Page 17 of His Ruthless Vow

"They suspect. They don't know, okay?" He reaches over and takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. "I have a place we can go and talk and lay low until this passes. Then I'll bring you home. I'll deal with whatever fallout there is."

He drives north, pushing the car faster now that the traffic's thinned. The city gives way to pine forests, and the road narrows to two lanes that wind through the darkness. I watch the temperature drop on the dashboard, forty degrees, then thirty-five, and the first flakes of snow begin to stick to the pavement. It threatens to be a bad storm, but it's early yet. If we don’t wait too late, we can still make it out.

Dimitri takes a turn onto an unmarked dirt road, and the car bounces over ruts and frozen mud. Branches scrape against the windows on both sides, and I grip the door handle as we plunge deeper into the wilderness. He drives without headlights now, navigating by memory and moonlight, and when I look back, the following car's lights have vanished behind a wall of trees.

"I'm the only one who knows about this place, okay?" he says, trying to reassure me. He glances a few times but has to keep his eyes on the dirt road in front of us.

The snow falls harder, thickening into a curtain that obscures everything beyond the hood of the car. Dimitri slows to a crawl, leaning forward over the wheel, and I can barely make out the shapes of pines on either side. The wind picks up, howling against the windows, rocking the car with gusts that shake us.

"We're close," he says, but the words have barely left his mouth when the car slides on a patch of ice. He corrects it, but the tires spin, catching nothing, and we slide sideways into a snowbank.

He kills the engine and sits back, breathing hard. Outside, the storm's become a white wall, visibility reduced to nothing. The wind screams around the car, and I can feel the temperature dropping even with the heater running.

"We'll have to walk from here," he says. "It's not safe to drive blind."

He pulls a flashlight from the glove compartment and shrugs into a heavy parka from the back seat. I follow him out into the storm, and the cold hits me, stealing my breath. The wind cuts through my coat, and snow stings my cheeks. Dimitri takes my hand and pulls me close against his side, shielding me as best he can as we trudge forward through drifts that rise to our knees.

The cabin materializes out of the white like a ghost, a dark timber structure with a steep roof already gathering snow. Dimitri fumbles with keys at the door and then lets us in. We stumble into a great room that smells like pine sap and he finds a switch, and a single bulb flickers to life overhead, illuminating dust motes and furniture draped in white sheets.

I stand in the center of the room, shivering, watching Dimitri stalk through the space. He pulls sheets from a sofa and two armchairs, revealing leather worn soft by years of use, then finds matches on the mantel and crouches at the stone fireplace, building a fire from the stacked wood that waits there. Within minutes, flames crackle and snap, and I gravitate toward the warmth as I shed my wet coat.

"The storm's getting worse," he says, standing and moving to the window. He pulls back the curtain, revealing nothing but white static beyond the glass. "We won't be leaving tonight."

"God, what will Batya say now?" I grumble as I sink onto the sofa, sitting as close to the fire as possible. Dimitri disappears into another room and returns with blankets and a bottle of vodka. He pours two fingers into a crystal tumbler and hands it to me. The alcohol burns going down, spreading heat through my chest as he pours himself a glass and sits in the armchair across from me. He tells me about what he found, the payment records and how his father made the payment to Dr. Babich, not mine, but mine was clearly complicit. Then he sinks into the armchair and rests his head back.

"Why did you do it?" I ask, hugging the tumbler that is now empty. "You could've been Pakhan but you gave it up."

He goes very still, and for a moment, I think he'll deflect. But then he sets his glass aside and meets my eyes, and I see the truth there. I don't think Dimitri Sokolov ever wanted to be the leader.

"Because I couldn't become him," he says simply. "I couldn't sit in that chair and know that my power was built on lies. I couldn't protect a monster simply because he shared my blood." He looks into the fire, and the flames reflect in his dark eyes. "Ivan was my brother, but when I learned what he did, I understood that there are some things that family cannot excuse. We have a code for a reason."

The room suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker. I kick off my boots and pull my legs up onto the sofa, wrapping my arms around my knees while I watch him. "You gave up an empire," I whisper.

"I gave up a poisoned crown," he says. "My father built his kingdom on secrets. I knew if I accepted my place as his heir, I'd become exactly like him. I'd have to bury his secrets, and that would mean turning my back on the code. Women and children are off limits for a reason, Alana."

He stands and moves to the fireplace, resting his hand on the stone mantel. The firelight plays across his profile, highlighting the strength in his jaw, the sorrow in his eyes. "You asked me once why I cared about justice for you when you weren't my blood. The truth is, I care because you're the reason I understood what my father truly was. You're the mirror that showed me his corruption. And I can't stand by and watch him marry your sister into this stained legacy."

I feel tears prick at my eyes, and I blink them back. "But you sacrificed everything."

"I chose something worth more than power," he says, turning to face me. "I chose to be a man who could look himself in the mirror."

The wind howls outside, rattling the windows, and a fresh surge of snow smacks the glass. Dimitri moves to the window and looks out. "It's getting worse," he says. "The drifts are already halfway up the door."

The news isn't very encouraging, but there's nothing we can do. "At least we have a warm fire," I say, standing to set my glass down and join him at the window. "If I have to be trapped in a cabin with a Sokolov, I'm glad it's you," I tell him, secretly thankful we get this time. Dimitri isn't who I thought he was—he's better. And I don't mind this moment at all. I hope I still don't mind in the morning.

I slide my hand into his and lace my fingers together as the alcohol buzz kicks in.

Tonight could be the thing that heals me more than anything else.

13

DIMITRI

"Let's go sit where it's warm," I tell Alana the minute she puts her hand in mine. It's driving me insane that she's so comfortable with me. I wonder as I lead her back toward the crackling fire if she was comfortable with my brother, but the thought passes quickly as we sit.

The fire is warm, and so is my hand in hers. She's letting me hold it, stroking my thumb over the back of her knuckles while she watches the flames lift and sway. She's beautiful—mesmerizing. I can't stop watching her.

"You wanted to be a hero, huh?" she asks, reminding me of my confession the other day. I never did grow out of that phase. I want to be a man who makes things right, even if I have to use unnatural methods to make that happen. I'm not the fireman type anymore, but vigilante suits me.