Page 1 of Sweet Obsession (Savage Vow #1)

LUNA

It was Tuesday afternoon, and I was already fighting Bratva thugs at a gas station. Typical.

“You touched the wrong car, asshole!” one of them barked, grabbing my boyfriend by the collar.

“Back off,” I snapped, stepping between them, rage blooming hot in my chest. “It was a scratch, not a hit. And you don’t lay a hand on him.”

He didn’t listen. His fist drew back, but he never got the chance to throw it.

My heel slammed into his knee. He dropped with a grunt.

The second guy reached for his waistband. I went for his throat.

It wasn’t graceful. Wasn’t trained. But I’d spent my whole life learning how to survive men like them.

Hurting Bratva men in broad daylight wasn’t just reckless, it was suicidal. But I couldn’t stop myself. Not when they laid a hand on Yuri.

By the time they hit the pavement, bruised and stunned, a sleek black SUV rolled up across the street. I didn’t notice it at first, not until I felt a stare that froze my blood.

A man leaned against the hood. Shadowed. Watching.

He wasn’t dressed like the thugs I just dropped. He wore a tailored black suit. No tie. Hands in his pockets.

Relaxed. Patient.

Like he had all the time in the world to decide whether I was worth noticing... or killing.

A cold sinking started in my gut.

I couldn’t see his eyes from here, but I felt them. Face carved from violence. He looked like death in a tailored suit.

Sharp. Calculating. Amused, like a snake watching a mouse dance too close.

“Who the hell is that?” I whispered.

Yuri wiped blood from his lip, ego cracked worse than his dignity. “I think... that’s Misha Petrov.”

No. Fucking. Way.

I’d heard the stories. The Bratva’s reaper. The man who made people disappear like smoke.

The man who was supposed to marry my sister.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t call his soldiers back.

Didn’t lift a hand.

He just watched me. Like a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve.

Seconds stretched.

I forced myself not to flinch. Not to look away.

Whatever he saw, or didn’t see, he made his decision.

Without a word, he pushed off the SUV, slid into the driver’s seat, and disappeared down the street.

Like none of it mattered.

Like I didn’t matter.

Yuri swore under his breath and grabbed my elbow. “Come on. We need to go. Now.”

I let him pull me, but my head stayed turned toward the street. Toward the man who’d looked at me... and dismissed me.

His gaze lingered like a blade against my spine.

I slid into the car beside Yuri, the high of adrenaline crashing into a sick, heavy pit in my gut.

He didn’t speak as he drove, hands clenched tight on the wheel. I could practically feel his pride bruising faster than his jaw.

“You mad at me?” I asked, flipping down the visor to check the blood on my lip.

“Do you have a death wish?” he snapped. “They were Bratva soldiers. You don’t just walk away from that kind of insult.”

“If standing up to bullies is an insult, maybe the Bratva needs to toughen up.” I crossed my arms. “You should be thanking me. I dropped them like sacks of bricks.”

He shot me a look. “I had it under control.”

I snorted. “Sure. You were about to seduce them with that trembling lip.”

“Luna.”

I leaned back, exhaling slowly. “If you want a girlfriend who lets men slap you around, date someone else. I’m not built for that.”

He didn’t answer. Which told me enough.

Yuri hated that I didn’t need him. That I moved faster. Hit harder. Always knew where the exits were.

We pulled up to a quiet street just outside the city—his drop point. A decoy location he used to throw off cartel tails. He thought it was clever. I thought it was pathetic.

“I’ll call you later,” he muttered, already halfway out the door.

“Sure you will.”

He paused like he might say something real. But then the door slammed, and he vanished into the shadows—leaving me alone with blood on my knuckles, smoke in my lungs, and a knot in my chest that felt suspiciously like regret.

I slid into the driver’s seat.

It was my father’s car. Flashy, armored, and too damn recognizable. But I didn’t have time to trade it for something less obvious.

I lit a cigarette, fingers steady. Inhaled deep.

Let the smoke fill the silence where my thoughts should’ve been.

Those men I fought? They were Misha Petrov’s.

I’d heard enough rumors to give nightmares to devils.

They say once, a man lied about a shipment. Petrov had him flayed in front of his crew, just so no one else ever lied again.

Even Papa doesn’t speak his name unless it’s with a toast... or a bribe.

That’s how you know someone’s dangerous—when even the devil stays on their good side.

And now that monster is coming for my sister.

The burn in my lungs made more sense than the one in my chest.

My sister and I are the daughters of Colombia’s most feared supplier... and still, our fates are being decided for us.

