Page 63 of His Savage Vow
Her lips press tight, but she nods.
“I meant what I said before.” I stand in front of her, hands fisted at my sides. “If you were my wife, you would have protection. That kind of status carries a lot of weight in my world. No one would dare touch you. I’ve already come too close to losing you. I won’t let it happen again.”
She looks up at me, defiance flashing inher gaze. “Maximo, do you think they care about that? They just sprayed bullets through your house. Through yourhouse. If they’re willing to do that, they don’t respect any rules. A ring won’t shield me, Maximo. It’ll just tell every enemy exactly where to aim. It’ll prove to them that I’m your weakness, at least in their eyes.”
Her words cut deep because they’re true, making me grind my teeth. “I can’t?—”
“You can’twhat?” Constance interrupts me, something I’m not used too. “Order me into safety? There’s no safety until they’re gone. The only way this ends is when the Volkovs are dead and buried for what they’ve done.”
I stare at her, breathing hard, fury coiling in my chest, not at her, but at the Russians who have dragged us to this point. She’s right. As much as I want to shield her with tradition and ceremony, none of it matters to men who spit on the codes of honor that hold our world together.
Finally, I give her a nod. “Then so be it. Blood for blood.” I crouch in front of her, taking her hand, my thumb pressing against her pulse. “They want war? I’ll give it to them. And I’ll see Kirill and Alexei Volkov in the ground before they ever touch you again.”
Her fingers tighten around mine, not in fear, but in solidarity.
And at that moment, I know there’s no turning back. I would have preferred to see the Volkovs ruined; arrested and paraded through the streets as a warning to anyone else who thought to challenge my empire.
But the Bratva don’t want to settle this as businessmen. They want violence and blood. After all that they’ve done, and the pain they’ve caused this woman I’m coming to love, if it’s war they want, then war is what’s coming.
And I will not stop until every last Volkov breathes their final breath.
33
“People aren’t their worst moments. It’s okay to give them a little slack when times are tough.”
—ROBERT MONROE
Constance
I leftMaximo in his office after the police got done interviewing everyone. He said he already has a plan and was barking orders into the phone before I could pull the doors closed behind me.
I wanted to stay with him and listen to see what, exactly, he was setting in motion. First, though, I had another problem. Despite everything that’s happened the last few hours, I was starving.
The kitchen is a war zone. Glass, splintered cabinets, and blood are smeared across tile. My stomach still growls.Trauma never seems to override hunger, no matter how much I wish it would.
The last real meal I had was breakfast at the diner. That was only this morning, yet it seems like a lifetime ago.
And whatever food survived is buried amongst the chaos.
As I make my way gingerly over to the phone on the wall to order takeout, a young man I recognize as Maximo’s younger cousin pushes a mop and bucket into the kitchen. He’s barely more than a boy, with dark eyes and black hair that falls over his forehead.
“Luca, right?” I ask.
He nods quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s the address here?”
He blinks. “The address?”
“I want to order a pizza. Unless you’re hiding a working kitchen somewhere, this one seems to be out of order.”
The kid cracks a slight grin despite the grimness of the night and rattles off the address. I scribble it down on the whiteboard by the phone, then call a pizza place named “Vincenzos” whose menu was tucked behind the board. I order four large pizzas, figuring the men patching up the manor deserve a bite too.
By the time I make my way back toward Maximo’s office, I can hear the low rumble of his voice through the half-closed door. When I slip inside, he’s just finishing a call, and as he removes the phone from his ear, I can see the word “LAWYER” on the glowing screen.
He sets the phone down, leans back in his chair, and his eyes find mine. “I’m having one of the Russians bailed out,” he announces without preamble.
I stop short. “What? Why would you do something like that?”
