Page 37 of Brutal Vows

A sigh escapes, unbidden. “It didn’t exactly go as I’d hoped.”

“No? Sorry, bro. This might help.” He finger-flicks an envelope from his desk to mine.

I pick it up as I sink into my chair, glance at it, and toss it aside. “Cool. Wanna fill me in? On the bomb Petrov dropped?”

We stare at each other as I swivel my chair from side to side.

“There’s no more to tell about your wedding?”

“Other than my wife is hiding something, is nervous as fuck, scared, bedeviled, and on a not-so-secret mission to get away from all of us? Nope.”

He chuckles. “Basically, your standard-edition Mafia bride?”

“What the fuck do we even know of brides,” I huff, feeling out of my depth with Milana. “Never mind a Mafia-Bratva combo?”

“Dunno, it’s just the standard description of the women our brothers hooked up with, so…you know, it seems to be par for the course.”

“Par for the course? Let’s get one thing straight, there’s nothing standard about Milana Petrova.”

At this he nods, but that fucking smirk expands into a shit-eating grin. “Good. You’re due a challenge that doesn’t come with a black-out room.”

“Mention that shit again⁠—”

“Oof. Not the only one bedeviled here, I see. Chill, bro. I’ll come meet her later. Dissect how she managed to rile you up like this in less than a day.” His eyes widen in mock horror. “Oh, wait, you didn’t get laid and you want to fuck her so badly. Ha. Who figured? But that explains it.”

“Don’t fucking go there.” I turn toward my monitors and pull my keyboard closer to log in. My brothers know nothing about my obsession with Milana and they never will. “Give me the lowdown on Petrov and Gabriella and this stolen-bride business.”

Benedict props his legs on his desk, and his office chair creaks as he gets comfortable. “I don’t know much more than you. I’m waiting for the Bible Gabi had with her—apparently Mom’s Bible—to crack whatever code Petrov think is hidden in there.”

“You’re actually going to have to read the Bible?” I snort-laugh. “Serves you fucking right.”

“Come on, have some sympathy.”

I have none. We’re all making sacrifices here. I’m logged in and open my apartment’s security cameras. Milana is in the kitchen, staring into the fridge.

“You’re going to spy on her?”

“Something’s off. We might have to hack into her phone.”

“That off?”

“Yep. We have no clue who we’ve gotten into bed with.”

“You can say that again. How’s your Russian coming along? I bet most of her messages are in Russian.”

“I haven’t swallowed a dictionary yet.” I close the security footage and lean back, giving him an expectant stare. “Spill.”

“Besides the branding, the Bible, and the notion that our sister is being hunted, Gabi apparently has a friend who’s gone MIA.”

“A friend? From where?”

“The convent in Potenza. Left months ago. The brotherly grapevine did its thing this morning. Dominic has been keeping abreast of shit happening in Italy, what with Ariana still hoping to crack Randazzo’s sex trafficking ring. He got wind that there were four more murders, similar to Mother Lucia’s, and told Gabriella about them when she phoned him days ago.”

“She phoned him?” This is news.

“On the burner phone we gave her. This was all kept under wraps.”

“Fuck me. So five murders in total?”