Page 26 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

Anton

I t's been three days since we arrived at Luda's cabin.

I should feel safer than I do.

The wound above my eye has scabbed over, my ribs no longer scream with every breath, and Lena's arm is healing cleanly.

But safety is an illusion I can't afford to believe in.

Vadim is a powerful man.

Even in the far corners of Russia, his influence can be felt.

We have to leave soon.

But we are still working on the details of our escape.

This was not the way I planned.

My guilt is eating me up.

Lena deserves so much more than I can give her.

I watch her through the small kitchen window as she sits on the wooden steps outside, her face tilted toward the weak spring sun.

She's wearing one of Luda's old sweaters, far too big for her small frame.

She looks peaceful for the first time since this nightmare began.

I know she’s anxious. We all are.

She wanted to go for a walk, but it’s too dangerous.

I can’t let her leave the cabin.

Luda’s cabin is isolated and surrounded by woods, but that isn’t enough.

Dmitri’s babushka isn’t actually his grandmother. She took care of Dmitri before he found his way to the training center where we met.

It will take some serious digging before anyone connects Dmitri to her—if they ever do.

But this is temporary. We can’t stay. I will not put anyone else in danger.

Dmitri and Luda left at dawn for the village, promising to return with clothes and enough supplies to last us another week. Maybe two, if we're careful. But I know we don't have two weeks. Vadim's reach is long.

Mikhail is not going to stop hunting Lena.

And me.

It’s a personal insult. That’s the kind of thing that demands a slow, painful death.

I pour myself another cup of the bitter coffee Luda left warming on the stove and step outside.

Lena doesn't turn when the door closes behind me, but she shifts slightly, making room for me on the step.

"You're thinking too loud," she says softly.

"Am I?"

"I can practically hear the wheels turning." She glances at me sideways. "You're planning something."

It's not a question. I settle beside her, close enough that our thighs touch.

"We can't stay here forever," I say.

"I know." Her voice is quiet, resigned. "But can we stay here today?"

The simple request hits me harder than it should. When was the last time either of us had a day? Just one day without running, without fear, without blood on our hands?

"Today," I agree.

She leans against my shoulder.

"Tell me about your mother," she says. “What do you remember?”

"Lena—"

"Please. I want to know about her. About you as a little boy. The more you talk, the more you’ll remember. We’ll remember her together. I feel like she is a part of me even though I’ve never met her."

I'm quiet for so long she probably thinks I won't answer. It’s difficult. I’ve locked away her and the few memories for too long.

But I want Lena to know her.

"She sang constantly," I finally say. "Even when she was sad, which was often near the end. She'd hum while she cooked, sing lullabies when she thought I was sleeping." I pause, remembering. "She had this way of making everything feel safe, even when it wasn't."

"Like you do for me."

"I'm nothing like her."

"You're wrong." Lena's fingers find mine, intertwining our hands. "You have her heart. I can see it in those pictures."

“I wish I remembered more. I can’t remember her voice. I know she sang, but I can’t hear her anymore.”

I remember fragments. Pieces that don't quite fit together.

"There was a park," I say slowly. I feel like I’m trying to grab onto something floating in the dark. "Someone took me there. After."

Lena's grip on my hand tightens. "After your mother died?"

"I think so." The memory is hazy, more feeling than image. "A woman with dark hair. She bought me ice cream even though it was cold outside. I remember crying because I wanted my mama, and she held me."

“Dark hair?”

I turn to look at her. “I think… I don’t know.”

“What, Anton?”

“I think it might have been Elena.”

“Really?”

"Maybe." I close my eyes, trying to grasp the wisps of memory before they dissolve. "She smelled like cigarettes. She spoke to me in Russian, but her accent was different from my mother's."

"What did she say?"

"I don't know. I was so young." Frustration builds in my chest. "There are other pieces. A blue car. And I felt danger. I can’t explain how, but I knew it was dangerous."

“My mother was there?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. That doesn’t make sense. And I don’t know where I was. But I remember I had bandages.”

“From the attack.”

I nod. “And that was the last time I ever saw the woman.”

Was it Elena?

It all feels so foggy.

Some of it I’m not sure truly happened. I was so young.

There was so much trauma and then I was thrust into a life that made sure I never remembered who I was or where I came from.

"Tell me everything," she says. "From the beginning. No lies. No protection. No soft edges. I want the whole truth."

