for life, in more ways than vows can ever bind us.

I drive back into the garage, my own exhaustion hitting me, but as I park the Ducati and take my helmet off, I spot Benedict coming out of the door leading to our offices.

“Fucking day and half,” he grunts as I walk up to him, unzipping my jacket.