Page 12 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

Anton

“ T he Belgrade shipment,” someone whispers behind a glass of champagne.

“Intercepted.”

I’m sure the conversation isn’t meant for anyone to hear.

It’s business.

Vadim is very particular about mixing business with pleasure.

But I hear it. Loud and clear.

And so does Dmitri.

No smile. No bad jokes. That alone is enough to set every nerve on edge.

There are very few occasions when my friend isn’t talking shit.

“You’re needed,” he says.

“Office?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

My eyes follow Lena.

It’s late and she’s changed into yet another dress.

Her hair is down and she’s tipsy. It’s taken every ounce of self-control not to throw her over my shoulder, swat her ass and put her to bed.

Dmitri clears his throat. “Now.”

Fuck.

Lena catches the shift in my posture instantly.

She’s been watching me watch her all night. Tracking me like I track her. She knows when something’s wrong.

She’s smiling that fake smile I fucking hate as she casually makes her way to where we stand.

“Anton?”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’ll be back.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

I glance at Dmitri. “Stay with her.”

“Obviously,” he mutters.

She frowns but obeys.

For once.

I don’t get down the hall before two of Vadim’s personal guards fall in step beside me. It’s another sign the meeting isn’t a request.

I walk into the room and spot Vadim and his son. The sneer on Mikhail’s mouth lets me know exactly what he thinks of me.

As if I give a shit.

He’s a dead man walking.

"Three million in product," Vadim says without preamble. "Gone."

I keep my expression neutral. "Belgrade?"

"Da. Our contact there is dead. Tortured first." Vadim's pale eyes study my face. "Someone knew the route. The timing. The security protocols."

Mikhail leans forward in his chair. "We have a rat."

"Or rats," Vadim corrects. His gaze never leaves mine. "The question is who."

I let the silence stretch. Let them think I'm processing the information when really I'm calculating how this affects my timeline.

How it affects Lena.

"You suspect someone specific," I say finally.

"I suspect everyone." Vadim pours himself three fingers of vodka. Doesn't offer me any. "Starting with anyone who had access to the shipment details."

"That's a short list."

"Very short." Mikhail's voice drips with accusation. "Family. Trusted associates. Security personnel."

The way he says security personnel tells me exactly where this is heading.

"You think it's one of the guards," I say.

"I think it's someone close enough to know our business,” Vadim says. He sips the vodka like it’s water.

“You,” Mikhail says, pointing at me. “You’re the leak.”

I don’t blink. “No, I’m not.”

He steps close, the stink of alcohol sharp between us.

He’s been enjoying the party just a little too much. I’ve been watching him as well.

Lena doesn’t know the danger she’s in with a drunk Mikhail, which is why I’ve been trying to keep her ass sober.

“The shipment was hit. Only five people knew the route.”

“Then I suggest you question the other four,” I reply. I give them nothing. I know it wasn’t me.

Mikhail doesn’t like that he can’t get a rise out of me.

His fist hits my jaw before I can duck—not because I couldn’t, but because I want him to hit me.

I stagger a half step, wipe the blood from my lip with the back of my hand and raise one eyebrow. It’s a trick I’ve learned.

That one eyebrow can mean so much.

I don’t swing back.

Not yet.

He snarls at me, his glassy eyes revealing just how deep into the drink he really is. “What, no fight?”

“If you want a real fight, we can. When you’re sober. When I kick your ass, I don’t want there to be any excuses.”

Mikhail lunges, but Vadim’s voice cuts through the room like a sword.

“Enough.”

Mikhail freezes.

Vadim steps forward, hands behind his back, eyes unreadable as he looks at each of us. For a second, I feel recognition.

But it can’t be.

There’s no way he knows who I am.

“It wasn’t him,” Vadim says.

Mikhail turns, stunned. “You don’t know that?—”

“I do. We already found the leak. He’s in the dungeon waiting for Anton to finish this conversation.”

My blood goes cold as the pieces click into place.

A test.

This whole thing was a fucking test.

Vadim orchestrated this entire confrontation to see how I'd react. To see if I'd throw away years of careful positioning for one moment of violence against his son.

To see if I'd break character and show my hand.

I study his face, looking for any tell, any sign that confirms what I already know. But Vadim's expression remains neutral. Calculating. Like a chess master who's moved his pieces exactly where he wants them.

"The dungeon," I repeat, keeping my voice steady.

"Yes. Our friend has been quite chatty. Seems he's been feeding information to our competitors for months." Vadim's smile is cold. "He's ready for questioning."

Mikhail's face is flushed red—whether from alcohol or embarrassment, I can't tell. "You knew it wasn't him?"

"Of course, I knew." Vadim's tone suggests his son is an idiot for even asking. "Anton has been loyal to this family for years. Why would he betray us now?"

Because I'm fucking your son's fiancée and planning to steal her away.

Then Vadim turns to me. “Take care of it. Quickly. We have guests upstairs.”

I nod.

But Mikhail isn’t done.

“What’s she like?” he asks casually.

My muscles go rigid. “Who?”

“Lena. Moya zhena .”

She’s not his wife.

I say nothing.

“You watch her all day,” he goes on. “She likes you. Trusts you.”

I keep quiet.

He smiles. “I bet she doesn’t cry easily. But when she does…” He snaps his fingers. “I bet it’s soft. The way her shoulders shake. The way she bites her lip.”

He’s trying. The man has a death wish, but he will know when I’m going to kill him.

And it’s not today.

Mikhail lifts his glass. “You’re her guard. You must know her intimately by now.”

I shrug, feigning boredom.

