Page 5 of Crushed Vow (Broken Vows #2)

CHARLOTTE

I stood beside my brother, staring at the grave of the only woman who ever loved me unconditionally.

The soil was fresh, the tombstone gray and plain. My fingers gripped the bouquet tighter as I knelt down and placed it gently on her grave. Vincent did the same, the silence between us a fragile kind of mourning.

I didn’t know the version of my mother who was cruel to Cassian’s family. I only knew the woman who tucked me in at night, who called me her miracle.

Tears slipped down my cheeks. I hated that I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. That she’d died while I was locked away—while the man who claimed to love me had every opportunity to let me see her and chose not to.

Grief buckled my knees. I sank to the ground, my fingers curling into the grass as pain crashed through me like a wave I couldn’t outrun.

Vincent knelt beside me. He didn’t pull me into a hug or try to hush the sobs. He just rested his rough hand on my shoulder.

“She loved you, Charlotte,” he said, voice low and thick with grief. “Whatever else people say about her... the parts that were good? They were real. And they were yours.”

We stayed like that for a moment—knees in the dirt, our mother’s name etched in stone between us.

Then we stood together, turning slowly from the grave.

Vincent’s expression hardened.

His jaw clenched, “I swear to God,” he muttered, “Father told me you’d left the country. Said he’d done everything to find you. I didn’t know he’d had you locked in a psych ward. If I had...” He shook his head, fury simmering just beneath the surface. “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

I gave a small, tired smile. “It’s okay. I’m out now.”

I looked up at him. “And you don’t have to worry about me, alright? I’ll be fine.”

We both knew that was a lie, but I need him to believe it, need to protect the only family I have left.

What hurt most wasn’t just that she was gone—it was that Cassian denied me the chance to see her. He could’ve told me. He could’ve let me visit. But he chose silence. And now she was dust beneath my feet.

He thinks I’ll forgive him? Not even in his best fantasy.

“You look sad,” Vincent said, watching me closely. “Are you sure you’re okay staying with Ethan?”

I nodded, though sadness was written all over my face. “I’m fine.”

Vincent’s jaw tightened. “Cassian’s going to die by my hands one day. For what he did to our mother.”

“Please don’t chase revenge,” I warned. “Cassian’s not just dangerous. He’s destructive. You hunt him, you get burned. You stand too close, you burn. You breathe wrong near him—and you still burn. There are no games with men like that.”

He didn’t argue. “I’m not chasing anything. But when the chance comes, I’ll look him in the eye and put a bullet through his skull.”

I reached for his hand. “Just stay alive, Vincent. You’re all I have left.”

He nodded, and led me toward the car.

Cassian had sent the burial site’s location to my phone that morning, and I’d managed to get word to Vincent so we could honor her together.

Vincent had picked me up from Ethan’s house, and now we were driving back in silence, the air thick with grief.

“You don’t think I’d tell Father where you are, do you?” Vincent asked as we neared Ethan’s street.

“I don’t,” I replied. “And even if you did, it wouldn’t be easy for him. Ethan’s house is like a maze built by a paranoid genius.”

Vincent gave a dry chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’m not snitching.”

When we reached Ethan’s place, he pulled up to the curb and I stepped out, waving at him with an ache in my chest. He was the only piece of my family that still felt real.

But before I could turn toward the house, another car tore down the street and screeched to a stop in front of me.

My heart slammed against my ribs as the dark jeep sped toward the curb outside Ethan’s house. Panic surged through me like a lightning strike.

It looked just like the one from that night.

The night I left Cassian. The night I was supposed to stay with Ethan—just for a while, just until I figured out what to do with my life.

I hadn’t even made it inside.

The memory crashed over me in full color: the screech of tires, the masked men in black, the chemical sting of chloroform. My scream muffled by a gloved hand. My body going limp.

Then—white walls. Straps. Padded rooms. A forged file saying I was a junkie. A liar. A danger to myself.

My breath hitched, shallow and sharp, and I stumbled back from the sidewalk. My hands shook as I pressed them to my chest.

Not again. Please, not again.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t do anything but watch that dark vehicle creep closer to the curb, headlights slicing through the early dusk.

Then the window rolled down.

“Get in,” Cassian said, his voice deep, steady—too calm for the chaos inside me.

Relief hit me like a slap.

It wasn’t the men in black. It wasn’t chloroform. It wasn’t a psych ward waiting behind a locked door.

It was him.

Still dangerous. Still unwanted. But not a stranger.

