Page 44 of Brutal Vows

“Should be here in a minute,” Benedict says, and right on cue, there’s a knock on the door. He heads over and reappears with a stack of pizza boxes, calling out a thanks to whoever did the delivery.

Thanks indeed. The need to cook has been taken off my hands. Not that the expectation was ever there.

“Hungry, princess?” Luca asks, pulling a bottle from the wine fridge. “I decided not to subject you to my rubbery chicken breasts.”

Nice. They read my messages to Masha. And found nothing. Not as smart as they think they are, after all.

“Do you want some wine?” Luca asks as he rummages through a drawer for the corkscrew.

It’s early for dinner, but the day has been messy and I’m starving. “Yes, please.” As I walk to the kitchen, I’m burning to check my phone, but hold back.

We sit down in strained silence at the dinner table, Luca pouring chilled Pinot Grigio, Benedict opening the pizza boxes and reaching for some kitchen towel to serve as napkins. We don’t bother with plates—men—and eat in silence. The pizza is so delicious, I want to stuff my face. Between Luca and Benedict, they seem to be inhaling slices, so there’s no need for conversation.

“She messaged you, by the way,” Luca says between a sip of wine and selecting another slice. “Masha.”

There’s no stopping me now. I unlock my phone where it’s been lying on the table like a time bomb and open Masha’s message chain.

Heard today that Varya might be fired. She got called in by the Maestro after rehearsal.

The pizza slice slips from my hand. Varya’s been called in? By the orchestra’s Maestro...which means she’s been taken for interrogation. She might talk…she might get killed. By the Bratva.

I’m worried who they’re going to boot next. They’ve been playing really badly lately, after the summer break.

I decipher her message: shit’s been going down over the summer, and people are missing in action.

My stomach turns, sour with the wine, bile rising. Masha. What if Varya talks? They’ll make her talk, and then they’ll come for Masha. She could always be next.

But they won’t touch her again. Surely not? She survived the first time. She’s one of the walking reminders amongst the women in the Bratva: do as you are told, or⁠—

Those first messages were sent half an hour ago. Now another message pings:

She was such a great help with the new musician.

A break before she starts typing again.

Thought I’d let you know. Everything else is fine.

I lean back in my seat, fear pulsing through my veins, my heart beating so fast, a cold fever seeming to spread through me.

“Princess?”

“I’ve eaten too much, too fast,” I whisper. “The mushrooms…I— Sorry. Excuse me.” I get up and make a beeline for my room, before Luca could ask me the true meaning behind Masha’s coded message.

“She isn’t okay,” Benedict’s voice sounds in this horrid apartment as I rush toward my bedroom. “And it isn’t the pizza.”

“Nope, she hasn’t been okay for a long while.”

What does he even know about that? And they’re talking about me as if I’m not even in the room.

“Plan to do anything about it?”

“Wait for her? To come to me? Trust me?”

“We don’t have time.”

Neither do I.

I close the door and lean against it, blocking them out. I take deep breaths, unscrambling the shock of Masha’s news. I’m quivering, my legs about to cave. If they’ve taken Varya, chances are we’re really running out of time. If she talks⁠—