“She’s been mine since we were kids.”

He says it like a fact.

Like he owns her past, present and future.

“I’ve seen every photo,” he says. “Every report. Every journal entry she wrote in school that her father had copied. I know the names of her friends. I know what year she became a woman. I know how she reacts when she’s in pain, what shampoo she uses, her favorite chocolate.

I know she likes to sneak out and fuck men that are not worthy of her. ”

The room goes still.

I don’t think he knows she’s been fucking me. I would not be standing here if he did.

But he knows she’s fucking someone. And that’s dangerous.

“My Lena is a passionate woman that needs taming,” he snarls. “A firm hand.”

He’s been studying her. Obsessing over her since she was a girl.

He’s not in love.

He’s evil and obsessed. He only wants to possess her.

“Get out,” Vadim says. “You’re drunk! And stupid. Pull yourself together. You’re an embarrassment!”

Mikhail slams back the rest of his drink and walks out with a crooked grin.

But just before I turn to go, Vadim holds up his hand.

“Wait here. A moment.”

He slips out a side door. I glance around. There are three doors in the office. A man like Vadim would need plenty of escape options.

I don’t move. I know there are cameras. I can’t make it obvious I’m studying the layout.

I hear voices in the hallway. Mikhail's voice, slurred and angry, carries through the thick walls.

"...can't stand the way he looks at me. Like he's better than me."

Another voice responds, too low for me to make out the words.

"Anton fucking Malikov," Mikhail spits. "Walking around like he owns the place. Like he owns her."

My blood turns to ice.

"You see how she watches him? How she fucking lights up when he's near? It's disgusting."

I strain to listen, every muscle coiled tight.

"After the wedding, after she's mine and this alliance is sealed, I'm going to put a bullet in his head. Make it look like an accident."

The other voice murmurs something.

The words slice through me.

Termination.

I’m already marked.

The wedding isn’t just Lena’s prison.

It’s my execution date.

Vadim returns and hands me a knife using a glove.

I look at it, then him with a question in my gaze.

I obviously have my own.

“It’s his,” Vadim smiles. “Use it. Poetic, no?”

I’m sure it’s another test or a setup.

I don’t care.

“It’s done.” I take the knife and leave the room. Mikhail is walking in the opposite direction back to the party.

I push open the door that leads downstairs. I practically jog down. I’ve been down here before. Too many times. It’s one of the only reasons I’ve ever been brought to the estate. I’ve never been invited for dinner or a party.

I’m just the assassin. The enforcer. I’m the guy that does the wet work.

The traitor is bound to a chair. Bloodied. Barely breathing.

In another lifetime, I might’ve taken my time. Sent a message.

But I don’t have time.

I want to get back upstairs.

Back to her.

With Mikhail pissed and drunk, I can’t risk him getting his hands on Lena.

One swift, silent motion. Knife to jugular. Arterial spray against tile.

The man gurgles. Dies.

I turn to the men guarding him. “Clean it up. Burn everything.”

They nod.

I drop the knife on the ground. If it’s evidence against me, whatever. One little knife in a pile of guns and bullets isn’t going to make a difference.

I stop in the restroom and wash my hands and make sure there’s no blood on me.

When I return to the party, I don’t immediately see her.

I spot Dmitri standing just outside the open doors.

He jerks his head, letting me know she’s outside.

The garden.

I almost smile.

She loves the garden, and I love watching her enjoy it. She smiles so little during the day.

The garden is softly lit with strings of warm lights woven through the trees. It creates an intimate space that makes everything look like a fairy tale.

And there she is.

Lena stands near the fountain, her back to me. She's changed into a midnight blue dress that hugs her curves like it was painted on her body.

The fabric is silk, flowing from her hips to just above her knees. The neckline dips low in the back, revealing the smooth line of her spine. Thin straps cross at her shoulder blades, creating a delicate pattern against her pale skin.

My mouth goes dry.

It's elegant and sexy without being obvious. Perfect for a Bratva princess who needs to look untouchable while driving men to distraction.

She's succeeded.

My body responds immediately. My cock twitches. I crave her with every breath. I want her because I can’t have her.

I want her because I can’t live without her.

As if she senses me, she turns and looks over her shoulder.

I see that look.

It’s relief.

Joy.

And maybe even dread.

I get it. I feel the same way. I need to be near her, and I dread the moment I can’t be.

I move toward her slowly, aware of every camera, every shadow where someone might be lurking. The taste of blood lingers on my tongue—Mikhail's parting gift still seeping from my split lip.

Her eyes widen when she sees me, taking in the damage. Without thinking, she lifts her hand toward my face, those delicate fingers reaching to touch the wound.

I catch her wrist before she can make contact.

"Don't," I whisper. "Someone's always watching."

But I don't let go. I can't. My thumb finds her pulse point, feeling the rapid flutter of her heartbeat beneath my fingertip.

I trace small circles there, counting each beat, memorizing the rhythm of her life.

This tangible proof that she's real, that she's here, that she's mine even if the world says otherwise.

Her pulse quickens under my touch.

I drop her hand and take a step back.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. You need to go back inside. It’s not safe out here.” My tone is cold. All professional.

Hurt flashes through her eyes.

“I needed fresh air.”

“You got it. Go inside.”

She frowns and then flips her hair over her shoulder in a dismissive action.

“You’re my bodyguard, not my owner.”

“The fuck I’m not.”

Her eyes widen briefly.

Her lips form a soft O, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.

I am too.

But she’s smart enough to walk away.

Thank God because I’m ready to grab her and throw her on the grass between the prized roses and fuck her until neither of us can breathe.