My hand flew to my chest, my breath ragged. “No,” I said, voice hoarse, my body still trembling. “I’m not doing this again.”

“It’s about your brother.”

My heart dropped. “What happened? Is he in danger?”

“Charlotte, if you don’t get in now, you’ll hear in an hour that he’s dead.”

That was all it took. I yanked the door open and slid inside.

He hit the gas immediately, the car leaping forward.

I crossed my arms, facing the window, angry but confused by the tug inside me—how I wasn’t repelled.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “And where are we going?”

“Your father made a deal with the Bratva that went south,” Cassian said, his voice cold. “He’s already skipped the country. Now they’re coming after Vincent to settle the debt.”

“Fucking coward,” I muttered. “Should I call Vincent?”

“He won’t listen,” Cassian said. “He’s too proud. Too reckless. His gang isn’t smart enough to protect him, but don’t worry—I’ll get him out.”

I glanced at him, his jaw clenched, bloodshot eyes focused. This would be the third time he’s saved Vincent. “Is that why you brought me?” I asked. “To buy my forgiveness?”

He didn’t look at me. “No. I brought you because it’s my duty to protect not just my wife, but everything she loves.”

His wife. The irony of it burned.

Suddenly, a car slammed into us from the side.

The impact slammed into us, throwing the vehicle sideways. Tires shrieked against the asphalt.

I screamed, my body jolting with the force. The seatbelt yanked me back—but not before I was slammed sideways, colliding into Cassian’s chest.

“Stay down,” he barked, one arm locking around me protectively while the other gripped the wheel.

We barely stabilized before a second car crashed into us—harder.

This time, the world flipped.

Metal screamed. Glass exploded. The car tumbled, over and over. The seatbelt dug into my ribs, biting through my clothes, holding me in place as gravity spun and vanished.

Then silence. Stillness. Everything hurt.

Everything was upside down. I blinked through dizziness, disoriented.

Cassian groaned beside me, blood running from his hairline.

His hand reached over, brushing the hair from my face. “I’ve got you,” he said quietly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Despite the wreckage, despite the chaos, there was something steady in his voice.

He unbuckled himself and kicked open his door. Then he crawled around the wreck, yanked open my side, and carefully helped me out.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, staring at the gash across his temple.

“It’s nothing,” he replied. “Compared to what I bled in your absence? This is nothing.”

He pulled me to the side of the street and raised a phone to his ear. “We’re under attack. Meet me now.”

Then he hung up and led me through a narrow alley, away from the crash site.

His blood stained the side of his collar, but he didn’t flinch or slow down.

“They knew I was coming for Vincent,” Cassian muttered as we walked. His jaw clenched. “The only person who could’ve tipped them off... is Luca.”

I stopped mid-step.

My pulse quickened. “Luca?” I echoed “Oh my God, Cassian... now I’m scared. Who exactly did my father get into trouble with?”

His gaze cut to mine.

“The Volkov Bratva,” he said. “The same Russians who held your mother hostage for years. The same men who broke her.”

My breath hitched.

“She was real,” he went on, his voice lower now. “The voice you heard... in the room next to yours that night, the night I locked you up—”

His eyes flickered. “That was your mother.”

The world tilted.

“I didn’t put her there to punish her, Charlotte. I didn’t even know she was alive for a long time. When I finally tracked her down, she was a shell of herself. Violent. Confused. Damaged in ways I don’t think she ever truly recovered from.”

His voice lowered, more human now.

“The Russians did things to her. Unspeakable things. They destroyed her from the inside out. She wasn’t just traumatized—she was gone.

Her memory, her sanity, everything. She was infected with syphilitic meningoencephalitis—a result of repeated, untreated abuse.

By the time I got to her, she couldn’t even recognize her own name, let alone her daughter. ”

I swallowed hard. My chest tightened.

“I’ll admit it,” he said, eyes narrowing at something distant.

“I turned a blind eye to her suffering at first. I thought it was karma for what she did to me and to my mother. I told myself she deserved it. And maybe that was true once. But then you came into my life, and I couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t matter. So I went after her.”

He paused, his voice thickening with guilt.

“But she wasn’t herself anymore. She screamed when touched.

Bit. Attacked nurses. I only brought her to my house for one day—that same day I had you locked up for challenging me—because I didn’t know where else to keep her until we could get her proper help.

The next day, I transferred her to Columbia Presbyterian’s psychiatric trauma unit. The best care in New York.”