Page 26 of Scarlet Vows

For her, I’d burn down the world.

I’d happily die for her if I knew it would mean Alina was safe.

And I can’t tell her any of that. Especially not how I feel.

This is, in short, a fucking mess.

But I do know I need to keep Alina away from Santo. He’s bad news. The way he looked at her. How he was to me. I can’t let that slide.

And the thing is, him knowing who I am has bought time, but he doesn’t give up. As an Italian, however, he does respect the ring from a powerful man. The vows a woman makes to that man. If he thinks I’m just Demyan’s lackey, probably not. But a new pakhan of the Belov Bratva? Yes. He’d respect that and keep away.

IfI marry her.

Fuck me.

Alina finishes her whiskey and orders another and then two desserts to go.

The waitress smiles. “I’ll add it to Mr. Barone’s bill.”

The moment the girl’s gone, Alina looks at me. “So, you’ll marry me?”

I hate it. I do. But if marrying her is the best way to keep Santo from bothering her, then I’ll swallow my pride and do it.

“Fine.” I sigh once more. “I’ll do it.”

She grins. “Such a chore.”

She has no fucking idea. “Alina…I said I’d do it.”

She squeals happily and hugs me tight. She then sits back and fans herself.

“We do have some logistic problems.” She glances at me as our drinks arrive—Alina is Alina, so she ordered two, not one—along with the boxed and wrapped desserts.

I cut off another sliver of cheese and top another cracker for her. “Like?”

She takes a bite, and after she swallows, she says, “Maybenot logistic, but a condition… Demyan can’t find out about this.”

Logistics is one way to put that clusterfuck. Condition is another.

But I laugh and lean back, taking a sip of the whiskey. “Fine by me. I’m not really looking forward to Demyan murdering you.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Oh, little one, he would. He’d murder me, too, give me CPR, definitely breaking more ribs than needed when he does so, then bring me back just so he could murder me all over again.”

“But we’re just doing this in name only.” She sighs and sits up. “I just meant I didn’t want him to think I needed help solving problems. I don’t want him thinking I have them. Or that I can’t look after myself. That’s all?—”

“Don’t worry.”I’mthe one worrying.

We’ll have to come up with something to make it seem real and to keep it from Demyan.

Two months I’ve got.

And then he’s back.

While I’m his main source of US and Chicago news, people do talk. But then again, I’m not Demyan. I’m not known.

And there are pakhans who keep a low profile.