But I stopped playing by their rules a long time ago.

Right around the time Mama stopped breathing.

No one knows what I did that night.

Not even Gabriela.

Some sins don’t get buried. They sit with you. Quiet. Waiting.

My family never wanted a daughter like me. They wanted a chess piece. One who stayed pretty, stayed quiet, and knew how to fall in line.

They had Gabriela for that.

Sweet, soft, obedient Gabriela.

But even lambs don’t deserve to be thrown to the wolves.

I didn’t know how to save her, not from Misha, not from our father.

But I knew how to start.

I just had to convince her to say no.

And if she wouldn’t...

Then I’d say it for her. Loud enough to start a war.

Once I was home, I stepped into the marble hallway, I saw him, my father, emerging from his study like a storm.

“Have you completely lost your mind?”

My father’s voice echoed through the marble halls of our estate like a war drum.

He already knew.

Which meant someone had talked.

I stood still, arms crossed, still wearing the blood-streaked T-shirt from the altercation.

“They were roughing Yuri up,” I said flatly. “I stepped in.”

“You stepped in?” His face darkened. “You made a scene. A scene with Bratva soldiers. You think we can afford to insult Misha’s people a day before he arrives?”

“Maybe if your guest could control his men, we wouldn’t be having this conversation over a damn scratch.”

He moved toward me so fast, I didn’t flinch, I just stared.

He didn’t hit me. Not tonight. But the look in his eyes promised he wanted to.

Gabriela stepped in from the hallway like a ghost in white silk.

“Papa,” she said gently, “maybe Luna didn’t mean...”

“She never means anything,” he snapped. “That’s the problem.”

Her lips pressed together. She didn’t speak again.

I hated the way she looked then, docile. Composed. Perfect. Like she hadn’t seen the way his rage split the air like thunder.

I stormed past them both, up the stairs, to my room.

A hot shower washed the sweat and Bratva blood off my skin, but not the heat curled tight in my chest.

I needed answers. And I needed her to stop pretending this was okay.

I dressed up and went straight to Gabriela’s room.

Her door was slightly ajar. I stepped into her room, a space that always smelled like flowers and lies.

She sat at her vanity, brushing her hair in slow strokes. She looked like a doll. A porcelain thing people put on a shelf to admire. Breakable. Replaceable.

“You should say no,” I said from the doorway. My voice was softer now. But still sharp.

“To the marriage.”

Her brush stilled. “Papa would never let me.”

“You don’t let a man like Misha Petrov into your life,” I said. “Not even if the devil himself tells you to.”

She turned, those big innocent eyes trained on mine. But something flickered there, fear, maybe. Or guilt.

“You think everything can be fixed with rebellion,” she said softly. “But not all of us can afford to defy him.”

“And what’s the cost of staying quiet?” I said, my voice low. “Letting him hand you over like a bargaining chip?”

She didn’t answer.

I stepped closer. “You think I fight because it’s easy? Because I enjoy it?”

My throat tightened. “I fight because someone has to. Because the minute we stop pushing back, we disappear. And I won’t lose you to this family’s silence.”

She shook her head, slow. “You don’t even see what I’m surviving.”

I blinked. “What?”

But she turned away. Started brushing her hair again, like she hadn’t just cracked something open and sealed it shut all in the same breath.

I hesitated in the doorway. Her back was to me, but I saw her blink fast, trying not to cry.

Quiet tears. The kind she always swallowed.

I crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed, facing her reflection in the vanity mirror. “Do you remember when we were kids and I dared you to drink from Papa’s stash of scotch?”

She blinked. “You mean when I puked for two hours and blamed the maid?”

I grinned. “She still thinks it was food poisoning.”

Gabriela’s lips twitched. Barely.

“Or when I tried to pierce your ear with a safety pin because you weren’t allowed to wear jewelry until you turned fourteen?”

She finally smiled, soft, sad. “You gave me tetanus.”

“And fashion,” I said. “Tetanus and fashion. A fair trade.”

She looked down at her brush, fingers tightening. “This isn’t a game anymore, Luna.”

I reached forward, gently took the brush from her hand, and set it down. “Then let’s stop pretending we’re pawns.”

Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

“I don’t care what Papa says,” I whispered. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll back you up. Whatever it takes.”

She turned toward me slowly, her voice so small it hurt. “What if saying no isn’t enough?”

“Then I’ll burn the deal myself,” I said. “Just say the word.”

She looked like she wanted to believe me.

But before she could speak, a sharp knock rattled the door.

