The Killer’s Vow by Aria R. Blue
Simon
Something is off with Vera.
She makes more eye contact with the bottle of wine between us than she does with me.
And when the food arrives, she eats like it’s her first full meal in days. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.
It’s possible she’s just ravenous.
But I’ve learned not to ignore my instincts.
And seeing that she’s not comfortable around me has killed my appetite.
“Vera—” I say.
“Simon—” she says at the same time.
“Go ahead,” I say.
She reaches out to touch my hand with her fingertips. “I’m scared.”
I squeeze her hand in mine. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I’m the only person you’re nice to,” she exhales.
“You’re the only person I like,” I reply easily.
“What do you like so much about me? I’ve been nothing but difficult since the day we met.”
I take a deep breath.
She didn’t like what she saw. That much is obvious.
But what else is she holding back?
“I’m not perfect either,” I say. “But you already know that. When you look at me, you don’t just see all of my flaws. You see everything that makes me who I am. It’s the same for me.”
She looks away and bites her lip. I think I catch her eyes shimmer.
The server chooses that moment to check on us but slips away quietly when he notices the heated air.
I take a bite from my nearly untouched plate.
Fine dining.
The best views.
Delightful experiences.
I want to give her all of it and more.
But that’s never what Vera asked for. All she wanted was for me to be her best friend and partner.
And I let her down in that regard.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Vlad’s kill order, Simon?” she asks, her eyes more gray than blue tonight.
This is the part where I apologize profusely.
This is where I confess that I’ll give up everything for her. That I don’t want my old life if it means that she’s not a part of it.
But instead, I push her buttons.
I stab at my plate. “I didn’t know that we were in the habit of telling each other everything.”
She leans away. “Excuse me?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Why don’t you amuse me?” She hisses in Russian.
“Mikhail,” I snap. “Who is he to you, Vera?”
The man in white.
He was at the party that night.
The video recordings showed a man with light hair and a white mask talking to Vera. Russian prison tattoos snaked down his entire torso.
He made her uncomfortable, and it bothers me that his mutilated body isn’t already floating in Lake Michigan.
“Why do you care?” she snaps back.
“Because.” I grind my teeth together. “Does it not occur to you that there was a reason your papa broke the Code of Thieves to have him incarcerated?”
Vera blinks at me, searching my face.
Like she always does, she seems to read the emotion hidden right underneath the one I’m showing.
The terror behind the rage.
The love behind the accusation.
“I don’t remember,” she says softly.
“What?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” she snaps. And then she adds, “My brain wiped years from my memory. I only remember parts of my childhood, Simon. I remember that I was terrified of police cars and loud sirens. I remember that I hated sleeping alone. Most nights, I used to go sleep with my sister.”
“But you don’t remember the why?” I guess.
“Yeah,” she says. “Some memories are more clear than others. But when it comes to Mikhail, all I remember is that he was an intense man. He used to call me ‘pretty bird,’ and I hated that name.”
“He called you that in front of your father?”
“What difference does it make?”
My desperation makes me push harder. “Do you remember when he called you that?”
“In private,” she says, reaching behind the black curtain in her mind where the nasty things hide.
Usually, I do everything in my power not to make her go there.
Because I know what pain is like.
I know what it’s like to starve and feel like I might not make it through the night.
If I start tugging at certain memories, I can get lost in the havoc I find for days.
But I need the answers to this.
Her eyes turn darker. “He used to say ‘Good night, pretty bird’. It was never in front of other people.”
“How was his relationship with your father?” I ask.
Mikhail was in Vera’s life right after her family relocated to America. For Vera, those were the dark days before the darkest of days.
I wish I had found her sooner.
I would have waged war on the entire world so she could keep her innocence.
“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk about this. I can’t.”
I don’t let the disappointment show on my face.
It took my Chicago spies some time, but they found stuff on Mikhail.
Hacking into Russian prison files is nearly impossible, especially considering how most of the smaller ones still only use paperwork instead of digitizing everything.
I had to get in touch with people in Russia and do some bribing to get information.
What I found was worth all the trouble.
Mikhail wasn’t just any prisoner.
He raised hell.
He joined the darker side of the Bratva—the Originals. The ones that dedicate their entire lives to the brotherhood and keep no other family as their own. No wives, no daughters, no sisters.
Most of the Originals left today are misogynistic old men.
Their ranks are dwindling, but their power and reach have been the same.
He was put in prison by one Bratva and pulled out by another.
When you do something horrible to a man like Mikhail, it’s better to take it all the way.
Loose ends always make a mess.
Vera’s father thought he’d never have to see Mikhail’s face again. But he underestimated the man.
