Page 60 of Lord of the Underworld

Her body's tense, every muscle, but she stays on my lap. "When I was desperate, I used your name, Vadim. I threatened them with the Turgenev name. That was wrong, I had no right to."

She looks heartbroken, my wife, so guilty.

"I would cut through every crime family in this country if it meant keeping you safe." My voice isn't entirely steady. If I hadn't been able to track her. If the Rossi’s took her before I could get to her…

Her face is buried where my neck meets my shoulder, the soft warmth of her breath on my skin. "Vadim." A little shudder goes through her. "Why?"

"I'm your husband," I frown at her. This should be clear to her.

Oksana stops hiding in my shoulder, leaning back to look up at me. "I'm not sure I deserve you," she whispers. "You gave me chances to tell you. Looking back, I can see them now."

Lifting her left hand, I kiss her wedding ring, each knuckle, turning it over, I kiss her palm and the thin skin of her wrist. "Having you as my wife is almost too much good fortune, given that we are Russian."

She breaks out a hoarse little chuckle, her eyes sparkling as she puts her hand against my stubbled cheek. "We're really pushing our luck, aren't we? Our Slavic ancestors must be rolling in their graves." The smile drops from her face. "Where are the Rossi brothers now?"

"In one of my storage facilities on the South Side." I smooth her hair back from her face. "Waiting to have a conversation with me."

"Can I come with you?"

She constantly surprises me. "Milaya devushka, sweet girl…" I say. "This is ugly work. I can do this for you."

"I know you can," she says. In a quick, graceful move, she turns and straddles me, her hands resting on my shoulders. "This is my mess. The way Marco said, the others… Is there a group hunting us? Maybe the other men whose families disappeared, banding together? Because that would be so bad."

Cupping her face very carefully in my hands, I search her eyes. "Are you sure you want to see this?" My bride has had a long day. The botched extraction. Taking a punch to her pretty face. An hour spent out in a torrential downpour.

Oksana climbs off my lap, an action I note with some regret and twists her hair up on top of her head. "Yes. Please."

Reluctantly climbing to my feet as well, I kiss the tip of her nose. "As you wish."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

In which there is good news, and bad news.

Oksana…

Vadim drives us to the storage units himself, his hand resting possessively on my thigh. I put mine on top of his. "Thank you for not treating me like a fragile princess,” I say. “Thank you for trusting me to be able to handle it."

He glances at me and then back at the road. "It's your right," he says in such a matter-of-fact tone that it sparks a glow in my chest. After a lifetime of being told how useless I was by my father, how weak women are, having this terrifying man's respect, where he takes it as a given that I can handle the darkest side of our world, is everything.

"I recognize that in the civilian world, your husband knowing that you can handle watching torture and interrogation is maybe not the greatest affirmation," I say wryly. "But in the Bratva, it's a sign of strength."

"You survived our capture as a ten-year-old," he says, lifting my hand to kiss it. "You, my bride, are capable of anything."

It's then that I realize that I have fallen in love with Vadim Turgenev, the Angel of Death. I think I have always loved the boy who talked to me that night in our cells and gave me a reason to hold on.

The storage units are on Chicago's South Side. They are a series of unprepossessing gray metal buildings, meant for larger industrial equipment.

We head for the far end, where the gates are higher and each corner is bristling with cameras. Four guards, bundled in heavy jackets, are walking around the largest building. Vadim pulls up to the closest door and stops, looking out the windshield and tapping his thumb on the steering wheel.

"You may leave at any time," he says. "Ivan will take you home."

"Understood," I say. We walk into the building hand in hand, like we're on a date and oddly, it feels like one. My nervous anticipation morphs into fury when I see the Rossi brothers, chained to metal chairs that are bolted into the ground. Their mouths are taped, eyes bulging with rage.

Ivan greets us at the door. "I'm sorry, boss. Ma'am," he nods to me. "I had to tape their mouths; they wouldn't shut up for three goddamn hours." He nods at one of the other guards, who's pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Boris there has a migraine."

I notice that the Rossi brothers didn't get here completely in one piece. There's a giant gash across Marco's forehead that looks like it's been carelessly taped closed with the same duct tape used on their mouths. Don Rossi's left eye swollen shut. The stump from Vadim shooting off his hand has been dressed just enough to keep him from bleeding out.

We stroll over to them. They fall silent when they see Vadim, and then, they scream, violently rocking back and forth in their chairs against the chains when they see me.