Page 60 of Bratva’s Vow (Bratva’s Undoing #2)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

MAXIM

I leaned back against the leather seat and stared at the driveway of yet another house.

House number four.

Wren sat beside me, chin resting in his palm, eyes forward but glazed over. Jellybean was curled up in the back seat, tail thumping lazily against the door.

Sergei’s car idled a few lengths back. He was in the driver’s seat, as usual. One hand on the wheel, the other tapping quickly across his phone screen, a furrow between his brows like something had him distracted. He didn’t look up.

“Do you even want a house?” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice. I failed.

Wren blinked slowly, then turned his head toward me like I’d pulled him out of a dream. “What?”

“I’m just saying.” I gestured at the high-gated property in front of us. “We’ve viewed four. Four. In one day. Every one of them looked like they belonged on the front of a real estate magazine. And all I keep hearing is it’s not the one . ”

He didn’t respond. Just ran his thumb across his bottom lip like he was checking if his thoughts had words yet.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” he said softly. “I just… know what I want. I’ll know it when I see it.”

I let out a breath and reached across the console, wrapping my fingers around his.

“Wren, kroshka, I don’t mind being patient.

But you need to rest too. This is the last one for the day.

We’re not pushing past that. Then you can explain to Jess and the other two why they’re stuck listening to us go at it night and day. ”

He gave me a sheepish little nod. “Or we could not go at it night and day.”

I gave him a stare that told him how absurd that idea was. Wren chuckled, leaning sideways to kiss me quickly. “Okay, Maxim. Just this last one for the day. By the way, did Sergei give you an answer yet?”

After everything—one brigadier dead, Archie dead, the rot in my organization exposed like raw nerve—I’d been forced to do more than grieve.

I had to rebuild. Reclaim. Clean house. Archie hadn’t just betrayed me.

He’d embedded men loyal to him in key positions, including the new brigadier he’d hired.

He’d prepared for the kind of long game that made his parting words echo louder: You can kill me, but it won’t stop.

I couldn’t afford to ignore that. Not when he’d mentioned Arkady who knew about Wren.

With Vasiliev gone, I’d asked Sergei to step into the vacant brigadier role, to help me steady the ranks and test the loyalty of the three who remained.

Darius, who’d proven himself a thousand times over, would be promoted to head of my security.

Nik, now reinstated, would serve as his second.

And Dezi, reliable and loyal when it came to Wren, was in charge of my husband’s protection.

Sergei hadn’t said yes. He’d told me he needed time to think. I’d given him forty-eight hours to come to terms with his new role.

Wren watched me, waiting.

I nodded once. “Not yet. But he will.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes,” I said, without hesitation. “Because Sergei doesn’t walk away when it counts. He never has. And because he knows I wouldn’t have asked if I had another choice.”

Wren reached for my hand and squeezed it briefly.

We drove to the next listing, following the Realtor across town, a scenic route peppered with leafy trees and quiet sidewalks.

Sergei followed us in the black SUV, his presence steady but unobtrusive.

Wren drove, humming at the back of his throat in that way of his when he was sleepy and I was playing with his ass.

He was content.

“Do you like this neighborhood?” I asked quietly as he drove up a short driveway that led to the front of a house smaller than the others we’d seen so far.

“It seems so relaxed.” He came to a smooth stop then unlocked his seat belt. A gleam was in his eyes that hadn’t been there when we saw the other houses.

The Realtor waved at us from the porch, all chirpy energy and teeth. I wasn’t in the mood to be charmed, but I gave him a nod and helped Wren out of the car. He moved slower than usual, taking careful steps and a hand on my arm for balance.

Even now, recovering, he still tried to hide the effort it took. But I saw it. I saw everything.

We left Jellybean with Sergei, who remained inside his SUV, engine running, and muttering about not having signed up to be a dog sitter. He appeared to be texting again, his jaw tight, eyes flicking toward us only briefly, then returning to his screen .

The house itself was… understated for the kind of money we had.

Smaller footprint, modern angles, two floors, clean gray and white with sleek black trim.

Private lot. Tall hedges. Security potential.

And the real thing that caught my eye—a pool tucked away behind high stone walls and a narrow glass sunroom that overlooked it.

Wren followed the Realtor inside, his steps growing more confident as he led us through the entranceway.

His eyes lit up as we stepped into the kitchen—open-plan, marble island, matte black appliances that made the place feel chic without being cold. He ran his hand across the counter like it was something precious, like it had been made just for him.

“Oh.” He spun in a slow circle. “This is…”

He didn’t need to finish.

I knew. This was the one.

The Realtor kept up his pitch—heavily soundproofed, temperature-controlled wine storage, smart home system, luxury master suite, custom gym built into the ground floor.

Wren barely heard him. He was moving from room to room like a boy chasing fireflies.

I trailed behind him in silence, pretending to look at light fixtures and water pressure when really I was watching him .

Watching him run his fingers along the French doors. Watching him peek out into the backyard, mutter something about the dog having room to roam. Watching his shoulders lower, bit by bit, like something had unclenched in him.

By the time we made it to the pool deck, Wren had gone still, his arms crossed over his chest. He stared at the water as the late afternoon sun painted little waves of gold across his face.

“This is it,” he said.

I didn’t say anything, but something almost reverent tightened in my chest. He looked… peaceful. That was rare .

He wandered off, trailing through the open hallway toward the kitchen again.

Which left me alone with the Realtor—Cameron. Youngish. Too polished. Too many teeth.

“He’s a ball of energy.” He fell into step beside me, way too close. “You’ve been together long?”

I gave him a sidelong glance. “Long enough.”

