Page 6 of Sweet Deception (Savage Vow #2)

GLEB

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I sat at the long dinner table in the Romanov mansion, surrounded by my three brothers, two uncles and their wives, and three cousins with their fiancées.

At the center loomed my grandmother, Valentina, the matriarch, the iron fist ruling us all.

The oval dining room fell silent. No one dared breathe too loudly. Valentina tolerated neither noise nor weakness.

“Gleb!” Her voice was soft but unyielding. “Three weeks since you took that woman as your wife. Is she pregnant, or do we replace her?”

“I haven’t checked.”

“You haven’t?” Anger flashed in her eyes. “You know this marriage’s purpose. Your indifference is unacceptable.”

“I’ll have good news by next month, Grandma,” I said, keeping my tone steady. Dinner convened every month’s end, attendance mandatory, no exceptions. Even those outside Moscow flew in. Breaking that rule meant exile. And exile meant death.

“Those Italians burned your mother alive,” she snarled. “You should’ve forced her by now and made her pregnant.” She leaned forward, eyes blazing. “If she’s not, explain yourself, or your cousins will teach you the cost of failing this family.”

“I know, Grandma. Revenge remains my priority. You should trust that.”

She huffed, lighting a cigarette with sharp, furious drags, muttering curses under her breath. “Fucking Italians.”

We all hated them, but Valentina carried the deepest grudge.

They say my grandfather died a slow, agonizing death at the hands of the Italians, tortured beyond measure, his final hours broadcast to our family. Every day, I’m reminded of that horror.

She stubbed the cigarette into a dish. “Are you torturing her? I want details. She needs to suffer.”

Every eye locked on me, hungry for blood. They weren’t alone in their scars, I carried mine too. My mother’s death haunted me, a failure etched into my soul. I was nineteen, too young to save her, and that sting never faded.

“I do things to break her,” I said. “Acts to crush her spirit. Resistance brings swift punishment.”

Grandma’s gaze narrowed, unsatisfied. The others stared, craving more savagery. “Yesterday, I locked her up in my smallest room.”

“Yes!” Uncle Antonio bellowed, impressed.

“Her screams followed me as I left.” I added.

“You should’ve watched and recorded her reaction.” Antonio added, grinning. “Imagine us seeing that today,”

I sighed. “I had business. Next time, I’ll film it.”

Grandma studied me, her piercing eyes probing for lies. “The next few days will be worse for her, Grandma. Don’t worry.”

She eased back, finally placated. I’d never lied to her or anyone. Why wouldn’t she believe me? We were savages, forged by a brutal past.

“Force yourself on her if you have to,” Valentina ordered. “Today.”

“Consider it done.”

She nodded, shifting her focus to my siblings, interrogating them one by one.

Dinner ended, and I slipped out before anyone could trap me in conversation.

At my car, a voice stopped me. “Can I meet her?”

I turned. Uncle Antonio.

“Why?”

He smirked. “Why? Really?”

“You’ll meet her eventually. Not now.” I climbed in and drove off. If he got near her, he’d hurt her. I knew it.

Back home, I stormed into the master bedroom, fury surging as my parents’ deaths replayed in my mind. She deserved every torment my family craved. But she wasn’t there.

“Zoya!” I barked. “Where is she?”

“She went out.” Zoya replied. “Said she was bored staying here.”

“You let her?”

“You didn’t order me to stop her.” Zoya’s calm held firm. She’s one of my most trusted and fearless soldiers. I trusted her, let her defiance slide.

“You know where she went?”

“I tracked her.”

“Good. Send me her location.”

She’s alone in Moscow, no allies, no clue who to trust, yet she walked out. Reckless.

“Should I stop her next time?” Zoya asked.

“No. She’s not a prisoner. Let her go where she wants, but keep my men trailing her.”

“Got it.” She left.

My family wouldn’t recognize her in public, they’d never hurt her without knowing who she is.

She belongs to me. If anyone is to inflict pain on her, it has to be me.

Not Grandma, not my uncles, no matter how much they thirst for revenge.

If they want revenge so bad, let them storm Italy themselves.

Yesterday, she’d fallen asleep in the library, her cheek pressed to a hardcover. I hadn’t meant to stop. But I’d stood there, watching her chest rise and fall, her fingers still curled around the book like it mattered more than anything in this world.

She looked like someone who belonged far away from blood and vengeance. A woman my family would devour.

I should’ve dragged her back to the bedroom. Made her understand her place.

Instead, I’d turned and left.

Foolish.

Now she was loose in Moscow. Probably having fun with some strangers.

Her location pinged. A club. My fists clenched, knuckles popping. What the hell was she doing there?

I sped to the address, stormed inside, and scanned the dim, pulsing room.

There she was.

By the far edge, laughing with a man. They sat close on a couch, his face inches from hers, her lips parted in a smile.

I wanted to torch the place.

He’s lucky he’s not touching her. But I’d still break his jaw for this. No one laughs with my wife. Her tears, her screams, her joy, they’re mine.

I surged forward, rage tightening my chest.

“Hey.” A hand grabbed my arm.

I turned, scowling. Uncle Antonio. Was he stalking me?

I lived under his roof for two years. He treated me like a son and vowed revenge on the Italians he believed had orchestrated my father’s death.

I respected him, but we’d never been close.

“Rare to see you here, Gleb,” he said, eyeing me.

“Yeah.” I glanced toward Anna. Two more men joined her table. One look at their tattoos, and I knew they were Podolskaya mafia. She had no idea where she was. This wasn’t a safe club. Vultures hunted here nightly, preying on the naive.

Antonio followed my gaze, smirking. “Podolskaya? They are no threat to us. Relax.”

Relax? My wife sat with three strangers, and I should relax?

“Drink?” he pressed. “It’s been a while.”

“No, Uncle. I’ve got business.” I pulled away.

His hand yanked me back.

I tore free, body tensing. He knew I hated being touched. If he weren’t family, he’d be dead.

“My apologies,” he sighed.

My fingers twitched, itching to strike. Instead, I melted into the crowd, letting him lose me.

When I reached her table, she was gone.

If anything happened to her, I’d raze this city.

I dialed Borris, my consigliere.

“Boss,” he answered.

“Find me. Bring a few men.”

“Got it.”

I hung up and plunged deeper into the club. I’d find her. And when I did, mercy wouldn’t be an option.