Page 58 of His Savage Vow
The first thingI become aware of is the sound of breathing that isn’t mine. It’s steady, deep, almost a snore, and close enough to soothe the lingering panic in my chest.
My eyes flutter open and find Maximo. He’s slumped in the chair beside my bed, his arms folded across his chest with his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle. Even in sleep, his presence is imposing, as though the slightest sound would rouse him.
The second thing I notice is the murmur of voices outside my door. There are at least two men, his men, Ihope, speaking in low tones. I can’t make out the words, but there’s tension in them, the clipped cadence of men not entirely at ease.
The commotion sharpens suddenly, footsteps, then the mutedclunkof something heavy being set down. Whatever is going on, it’s enough to wake Maximo. His eyes snap open clear and alert, like he hadn’t really been asleep at all. He rises without a word, crossing the room in two long strides to pull open the door.
When he comes back, he’s carrying a vase of flowers.
I frown at his grim expression. “What’s wrong? Why are you making that face?”
He sets the vase down on the side table, his expression still hard. Tucked into the bouquet is a small white card. He plucks it from the arrangement and hands it to me. On it, in neat script is a simple message:Get well soon, with our condolences.
“From the Volkovs,” Maximo grumbles.
I stare at him, confusion and anger twisting in my chest. “Why would they…after yesterday…”
“The man who delivered them told my men that the shooter wasn’t acting on orders,” Maximo explains, his tone edged with contempt. “An overeager associate looking to collect the bounty they’ve put on me. You were collateral damage.”
I shake my head, bewildered. “And they think fucking flowers will make it right?”
A cold shiver slides down my spine. Last night’s gunfire still echoes in my bones, and the bouquet feels less like an apology and more like a reminder:we can reach you anywhere.
“They know as well as I do,” Maximo replies grimly. “The gloves are off now. There’s no going back.”
He crosses to the television mounted on the wall and switches it on. He flips through the channels until he comes to the local news, which is just getting to their top story. A localreporter’s head fills the screen as the anchor’s solemn voice introduces the clip.
“This is already on every news channel,” Maximo mutters, jaw flexing. “Might as well see the version the public got.”
He turns up the volume as the reporter begins to introduce him on camera. He’s standing outside this very hospital last night, the weight of command in his voice as he speaks into a forest of microphones.
“As I was saying earlier before we were violently interrupted, we need more law enforcement on the streets. Luciani Holdings will finance an increase in police manpower because the safety of this city is non-negotiable. I want to note that I have received pushback from the mayor’s office, who seems to disagree with me regarding our need for a more robust police response. Therefore, I have personally contacted the governor and the district attorney to ask them to order the State Bureau of Investigation to look into the mayor’s finances and his own connections to organized crime.”
The clip ends, cutting back to the anchors. Maximo switches the television off before they can add their commentary.
He remains standing beside my bed for another moment, fist clenched at his side as though he’s still replaying the shooting in his head.
A knock at the door makes him tense up even more, but it’s just breakfast. The scent of bacon and coffee soon fills the room. Not long after, the doctor arrives, looking over his notes on a tablet.
“Well, it’s good to see you awake and eating. How are you feeling Ms. Monroe?” he asks.
“My arm was throbbing last night, but the nurse gave me something for the pain and I slept well. It’s not really that bad right now.”
“Good. I think we’re fine to release you this morning. You have some stitches that we’ll remove when you follow up with me or your primary care doctor. I’ll have the nurse schedule an appointment in about ten days. Otherwise, just call if you have any concerns.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
Relief and fear twist together in my stomach. Leaving this building feels like stepping back onto a battlefield.
“Yes, thank you,” Maximo adds. “I won’t forget what great care you’ve provided for her.”
I’ve just finished signing the discharge forms when Enzo slips inside the room, his lips pressed tight in a grimace. He glances toward the door before speaking, lowering his voice. “This room’s safe. No ears. I just got word from our maintenance man, Terry Holden, out at Teterboro Airfield. They spotted Alexei Volkov himself, loading cargo onto his private plane. Looks like he’s moving fast to get out of town.”
Maximo’s eyes sharpen. “Good. Call the district attorney and have him start the ball rolling for a warrant. If the cops want to play righteous, let them prove it. Tell them to move on the airfield before Volkov can vanish,” he orders. “Do you think Terry can stall them from leaving?”
“I’ll have him get the maintenance crew to ground Volkov with some made up mechanical issue. Hell, I may be able to get him to create a real issue. Terry is eager to claim that bounty you put on Volkov.”
“Just keep him on the ground until the police can get there. If he tries to do anything to the plane, the Russians will be on him instantly. Let’s not give away our surprise,” Maximo instructs.
