Page 45 of Brutal Vows

I’ll have to tell Luca something, just broad strokes. Whatever it is, this can’t go on. I have to do something, say something. As I fling the door open, mind made up but no clue how to give just the right amount away, Luca is there, hand raised to knock.

We stare at each other in mutual shock at finding each other right there, the barrier between us suddenly gone.

“Can you wire Masha some money? Please. She needs cash.” To run, just like I need to run. To help Varya if she ever comes back alive. Enough money for both women to disappear.

He drops his hand, but there’s no hiding the concern in his eyes. “Sure…except you’re going to have to tell me why. There are sanctions. Everything is ring fenced, and the last thing we can afford is to draw the Feds’ attention. Just like your brother—” He breaks off, steps closer, and steadies me with a hand on my shoulder. “Why is Ivan not helping you, Milana? Why did he block your funds?”

I have to give him something, a nugget of the truth. I take a deep breath. “It’s the coup. Chertnikov. The whole fucked-up mess in Russia. He’s scared I’ll go there and get taken hostage, become leverage he can’t fight, but Masha—” I break off, swallowing my real fear for both women. “Masha is in hiding. They might come for her, and then— And then, it will be on my head if they hurt her.”

“How much?” he asks, and I almost break down in relief when he doesn’t probe deeper.

“Ten thousand dollars, at least? That would get her moving. A hundred thousand would enable her to leave Russia.”

“Jesus,” he says, but nods. “Amounts like that won’t go under the radar, but we’ll figure out how to do it tonight.” He turns to look at his brother. “We can’t leave a trail, Ben.”

His brother just nods, and all I want is to collapse in Luca’s arms, so grateful he’s here, willing, and not asking a thousand questions.

I might be barred from doing anything, but at least he’ll do this for me.

22

LUCA

It takes us a whole night to figure out how to send funds to an individual in Russia without raising suspicion or linking it back to us.

“If this carries on, we’re going to have to work on our network in Russia,” I say to Benedict as the elevator opens.

“Never saw that day coming,” he says as he walks to his apartment door. “We have basic connections, but you’re right, this is messy and not in our wheelhouse.”

“At least we’ve no reason to go to Russia. So as long as we can keep things under wraps, it should be fine.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to have to tell Matteo.”

I give a non-committal grunt. Benedict won’t tell anybody anything, and Il Consiglio works on a need-to-know basis. It’s my money, and Matteo doesn’t need to know where it goes. I’m going to keep it that way for as long as possible. I’m the one with the Bratva bride. My wife, my problem.

As I walk into my apartment, it’s dark inside, and so quiet, it’s almost eerie. Worry shoots through me. I shouldn’t have left Milana alone for so long. As it is, she seems to be on the brink of a mental breakdown. Fuck, I don’t blame her. If I were a brute, I would have told her to get the fuck over it, but I also know more than I should. Those photos I scrubbed. Fuck. They’ve been eating at my subconscious the whole day.

I’m not sure if I should tell her at some point, or stay quiet for all eternity? I can’t expect her to open up and be honest with me—build trust—if I hide this from her. What if I never tell her, this marriage somehow evolves into something, and then she finds out I’ve hidden this from her? I have no clue what a need-to-know basis means in a marriage setup like ours. How do you even trust someone if there’s a wall of secrets between you and you’re the one sitting on the sledgehammer?

I come to a standstill in front of my closed bedroom door. We removed the lock, and for some fucked-up reason, I want to check in on her. She could have offed herself somehow in the hours I was gone and I’ll only figure it out in the morning.

Turning away from the door, I curse, determined to go to the spare bedroom and stare at the ceiling.

Fuck it.

I won’t sleep until I know she’s okay. I swing back and put a hand on the doorknob, twisting it slowly. It unlatches soundlessly. My eyes adjust to the dark, and I lean into the room, listening.

At the first rustle of bed sheets, I breathe easy.

“Luca?” She sounds wide awake.

“Princess. I had to check in on you. Needed to make sure…” I trail off, stepping into the room. “Why aren’t you sleeping? It’s like two in the morning.”

She sits up and switches on the bedside lamp. “Were you able to wire some money to Masha?”

The light casts her in a soft glow, and I take in the whole of her with one glance. Holy fucking hell.

Hair loose, falling over her bare shoulders, some sort of white silk camisole, perhaps a nightgown, low cut, showing her beautiful cleavage in the light and shadows created by the lamp. I don’t need more to fill in the blank spaces—I have, after all, seen most of her naked before. The soft full weight of her breasts, her nipples, hard and needy in arousal.