Page 34 of His Savage Vow
I don’t sleep.
Not because I’m afraid the Bratva will somehow storm the estate before dawn, but because I can’t stop watching him breathe.
Maximo Luciani, in all his ruthless glory, lies sprawled across the bed. His dark hair falls over his forehead; his breathing is deep and even from the painkillers the doctor gave him. The bedding I draped over him shifts with every rise and fall of his chest. Each small movement reassures me that he’s stillhere.
But the stitches on his leg, the dark bruising already blooming along his ribs, and the scars that already marred his muscular chest… they’re proof that he isn’t invincible. And I hate that that realization shakes me.
I tell myself that what’s happening between us is purely physical. Lust and adrenaline. A firework on a summer night, blazing hot and fast before dying out. A distraction and comfort to me at a time when I need those things the most.
But sitting here in the dim light, listening to Maximo’s steady breaths, I know that I’ve been lying to myself.
It isn’t just lust anymore.
At some point, maybe when he handed me a gun in the basement, or when he promised I could decide the fate of my father’s killer, this thing between us turned into something heavier. Something even more dangerous than I expected.
When Maximo begins to stir just after dawn, I lean forward across the bed, my hands tightening around the coffee mug I’ve been nursing for the last hour. His dark lashes flutter, his gaze finding me almost immediately.
“You stayed,” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep.
I shrug. “You were shot. Someone had to make sure you didn’t bleed out on your overpriced mattress.”
One corner of his mouth lifts, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. “Honestly.”
Maximo hesitates then says, “My ribs are worse than the bullet wound.” He grunts, then sits up slowly. And I can tell even that small movement costs him.
Before I can even scold him for moving too much, the sound of footsteps in the hallway draws my attention. Enzo knocks on the door, then steps into the room, a phone in his hand.
“I’ve been digging through the burner we pulled from the warehouse,” he says, dropping into the armchair. “A lot of themessages were wiped, but I was able to recover enough to connect some dots.”
Maximo straightens despite the obvious ache in his ribs. “Go on.”
“Kirill Volkov’s still in the city,” Enzo continues. “Most of the chatter points to him trying to make an example of you. The hit on Monroe wasn’t just about the restaurant. It was about showing everyone that the Luciani family can’t protect its holdings.”
My stomach tightens. Fear rises, sharp and unwelcome, but I smother it. Fear won’t bring my father back, and it won’t stop the Russians either.
“You think they’re trying to take over?” I ask him.
Enzo nods. “The Volkovs want more territory. Kirill’s testing the waters, seeing how much ground he can steal while you’re distracted putting out the fires he’s starting.”
Maximo’s jaw clenches; his eyes lock on the floor for a long moment before lifting to meet Enzo’s. “If he’s still here, he’s not just testing the waters. He’s making a play. We can’t let him think he’s winning.”
I glance between the two men and tell them, “So we make our move next. Before he makes his.”
Maximo’s gaze shifts to me, studying me like he’s weighing every word I say. “Yes. That’s exactly what’ll do. Do you have something in mind?”
“You said Kirill’s trying to prove that you can’t protect what’s yours. Maybe we could bait him. Give him something he thinks he can take… something tempting enough to make him come out into the open.”
Enzo rubs a hand over his jaw. “It’s risky. He’s not going to walk into a trap unless he thinks he’s the one setting it.”
“That might be true,” I reply. “But maybe we can get him to let his guard down. They’re going to know Maximo waswounded last night. What if we play it up and make them think he’s been incapacitated?”
Maximo doesn’t answer right away. I know without him saying that he doesn’t like the idea of anyone thinking he’s weak. Still, he looks at Enzo and says, “Start working on the details. Get the word out that I was shot and that I’m backing down or even leaving town. Keep eyes on every move Kirill makes. When he sticks his head up to celebrate my demise, we make a very public display of executing him.”
Enzo nods. “That could work,” he agrees as he stands up. “I’ll check in on you later and send up some breakfast,” he says before he leaves and closes the door behind him.
Maximo leans back, wincing slightly as his ribs protest. “You realize,” he says quietly, “that if we do this, if we kill Kirill Volkov, there’s no turning back. It’s going to set off a war with the Russians.”