He nodded, too slow, eyes scanning my face a moment longer than polite. “Must be nice. Having someone to indulge and spoil you like that.”

“This house is for Wren. That’s all that matters.”

He smiled. Again, too long. Too knowing, leaning into me. “But is it what you want? Because I think the second house we saw today is much more suitable for a man like you, Mr. Morozov—powerful and elegant.”

I narrowed my eyes.

Before I could say something sharp, footsteps returned. Wren stepped into the room like he owned the house already, and when he saw us, his gaze went straight to the space between me and the Realtor. His eyes cooled. His smile dropped.

“Ah, Maxim, I love it.” He walked up to me and wedged himself between me and Cameron, forcing the other man away from me. “How lucky am I to have a husband like you?”

He went up on his toes, slid a hand into my hair, and tugged my mouth down to his. It wasn’t a peck that was suitable for company.

It was filthy. Wet. Obscene.

Claiming.

I fucking loved this side of him.

He pushed his tongue past my lips without hesitation and moaned into my mouth like we were alone in our bedroom and not in front of someone .

I kissed him back, smiling against him because I knew exactly what this was.

Possessive little brat.

And it felt good.

I reached behind to grip his ass and squeeze.

Wren pulled back, his cheeks flushed, and his lips slick and slightly swollen.

He blinked at me, all fake-innocent. “Maxim, not here in public. When we’re alone…

” He stroked my cheek and gave me a look.

Would have served him right if I fucked him right there with the Realtor looking.

I swallowed a chuckle. “Haven’t you had enough yet?”

Cameron cleared his throat. “I, uh, have a call to make. But feel free to walk through again, get a feel for the place.”

He was gone before we could answer.

Wren’s gaze followed the Realtor, scowling at his back. “He was flirting with you.”

“Hmm.”

His scowl deepened. “You didn’t flirt back, did you?”

“No, but I might’ve if I knew I’d get kissed like that.”

Wren smacked my chest lightly. “We’re buying it.”

I followed him, grinning. “ We are?”

“Yes.”

“Because you didn’t make me sign a prenup, all your money is also mine. Right?”

Fuck. He was quickly catching on that he not only owned me but everything I had.

“A prenup only matters if a couple divorces, and there’s no chance of that happening between us, solnyshko. Till death do us part.”

“Good, then stop flirting with Cameron.”

“Kroshka, have I ever flirted with another man since you came into my life?”

He cocked his head as though thinking about it. “Well…”

“Wren, when have I ever! ”

He laughed. “Okay, no you haven’t. You’re so good to me, Maxim. Thank you for buying me this house.”

I was relieved he’d finally decided, even if it wasn’t what I’d expected. There was a homely charm about the place. I could definitely see us living here. More importantly, Wren loved it, so I had to get it for him.

“I can’t wait to move in with you,” I said.

“Oh, I’ll have to start thinking about furniture and decorating.”

“Or we can let a professional interior designer handle it.”

Wren gasped, one hand on his chest like I’d slapped him. “But I want to do it. This is our home.”

“I’ve seen your Pinterest boards, solnyshko. I’m scared.”

“Please, please .” He gripped the front of my shirt and tugged like a child begging for ice cream. “Let me have this. I already had to put off school this year, and I need something to do.”

I sighed, defeated but smiling. “Fine. But breaks. You promise me breaks. And naps. And at least one lazy day a week.”

“I pinky swear.”

I held up my pinky.

He linked his with mine. “Now kiss it to seal the deal.”

I did. And he grinned like he’d won a war.

A bark sounded, and Jellybean ran toward us, Sergei trailing after him.

The dog trotted over to us, and Wren leaned into me, eyes full of mischief and love. “I think Jellybean approves too.”

“Great,” I muttered, even as I tightened my hold on him. “God forbid he takes my side after I rescued him and gave him a home.”

Wren’s laughter died down, and he took my hand. “But… do you like it? I mean—” He bit his lip. “I know it’s smaller th an the others. And not as flashy. But can you see it? As our home? I want you to love it as much as I do.”

My heart twisted. That he even cared—after everything—how I felt about a house told me more than any words ever could. It wasn’t just about real estate to him. It was about us.

I brushed my thumb under his eye, tilted his face up so he had to see the truth in mine.

“Anywhere you are is home. Of course I’ll love it.”

He leaned into me, soft now, gentler, the kind of kiss that came after the storm. Just as intense. Just quieter.

Behind us, footsteps returned. Cameron cleared his throat again, this time careful not to interrupt too much.

“So.” He smoothed the front of his blazer. “Have we made a decision, then?”

I looked at Wren.

Wren looked at me.

I gave him the nod of approval.

With eyes bright and chin up, he turned to the Realtor. “We’ll take it.”

Cameron’s smile faltered for a second. Of course he regretted we hadn’t chosen one of the more elaborate houses, which cost a lot more. He recovered with a professional nod. “Great. I’ll get the paperwork started.”

As he stepped away, Wren turned back to me, a slow, smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“He doesn’t like me,” he said.

“Of course he doesn’t. You just cost him a hefty commission by taking this house over the others.”

“Oh well, who cares? We are the ones who get to live here, plus I could live in a one-bedroom apartment with you and be happy.”

If anyone else had told me that, I wouldn’t have believed them.

But Wren meant every word. He’d stood by me despite the danger of loving a man like me.

He wasn’t perfect. He was better—resilient, stubborn, endlessly soft where I was all hard edges.

And that was why I’d made a vow. Not the kind sealed by law or rings or ceremony but a vow forged in something older, something unbreakable.

The kind a Bratva Pakhan made only once in his life to the man who had sneaked past all his walls.

A vow to protect him.

To love him.

For as long as I breathed.

For as long as he would have me.