23. Vladimir
Vladimir
She’s ignoring me.
After she left, I stayed on the floor for a while, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together what had just happened.
Eventually, I got up and properly cleaned the blood off my neck.
It’s not the first time someone’s held a knife to my throat, but it is the first time it was my wife.
That should bother me. Hell, it should make me furious. But I know rage when I see it. And that look in her eyes last night? That was something far worse.
She looked at me like I was a ghost from her past. Not Vladimir Petrov. Not her husband. Just another demon she had to fight off.
She was somewhere else entirely.
I wanted to chase after her, demand an explanation, force her to talk. But the absolute hatred in her eyes stopped me cold.
That wasn’t fear. That wasn’t anger. That was agony.
And that kind of pain? It doesn’t come from a single wound.
That kind of pain is engraved into the bones, burned into the soul.
Someone hurt her.
I’ve known this since the day I met her. Given her line of work, it was almost inevitable. But this wasn’t the kind of wound that heals with time. This was the kind that festered. The kind that left people hollow.
And now, I can’t stop thinking about it.
The next day passed in silence.
Neither of us spoke. I used work as an excuse to avoid each other.
She was gone before I got out of bed, leaving only the faintest trace of vanilla and lavender in the bathroom.
I spent the day handling business, keeping myself distracted. Luna did the same—throwing herself into planning, making last-minute calls, arranging whatever "girly vacation prep" she had on her list.
I didn’t bother asking.
I just let her go.
And when the sun set, she didn’t come to our bed. She slept in the guest bedroom.
Again.
I don’t know if it was meant to be a message or if she was just too shaken to face me.
Either way, it was torture.
I heard her screaming in her sleep.
It wasn’t just a whimper or a cry.
It was a raw, guttural sound that tore through the fortress like a siren.
I was out of bed in seconds, my gun ready for war.
When I reached her, my pulse was hammering in my ears. But when I burst through the door, there was no enemy.
Only her.
Thrashing. Crying. Completely lost to the past.
I stood there, gun still clenched in my grip, watching as she twisted in the sheets, trapped in whatever hell she couldn’t escape.
I didn’t touch her. I didn’t call her name. Because the last time I tried to pull her from the past, I ended up bleeding.
Instead, I sat beside her bed, watching.
Helpless. Angry.
Dimitri and Konstantin stormed in less than a minute later, both armed to the teeth, expecting a fight.
They found me instead—sitting in the dark, staring at my wife while she drowned in a nightmare.
Their hands dropped from their weapons.
They knew.
We’ve all seen evil.
Hell, being in the Bratva made us bad men in the eyes of the law.
But there’s a difference between bad men and evil men.
An evil man hurt my wife.
And when I discover who he is, he’d better start praying to whatever God he believes in.
Because judgment day is coming.
And I’ll make sure he gets there ahead of schedule.
We’re on my private jet, leaving New York behind for our honeymoon.
Luna had only one request—that it be somewhere tropical.
It’s late February now, and I know she already misses the warmth of the West Coast.
So, I chose Bali.
According to her mom, it’s been on her bucket list for years, though she’s never been. I made sure this trip would be unforgettable.
I might’ve stopped by her mom’s hotel while Luna was getting her hair done, seeking a little insider help with the planning. As expected, her mom knew how to strike a bargain.
In exchange for the needed details, I had to promise we’d visit and stay with her for Thanksgiving. Being Russian, we don’t really celebrate American holidays like that. We tried as kids, but our father wasn’t exactly the festive type, especially after my mother died.
But for Luna, I’ll endure it.
So, I agreed. And now, here we are.
She still has no idea where we’re going, and I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she steps into our private villa on the beach.
And that’s not all.
I have two other surprises waiting for her. One of them is set to greet us the second we step onto the sand.
She slept for most of the flight, which was fine by me. It gave me time to finalize the details for the trip and check in to make sure Dimitri and Konstantin haven’t killed each other yet.
Two weeks in close proximity is a long time for those two, and I’ll be impressed if my brother makes it through without needing medical attention. It’d be a damn shame to come back as an only child.
Luna now sits across from me on the jet, her gaze fixed on the window, lost in thought.
She hasn’t asked about our destination. Hasn’t spoken much at all.
She’s wearing a simple white maxi dress, the soft fabric draping over her frame, making her look effortlessly elegant. But it’s her hair that catches my attention.
Her curls are now separated into what looks like a million different braids—intricate, detailed, woven together in a way I can’t even begin to figure out. I know it’s called bohemian style because I overheard her and Amani discussing it earlier.
Apparently, not all braids are just braids. Who knew?
But it’s not just her hair or her silence that has me watching her. It’s how she’s sitting—rigid, guarded like she’s waiting for something to go wrong.
I hate it.
I take a sip of my drink, watching her.
How much longer are you going to keep running from me, Luna?
Eventually, she turns to face me, arching an eyebrow.
“You’re staring,” she points out.
I smirk, leaning back in my seat. “You’re my wife. I’m allowed to stare.”
She doesn’t smile.
“Maybe you should take a picture? It’ll last longer,” she asks, tapping her white nails against the armrest.
“I didn’t realize my wife was such a brat.”
“I’m not a brat.” She whispers, turning back to the window.
I let the silence settle between us.
For now.
When we land, the sun is high in the sky, and the scent of saltwater is thick in the air.
The humidity hits me like a brick wall when I step off the plane onto the private runway.
Luna steps off the jet behind me, stretching, her shoulders rolling as she takes in the private airstrip.
She squints at me. “Where the hell are we?”
I grin, then gesture toward the waiting car.
“Welcome to Bali, Lisichka.”
She blinks.
Then, blinks again.
