Page 59 of Devil's Vows

When he speaks, it’s slow, most words blurred together, but I’ve learned to decipher what he says.

Too pretty for the likes of you.

I chuckle as he echoes my own thoughts when I saw Gabriella in Central Park the first time, but an ache blooms in my chest at his words. He is gone, but he isn’t, and this little joke is like a shooting star in the twilight. “Can you guess where I found her?”

I can’t keep this secret from him any longer. Maybe he’ll give up, allow his life to end, if he knew I’ve got my own sorted out with a new wife who will give me the sons he and I both crave, which our legacy demands. A wife who is perfect in every respect to look after my daughters.

He grunts. That’s a no.

“She’s Don Scalera’s daughter, the old Don fromIl Consiglio.”

A squeeze of my hand as he manages to widen one eye, giving me a stare that speaks volumes.

“It’s a powerful alliance, Papa. Do you think she’s good with the girls? From what you’ve seen?”

I wait, and eventually, there follows another grunt, but this time with a different intonation—it’s a yes.

“I’m marrying her,” I say, having seen enough of Gabriella to know. “I think for the Petrov Bratva, for where we are in the world, it’s the strongest alliance I can make. And she’s untouched. No bad habits. Perfect with the girls.”

She’s not Russian,he slurs.

“The last one was and see where it got us.”

After a long moment, he squeezes my hand, a weak acknowledgement of our battles this past year. I spared him most of it, and I honestly wish he won’t be here for the conclusion of our war with Nikolai Chertnikov.

I sit with him for a while longer, just holding his hand, and he seems to drift off.

“Milana was here today?” I ask the nurse.

“Only Yuri.”

“Okay. I’ll come again tomorrow.”

I make my way to my office and go through a few files, check emails, sign off some documents for trades we’re doing through our legal company that owns ships, containers, and everything else you basically need to cover up and run our type of operations.

By midnight, I’m done. I’m gaining ground on my work once more, and now that I have Gabriella, other things will fall into place as well, slowly but surely. The Petrov Bratva will be repositioned again, as we were, before the attempted coup.

I climb the stairs, energized by my father’s approval of Gabriella. That squeeze of my hand said everything. He gives the union the green light.

Reaching the landing, I turn toward our corridor and the gate I left open. It feels reckless now, but I’m home, security is on point, and there hasn’t been anything for months. My bedroom door is ajar, just as I left it, but Gabriella’s door is open, too. I glance into her room; her bed is empty, and light beams out of the bathroom.

A wail sounds from my suite, sending a sharp chill down my back. I run.

Gabriella bursts out of my room, eyes wide, cheeks tear-stained. My stomach plummets, my pulse spikes.

“Ivan—the girls,” she sobs. “The girls are gone. They’re not in their bed. I—I?—”

Blyad’. Impossible.

I squeeze Gabriella on her arm as I rush past her, blood draining from my body, fear tightening like plastic wrap around my heart, suffocating me. I head straight to my bed where we read stories and the girls fell asleep. I didn’t move them, always cautious not to wake them when they just fell asleep.

Relief crashes through me. How did Gabriella not see them? Sure, they’re lying there, barely noticeable between the pillows and soft toys that lie scattered on the bed and the floor, golden curls peeking out from the duvet, but still.

“They’re here, Gabriella,” I say as I reach for her. “They’re right here.”

“Oh, God. Oh, thank God,” she whispers on repeat, shaking. “I didn’t think—I?—”

“Hey,” I murmur, watching her closer. She’s trembling more now, her whole body seeming to wrack with suppressed sobs. “They’re okay,moya ptichka. They’re safe.”