Page 66 of His Savage Vow
“You really do live in a different world than most of us, don’t you?” Constance asks me with a smile.
“I do. And while I was excited to get a chance to show it to you, I’m afraid that this little war the Bratva have thrust on us has given you a terrible opinion of my world. I hope that it hasn’t tainted your opinion of me.”
“Tainted my opinion?” Constance laughs as she gives me a quick side-eye. “My father was murdered and his life’s work burned down. The police and fire marshal have barely begun an investigation, while you’ve helped me track down the men who did this and bring them to justice. When I first walked into your home, my opinion was that you were just as much at fault as the men who actually lit the match. I was prepared to hate you, but you’ve proven yourself to me time and time again these last few days. I appreciate you, Maximo, and all that you’ve done.”
Before I can respond, Spicy interrupts from the seat in front of us. “Okay, boss, we’re almost there. We’ll have to park out a bit and then walk down the pier to get to the yacht. I just texted Reggie, whose keeping watch. He said everything is ready. Now, how do you want to handle this?”
Spicy is crammed into the middle seat with two of his men,who are nervously rechecking their weapons. I glance over at Constance and see her doing the same with the pistol she drew from her purse. I reach over and place a hand over it, then lean over to her, my voice low. “This time, let my men earn their keep.”
Her lips part, ready to argue, but I cut her off. “No debate. You and I are going to hang back this time. I don’t want there to be any more accidents. You’re still recovering from a gunshot. Stay with me until the boat’s clear. Understood?”
She eventually gives me a small nod, though the fire in her eyes tells me she doesn’t like it, but she accepts it. For now.
We park several blocks from the marina, behind a warehouse and out of sight of any security cameras. Covering their faces with the black gaiters around their necks, Spicy and his men swarm out of the trucks, their boots hitting the pavement in near silence. I pass Constance a neck gaiter and pull one over my own head, then follow my crew.
The harbor stinks of saltwater and diesel. As we creep toward the pier where the yachts are moored, I can see Constance’s nose crinkle even through her mask. When we’re halfway down the pier, a shadow moves and separates from the deck of a boat. As it comes closer, I recognize Spicy’s man, Reggie, who’s been texting him updates. Silently, he points to his eyes and then down the pier to a well-lit yacht, then holds up two fingers. “I only counted two guards,” he whispers as he joins us. “You need me to go in with you and handle them?”
Spicy shakes his head just as I say, “No, you go tell the crew on my yacht to be ready to set sail. Spicy will be along soon to take the boat out.”
“You got it, sir,” Reggie replies as he walks past us and towards the other pier, where my boat is docked.
We stop in the darkness and watch the two Russians who are posted on the yacht’s deck. They both look bored and smokecigarettes while leaning against the ships railing, their rifles slung across their backs. They never hear the whispers of death as Spicy waves two of his men forward, and they carefully take aim with their silenced pistols. There are four or five barely audiblethwippsand then both of the guards crumble to the deck, right where they had been standing.
The rest of my men surge forward, one of them jumping over the railing and lowering the gangplank for the rest of us. For a moment, everything is silent as we swarm the boat, then a shout goes up from below deck, and the stillness breaks.
Gunfire erupts. My men answer in kind, shouting, ducking behind railings and hatches. The boat rocks under the violence.
We keep to the shadows near the pier entrance, close enough to see the firefight but far enough not to be caught in it.
I spot him through the chaos. Kirill Volkov, pale hair slicked back, appears from the spiral staircase firing two pistols wildly at my men who duck for cover from the assault. The coward has no intention of staying to fight; he retreats towards the rear of the boat while two more of his men cover him. Bolting across the deck, he climbs down a ladder and leaps into a waiting speedboat tied off to the stern.
I can hear the engine roar at the same time Constance groans. She racks her pistol and raises it, trying to line up a shot at the fleeing gangster. In seconds, though, Kirill is gone into the darkness, only his wake foaming in the moonlight. The son of a bitch slipped away from us again.
I taste blood in my mouth and realize I’m grinding my teeth hard enough to split enamel.
Lights begin to appear on some of the other boats, and I know we don’t have much time.
“Fuck!” I exclaim.
“We have to go after them!” Constance shouts.
“We’ll never catch up to them in the dark.”
Spicy holds up a set of keys as one of his men unwinds the mooring line and tosses it onboard. He raises a hand to wave at me and then sends his men back over to us, then the yacht begins backing away from the pier.
“The men will handle getting this mess out to sea,” I tell Constance. “I’m sorry, firefly.” The disappointment weighs down my shoulders because I know she needed to have this finished tonight.
Constance doesn’t say anything as I take her hand and guide her back down the pier. We quickly make our way back to the waiting trucks. One of Spicy’s men, Ricky Gallo, gets behind the wheel of ours.
“Where to, Mr. Luciani?” Ricky asks me as we settle into the backseat.
“To the tower, please,” I reply. “Luca should have it ready for our arrival by now. We’ll stay there tonight and see what Spicy is able to recover from the yacht before he sinks it.”
“How does that bastard keep getting away?” Constance finally breaks her silence and demands.
“Rats have always had a strong survival instinct. The filthy bastards are hard to get rid of...” I sigh and rub at my temples. My head is starting to pound.
“We can’t go on like this, just wildly swinging at each other,” Constance says.