Her lips part slightly, her expression completely unreadable.
I watch the exact moment it clicks.
The moment she realizes where we are.
The way her posture loosens.
The way her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to smile.
I step forward, lowering my voice."Surprised?"
She looks up at me, and for the first time in days… she laughs.
My hand is itching to hold Luna’s hand as we walk to the car, but I’m trying to give her space since she said not to touch her again.
I open the door, and she slides inside, settling into the cool leather seats.
I slide in next to her, giving my men a quick glance as they finish loading the luggage.
I only brought three security guys for this trip.
Between the five of us, we should be more than enough.
One’s driving us, and the other two are in the car behind to cover the rear.
I’m not expecting trouble, but I’ve lived long enough to know better than to take chances—especially concerning Luna’s safety.
She can handle herself, sure. But I’d rather she never have to.
She’s still quiet, though. Not in the distant, withdrawn way I hate, but more like a kid seeing something new for the first time. Her window is cracked, and she leans toward it, her eyes wide as she takes in the scenery.
The tropical landscape contrasts the city, and it’s obvious she’s already enchanted.
I let her soak it in, pulling my phone from my pocket. While she’s distracted, I send Isabella a quick text:
Me: Thank you again.
Ms. Holmes: It’s my pleasure, Mr. Petrov. I just wanted to let you know that Luna’s therapist checked in with me, and she mentioned a minor setback, but it’s normal, so you don't have to worry.
Me: We have different outlooks on normal, but I’ll take your word on it.
Ms. Holmes: You could benefit from therapy as well.
Me: Bratva doesn't believe in therapy.
Ms. Holmes: I'll keep that in mind. Enjoy your honeymoon.
Ms. Holmes: Be gentle with her. She’ll come around.
We’re pulling up to our massive villa, perched on the edge of a secluded beach in Bali, surrounded by lush tropical trees and vibrant greenery.
The villa itself is a masterpiece—sleek, modern architecture with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, dark wooden accents, and a sprawling deck that seamlessly merges with an infinity pool overlooking the turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean.
The sound of waves crashing gently against the shore blends with the distant hum of cicadas in the warm, humid air.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket, making a mental note to check in with my security team later. Right now, my focus is on my wife.
The car barely comes to a complete stop before Luna throws the door open and bolts out, sprinting toward the villa like a kid in a candy store.
“Luna!” I call after her, my heart stuttering in my chest. My wife tends to act first and think later for an assassin—something I both admire and fear in equal measure.
She doesn’t even glance back, too excited as she races toward the entrance. Her laughter echoes through the trees as she kicks off her shoes and steps onto the wooden deck, her bare feet padding across the smooth surface.
“Reckless,” I mutter under my breath, hopping out of the car and jogging after her. My men are already unloading the luggage and double-checking the security setup, but my focus is entirely on Luna.
She darts from one side of the deck to the other, peeking into windows and spinning around like she’s trying to soak it all in at once. “Vladimir, this is amazing!” she shouts, her voice brimming with awe.
I slow my pace, watching her from a distance as a smile tugs at my lips. She’s radiant, her sun-kissed skin glowing in the golden light of the setting sun. The salty breeze lifts her multiple braids, making them dance around her face as she takes in the view of the ocean.
She looks free.
“Glad you approve,” I call out, leaning casually against the doorway with my arms crossed.
Luna turns toward me with a grin so wide it could light up the entire island. “Approve? Vladimir, this is a dream! Look at this place!” She gestures toward the villa like a kid showing off a new toy.
Before I can respond, she takes off again, dashing up the steps and onto the balcony. She leans over the edge, gazing at the endless expanse of water. “It’s perfect,” she whispers, more to herself than to me.
Then, out of nowhere, she spins around and sprints back toward me. Before I can react, she launches herself into my arms, her laughter ringing in my ears.
I catch her easily, holding her close as she wraps her arms around my neck and quickly kisses my cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice soft now, filled with emotion.
Her joy is so pure, so unfiltered, that it makes my chest ache in the best possible way.
“You’re going to love the inside,” I tell her, setting her back down on her feet. “But first, I’ve got another surprise for you.”
Her head tilts, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Another one?”
I smirk and whistle sharply, the sound cutting through the evening air.
Luna looks confused momentarily, her brows knitting together—until the sound of paws against hardwood echoes from inside the villa.
“Wait…” she whispers, her eyes widening as realization dawns.
And then, bounding down the stairs like a furry missile, comes Nova, her beloved dog.
Luna gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. “Nova!”
She drops to her knees just as the dog reaches her, tail wagging furiously and tongue lolling out. “Oh my God, baby! I missed you so much!” Luna coos, her voice trembling with emotion as she wraps her arms around Nova’s neck.
The dog is practically vibrating with excitement, showering her with licks as Luna laughs and cries all at once.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. I’ve never been jealous of anything in my life, but being jealous of a dog is a new low.
Nova nuzzles into Luna’s embrace, her tail wagging so hard it nearly knocks her off balance. My wife buries her face in the thick fur, whispering to the dog in a voice so soft I can’t make out the words.
This—this—is why I planned everything. Seeing Luna so happy, so carefree, makes all the stress and effort worth it. I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I’m not proud of, but giving her this moment? It’s one of the few things I know I’ve done right.
Luna looks up at me, her face streaked with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she says again, her voice cracking.
I walk over to her, crouching down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Anything for you, Lisichka.”
She turns back to Nova, stroking the dog’s fur as the sun sets behind us, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink. I stand and head toward the master bedroom, pulling my phone from my pocket to check on a few final details.
Before I can even unlock the screen, I hear Luna squeal like a schoolgirl, her voice ringing out from the living room.
I can’t help but smile to myself.