I know what she’s asking for.

How did I go from a broken, motherless little boy to a cold assassin working for the father that wanted me dead.

“Like I said, I don’t have many memories, but over the years I’ve done some research. I know now she didn’t want to marry Vadim. That he was chosen for her. Or maybe he just decided she was his. That’s the way he operates. Like they chose you.”

Lena nods. “It’s the way of things.”

The way of the Bratva. Of the powerful families all desperate for more power and control. Fuck the costs.

Children are bred to gain more power.

Lena was supposed to be a princess.

I was disposable.

I have spent my entire life knowing I was so unworthy of taking over my father’s empire, he tried to kill me.

I was five and he found some major flaw that made him want me dead.

I push the feelings deep down where they’ve been festering for three long decades.

Festering and fueling me.

“He hit her,” I say. “I remember that. I remember hiding under the table, watching her cry, watching him yell. I couldn’t have been more than three or four. But even then, I wanted to kill him.”

She flinches, but not away from me. Toward me. Like she wants to bear the weight of this too.

“My mother tried to protect me. When she died…” I shake my head.

I close my eyes remembering the months and years.

“Where did you go?” she asks.

“There was a woman, Juliette. She was nice. I thought she was going to be my new mom. I was only there for a little while. And then I was sent to the Center.”

“The Center?”

“Bratva training.”

“At five?”

I nod slowly. “There were a lot of boys my age and older. A few girls. Orphans. That’s where I met Dmitri.”

Her fingers slide up my forearm.

"The Center was a fortress," I continue, the words coming slowly. I have never spoken about the place that shaped me. I wasn’t allowed to. Dmitri sure as hell didn’t need or want to sit around and reminisce.

“Tell me,” Lena says.

"Gray concrete walls, barbed wire, guards with rifles. We weren't children there. We were assets in training."

Lena's hand tightens in mine, but she doesn't speak. She knows I need to get this out.

"They stripped away everything that made us human.

Our names, our histories, our emotions. I wasn't Alexei anymore. The woman, Juliette, she called me Anton. I didn’t understand it at first, but she told me I was Anton.

Alexei was dead." I stare out at the tree line as the memories claw to the surface.

"The weak ones didn't survive the first year. "

"What did they do to you?"

"Everything." The word makes me shudder.

More memories.

More pain resurfaces.

I feel nauseous.

"Combat training from dawn until we collapsed. Languages, weapons, surveillance, torture techniques. How to kill a man seventeen different ways with your bare hands. How to withstand pain without breaking. How to feel nothing."

I remember the ice baths that lasted hours. The beatings for showing fear.

The way they made us fight each other for scraps of food, turning friends into enemies with calculated cruelty.

"The instructors told us our families had abandoned us. That we were worthless except as weapons. They said love was weakness, attachment was failure." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "For years, I believed them."

"But you survived."

"Dmitri and I protected each other. We found ways to stay human when they tried to turn us into monsters.

Small acts of rebellion. We shared food.

Covered for each other during punishment.

It was all about remembering who we used to be.

" I turn to look at her. "He saved me, Lena. More times than I can count."

"And you saved him."

"We saved each other."

“Dmitri is so… light,” she murmurs.

“He learned to cope with laughing. He jokes. It doesn’t matter how dangerous the situation is, Dmitri uses humor to cope.”

“Make sense.”

“It helps. Even if he pisses me off and annoys the shit out of me.”

She laughs softly. “I owe him everything. He kept you alive for me.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“How did you end up with Vadim?”

"I sought him out," I say finally. "After I graduated from the Center, I could have gone anywhere, worked for anyone. But I chose Vadim. I made sure I was the best. I wanted him to want me."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to destroy him from the inside.

" The words taste bitter. "I spent years gaining his trust, proving my worth, moving up in his organization.

Every job, every kill, every act of loyalty was calculated.

I was gathering intelligence, mapping his empire, waiting for the perfect moment to bring it all crashing down. "

Lena is quiet, processing this. I can feel her studying my profile.

"I learned about Mikhail early on. Vadim's golden boy, his chosen successor. The more I discovered about him, the more I wanted to put a bullet in his skull." My jaw clenches remembering. "The way he treated women, the sadistic games he played. He’s a cruel man. And I’m a fucking assassin."

"And then you met me."