One of the housekeepers peeked in, wide-eyed. “Senor Rojas requests your presence in the dining room. There’s... a guest.”

I frowned. “A guest?”

“He said dinner would be informal tonight.”

I stood slowly, a chill running down my spine. Gabriela’s face had gone pale.

“He’s not supposed to arrive until tomorrow,” she whispered.

I frowned. “Maybe Papa knew. And didn’t tell us.”

“Of course he didn’t. That’s how he keeps us off balance.”

We walked the long corridor together in silence, Gabriela’s arm brushing mine with every step. She paused halfway, turning to me, and I saw it.

Not just fear.

Terror.

Not of Misha.

But of what would happen if she said no.

My father had made a deal with the devil, and if it breaks, we lose everything. Protection. Supply lines. Power. We’d be a target.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “People die when the wrong families go cold.”

I’d heard it before. Words thrown like threats at cartel meetings, whispered by guards, etched into our upbringing like gospel. But hearing her say it?

It felt real.

Too real.

“Then I’ll find another way,” I said firmly. “I’ll talk to Misha Petrov myself.”

She let out a soft, bitter laugh. “He doesn’t strike me as the negotiating type.”

She kept walking. I followed, the silence stretching taut between us.

She wasn’t wrong.

My stomach was tight. Dread curled low in my gut like a warning siren I couldn’t shut off.

The dining room door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open, heart thudding.

And stopped cold.

A man sat at the far end of the table. Not our father.

Not anyone I recognized.

But I knew who he was.

Misha Petrov.

Dark tailored suit. Knife-straight posture. No expression on his face, just that pale, glacial stare that pinned you to the floor and made you forget how to breathe.

My father stood beside him, all fake smiles and ingratiating nods, like a rat trying to charm a snake.

Gabriela gripped my wrist. Her nails dug into my skin.

He shouldn’t have been here. Not yet. Not like this.

And yet, he was already seated at our table. Already acting like he belonged.

His gaze shifted from Gabriela... to me.

Lingering. Assessing.

His eyes met mine. And they didn’t move. Like he was reading a file someone had sealed and buried.

I didn’t flinch.

But I hated that my heart did.

The dining room gleamed like a showroom for power. Gold-rimmed plates. Crystal glasses. Armed guards stationed just beyond the double doors like decorations. Everything gleamed, except the people sitting around the table.

My father sat, the smirk on his face wide and practiced. Gabriela was placed beside Misha, like a prize being presented. I was seated across from him—directly in his line of sight.

He was larger than I remembered. Not in size, though he had the frame of a man built for war, but in presence.

He radiated command without saying a word.

It was in the way the guards didn’t look directly at him.

In the way my father leaned slightly toward him, like approval mattered more than pride.

“Mr. Petrov,” my father began, raising his glass. “To new alliances.”

Misha lifted his in response. No smile. No toast. Just a quiet nod that said: I don’t need words to get what I want.

My father cleared his throat awkwardly. “Allow me to reintroduce my daughters. This is Gabriela, your intended.”

Misha’s eyes slid to her. He gave a polite nod. “Gabriela.”

Then his gaze drifted.

To me.

He didn’t say my name. Didn’t smile. Just stared.

Like he’d already claimed something I didn’t realize I was offering.

I didn’t look away.

If he came for prey, he picked the wrong fucking sisters.

Misha didn’t eat much. Neither did I.

Gabriela kept her eyes on her plate, answering softly when spoken to, hands in her lap like a proper offering. She was playing her role. The sacrificial daughter.

I played mine too. The shadow.

Until Misha spoke directly to me.

“You were at the gas station,” he said. Not a question. A statement.

The room stilled.

I raised an eyebrow. “Should I apologize for defending myself?”

He tilted his head. “You broke one of my men’s noses.”

I shrugged. “He should’ve moved faster.”

The faintest twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Not a smile. Just an acknowledgment.

“Luna has always had a... sharp spirit,” my father said quickly, voice clipped. “A little undisciplined, but harmless.”

“Is that what you think?” Misha murmured, eyes still on me.

My fork paused. “Why don’t you tell me what you think?”

My father laughed. Too loudly.

Misha leaned back slightly, studying me.

“Spirit is only dangerous when it hides a weapon. Or a lie.”

His words landed like a stone in my chest. He wasn’t just talking about the gas station. He was hunting for something. And he thought I had it.

Then Gabriela reached for her wine glass, hand shaking.

Misha didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, and didn’t care.

His eyes were still on me.

Not like he was admiring me.

Like he was deciding where to break me first