36. Vladimir
Vladimir
Most men in the Bratva have wives who stay up at night worrying about them.
Me? The universe decided to give me a wife who’s going to put me in an early fucking grave.
It’s been thirty-two days.
THIRTY-TWO goddamn days since Luna left, and I feel like I’m unraveling by the fucking second.
I’m a fucking madman.
I knew this was going to be hard—I knew she was going to have to leave for missions. But knowing something and experiencing it are two different things, especially for this long.
If this is what addicts feel like, then I get it. Because I had a taste of Heaven, and now I’m being starved.
The house is too quiet without her. Too fucking empty.
Nova’s been following me around like she knows I’m barely keeping it together.
The damn dog sleeps on her side of the bed, curls up next to me like she’s trying to take Luna’s place.
And as much as I want to be pissed about it, I let her.
Because the scent of my wife is still lingering in her fur, and I’ll take whatever I can fucking get.
I’ve been going through the motions, handling business, and making sure the Bratva runs smoothly. But none of it feels the same.
Nothing feels right.
Dimitri and Konstantin have been insufferable about it, too.
They’re already sitting in my office when I walk in, both of them drinking coffee like they haven’t been avoiding me for the past three days.
“Jesus, Vova,” Konstantin mutters, setting down his cup and leaning back against the couch. “You look like shit.”
I glare at him, dropping into my chair. “Dobroye utro to you too, mu'dak.”
Dimitri whistles low, dragging his eyes over me. “Nah, he’s got a point. You look like you crawled out of hell.”
“Maybe I did,” I mutter, grabbing the glass of whiskey already waiting for me.
Konstantin tilts his head, studying me. “You’ve been like this for weeks, brat.”
I grunt. “So?”
“So,” Dimitri drawls, “we were hoping you’d get slightly less miserable, but it turns out, you’re only getting worse.”
Konstantin smirks, shaking his head. “It’s sad, really.”
I exhale sharply, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “If you two are done with your bullshit, get to the point.”
“The point,” Dimitri says, propping his feet up on my desk like he wants to be murdered, “is that you’re a lovesick bastard who doesn’t know how to function without his wife.”
I scowl. “Shut the fuck up.”
“You are miserable, though,” Konstantin points out. “More miserable than usual, anyway.”
Dimitri leans in, his tone more serious now. “When’s the last time you heard from her?”
I tense.
Konstantin’s eyes narrow. “Vlad.”
I exhale through my nose. “It’s been a few days.”
Silence.
Then—
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Dimitri groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You haven’t spoken to her at all?”
I slam my glass down. “It’s not like I can just call her.”
“That’s not the problem,” Konstantin mutters, crossing his arms.
Dimitri watches me for a long moment, then sighs. “Alright, out with it.”
I frown. “What?”
“Whatever’s been eating at you more than usual,” he says, waving a hand at me. “Because it’s something.”
I clench my jaw.
Konstantin raises an eyebrow. “Vladim?—”
“I told her I loved her.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
Silence crashes over the room like a wave.
Dimitri blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”
I exhale heavily, leaning forward, elbows resting on my knees. “I told her. Before she went dark.”
Konstantin and Dimitri exchange looks.
“And?” Konstantin prompts.
I stare at the grain of my desk, jaw tightening. “And she didn’t say it back.”
Silence again.
But this one feels heavier.
Dimitri lets out a low whistle. “Oof.”
Konstantin doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me carefully. Then?—
“Vladimir,” he mutters, his voice gentler now, “Luna’s not exactly the type to say that shit easily.”
“I know,” I snap.
She’s been through hell. I know that. I know vulnerability doesn’t come easy for her.
But fuck, I wanted to hear it.
I needed to hear it.
Because right now, it feels like I’m drowning, and the only thing that can pull me back up is her.
And she’s not here.
Konstantin clears his throat. “You really think she doesn’t love you?”
I don’t answer.
Dimitri sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. You’ve got all these big, scary feelings now, and it’s freaking you the fuck out.”
I shoot him a glare. “Shut the fuck up.”
He grins. “Make me.”
Konstantin cuts in before I put Dimitri through a wall. “Luna’s not like the other women we know. She’s not wired like that. You know that better than anyone.”
I clench my fists. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking sting.”
Dimitri watches me for a long moment, then shrugs. “She’ll say it when she’s ready. But in the meantime…” He smirks. “You should probably stop listening to the country music.”
Konstantin groans. “For real, brat, it’s getting pathetic.”
I flip them both off.
I don’t need their fucking sympathy.
I need my wife.
I stand abruptly, pushing back my chair with enough force that it scrapes loudly against the floor. Dimitri and Konstantin both watch me warily, but neither of them says a word. They know better.
Nova lifts her head from where she’s curled up on the couch, watching me with those intelligent, knowing eyes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t bark—just lets out a soft sigh and rests her head back down.
Even my damn dog is miserable without her.
Yes, Nova is my dog now.
I run a hand through my hair and exhale sharply. “I need to hit something.”
Konstantin grins, pushing off the couch. “Now that’s the Vova I know.”
Dimitri smirks. “Try not to break another punching bag. The last one you destroyed was imported, and those things aren’t cheap.”
I glare at him. “Shut the fuck up, Dima.”
He just laughs as I storm out of my office and drive towards the gyms we own.
My body is running on pure frustration at this point.
I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep since she left. Haven’t been able to focus on anything without picturing her, without hearing her voice in my head.
I keep checking my phone, expecting a text, a call, something.
Nothing.
It’s driving me fucking insane.
By the time I reach the gym, I’m already rolling up my sleeves, stepping into the ring. One of my men, Boris, is already there, stretching.
I jerk my chin at him. “Gloves on.”
His brows lift. “You sure?”
I glare.
He doesn’t question me again.
Within minutes, we’re sparring.
And by sparring, I mean I’m taking out all of my pent-up aggression on the poor bastard.
I throw a right hook, then a sharp jab, forcing him to block, dodge, and move. He barely keeps up, sweat already dripping down his forehead.
But I don’t stop.
Can’t stop.
Every hit is a release, every impact a temporary distraction from the fucking void Luna left behind.
But it’s not enough.
It’s never enough.
After twenty minutes, Boris taps out, panting. “Jesus fuck, Pakhan.”
I toss my gloves to the side and shake out my hands, my muscles screaming in protest.
Still not satisfied.
I grab a towel and wipe my face, exhaling heavily.
Then I hear Dimitri’s voice from the doorway.
“She just landed.”
I freeze.
Slowly, I turn to face him, my heart slamming against my ribs. “What?”
“She’s back,” he says, crossing his arms. “Just landed in New York.”
I don’t think.
I move.
Before Dimitri can say anything else, I’m already halfway down the hall, heading straight for my car.
I don’t care that I probably smell like sweat and aggression.
I don’t care that my fists are still wrapped.
All I care about is getting to her.
Because thirty-two days without Luna was one day too fucking long.
And I’ll be damned if I let another second pass before I have my wife back in my arms.