Now, eight years later, Mikhail’s back. And with a whole army to back him up, he’s stronger than ever.
And he’s seeking poetic justice.
“What are you not telling me, Simon?” she asks, effortlessly reading me again.
“There was a reason your father sent him away,” I say. “And the things he did in prison were worse than the things he did under your father’s thumb. Multiple homicides, harassing the nurses, and disrupting the entire prison ecosystem.”
“Why did Papa send him away?” Vera whispers, her eyes holding mine.
Deep in her heart, I think she knows.
But I’m not going to say the ugly words out loud.
So I keep quiet.
Vera swallows. “I’m sick of this, Simon. And eat your food; you barely touched your plate all night.”
I scoot my chair back.
I need Vera more than I need sustenance right now. And when she needs me, everything else in the world falls away.
“Come here,” I say, tugging at her hand.
She smiles sadly at the table before walking around it to sit in my lap.
I hold her small waist and cup my hand over the flare of her hips.
She feeds me as she speaks. “The root of the problem, Simon, is that women in the Bratva are treated like animals. We’re given luxuries and money, but they snatch our voice away. And it makes me sad to think my sister will have to go through the same reality as me.”
“It wasn’t always like this in your family,” I comment.
She stuffs my mouth with more food as a tear slips down her cheek.
She wipes it away angrily.
“I know,” she says. “My babushka was equal to my dedushka. Not directly, of course, but he listened to her counsel and applied it too. Both of my grandparents had power. But that was before things went bad.”
The eviction of Vera and her family.
The reason she’s terrified of police cars.
I know only bits and pieces, but I can see the picture.
“You’re a change in the world just by existing, tigritsa moya,” I say. “You’re careful and pessimistic and second-guess every little decision you make, but your intentions and actions only add light to this world. Don’t ever underestimate yourself or what you’ve already done. In a world where nobody gave you power, you took it.”
“All I ever did was deflect,” she says, feeding me a big spoonful of dessert.
It’s both tart and sweet at the same time, exactly how I like it.
“You did more than deflect,” I say, washing it down with some water so I can speak. I squeeze her hip. “You protected those you care about. You protected yourself. The greenhouse and the way you taught yourself how to make poisons and potions is truly commendable.”
She buries her face in her hands. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“I’m selfish,” she whispers into her hands. “I’m. So. Fucking. Selfish.”
“You keep saying that, but it’s not true.”
She lifts her head and looks straight into my eyes. “It won’t be long now.”
I splay my hand over her stomach. “Won’t be long for what?”
She just watches me like she’s waiting for something to happen.
Something sad swims in her eyes.
“Vera?”
“Thank you for helping me until this point, Simon,” she says, her voice tight and strained. “But I’ll have to take it from here. I don’t even know who I am without men trying to slap labels on me. That’s why I need to do this alone. I need this.”
This better not be what I think it is.
“I am not going to let you put yourself in harm’s way,” I say firmly.
“I thought you’d say something like that,” she says, pressing a shaky kiss to my forehead. “Please remember that it was real. My heart will always remember what it felt for you. But I realize now that I can wait an entire lifetime for something that will never come. And what I need most is something only I can give myself.”
“What did you do?” I ask, gripping her wrist.
The first wave of dizziness makes me see double.
“I promise that I’ll be careful. But don’t try to help me, Simon. I need to find the version of myself I should have been all along.”
“What have I done wrong?” I rasp, my throat closing in on itself.
Even now, I’m not worried about myself. It’s all about her. That’s how much of a hold she has on me.
She’s the only person I ever let inside.
And now she wants to part ways.
“Nothing, Simon,” she sobs, tears freely flowing down her face now. “You did everything right. It’s me. My heart is still black and blue. You healed the cracks, but I’ll need to do the rest of the healing by myself.”
“Where will you go?” I ask.
She doesn’t give me an answer.
Instead, she says, “Maybe we’ll meet again. Maybe we won’t. But either way, I want you to know that the love I had for you was real. It still is, and it always will be.”
Her tears fall on my face now, warm and then cool.
I can’t stand it.
“Where?” I speak again, but it comes out hoarse.
My head is underwater now.
No sound or light can reach me.
It’s the end.
She brings her lips to my ears and gives me one last dose of her voice. “Valerian root concentrate…and a benzodiazepine. They amplify each other’s sedative properties. You’re just falling into a deep sleep, Simon. You’ll wake up in nine to ten hours. I’ll ask the staff here to look after you and Lion. I know you’ll take good care of my dog. And…take care of yourself too.”
When she leaves, my little poisoner leaves only darkness behind in her wake.