During the ride home, Maksim calls with an update, and also news that Jessie was never in danger. She’s at the club working her shift, unaware that Eli is currently getting the beating of his life after being dragged out through the employee entrance. “I can kill him,” he offers hopefully.
I consider it for a second but shake my head, though he can’t see it. “No, that’s okay. Just teach him a lesson he won’t forget.” There’s been enough death tonight.
Later, when we’re home, we go straight through to the bathroom, past Eugenie who seems poised to fuss but lets us pass without speaking. The hot water runs over us in steady streams, washing away the blood and gunpowder residue and the lingering scent of violence that clings to our skin. Nikandr’s hands are gentle as he helps me clean the cuts on my wrists, his touch careful and reverent despite the exhaustion weighing down both our movements.
We’re both too drained by everything that’s happened to make love, though the need to touch and be touched runs deeper than desire. This is about reassurance, about confirming we’re both alive and safe and together again. His fingers trace the bruises on my arms with the kind of tenderness that makes my chest tight with emotion.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmurs against my temple while the steam rises around us.
“We’re both here.” I press my palm against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my hand. “That’s what matters now.”
He wraps his arms around me, careful of my injured wrists, and holds me like I might disappear if he loosens his grip. The shower beats down on us while we stand there clinging to each other, processing the reality that it’s finally over.
Later, we collapse into his bed—the same bed I left when his lies shattered my trust. The sheets smell like him, like safety and home, and I curl into his side with my head on his shoulder while our daughter moves restlessly between us. His hand rests on my belly, fingers spread wide as if he can protect her through touch alone.
Sleep comes in fits and starts, interrupted by dreams of gunfire and the weight of Irina’s lifeless body sliding down the wall. Each time I jolt awake, Nikandr is there, his voice soft in the darkness as he reminds me where I am and that the danger has passed.
We wake early the next morning to pale sunlight filtering through the bedroom windows. My body aches in places I’d forgotten existed, and the events of last night feel both impossibly distant and brutally immediate. Nikandr is already awake, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
I slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom, needing a few minutes alone to process everything that’s changed. When I walk back into the bedroom, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me, fully dressed despite the early hour.
The adrenaline that carried me through the rescue has faded completely, leaving behind clarity and the kind of emotional honesty that comes after surviving something traumatic. We can’t go back to the way things were before. Too much has happened for us to pretend last night didn’t fundamentally alter who we are.
He looks up at me, and I see guilt written across his features like a map of every mistake he’s made. “I need to apologize for not keeping my promise. I was wrong to lie to you about going after Vadim.”
I settle across from him, wrapping a robe around myself while considering his words. “Part of it was to protect me?”
“Part of it, yes. I didn’t want you to worry about something you couldn’t control.” He seems lost for a moment. “The other part was I was afraid you’d ask me not to go, not to eliminate Vadim when I had the chance, and I would have agreed despite ten years of pursuing vengeance.”
The admission is like a confession. He was afraid I had enough influence over him to derail his plans for revenge, and afraid he loved me more than he hated his enemies. “You would have stayed if I asked you to?”
“Yes. That’s what terrified me. I’d spent a decade planning Vadim’s death, and all it would have taken was you asking me to choose between vengeance and staying safe with our family.” His voice carries awareness of finally understanding his own motivations. “I couldn’t risk that choice because I knew what I’d pick.”
The honesty in his voice makes something crack open in my chest. He lied to me because he was afraid of how much power I had over his decisions, afraid of choosing love over the violence that had defined his life for so long. “You would’ve stayed for me even after everything. That means more than I can explain.”
He tentatively reaches for my hand, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed the comfort. I lace our fingers together anyway. “I don’t want to be the reason you don’t do what you think is right, but I also don’t want to be someone you lie to because you’re afraid I’ll change your mind.”
He nods slowly. It’s that honesty and terrifying capacity for love that makes me think about Irina, and how different their choices were versus our choices. Wanting to share my insight, knowing he’s been looking for answers for a decade, I say, “I learned something about Irina last night, from her actions more than her words.”
I think about the woman who shot me that defiant look before I pulled the trigger, remembering the guilt in her expression when she spoke about Yaraslov. “I think part of her loved your brother. Maybe she wasn’t evil. Just a narcissist obsessed with self-preservation. She would betray anyone to save herself, but I think she cared about him as much as she could.”
He stiffens. “I don’t know if that makes her betrayal worse or better.” He falls silent for a moment. “Does that change how you feel about killing her?”
“No. She would have murdered you without hesitation. I have no regrets about stopping her, though it might give me nightmares for a while.” The certainty in my voice surprises me. “She made her choices, and I made mine.”
Nikandr nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. “The syndicate belongs to Maksim now. There are a few loose ends I’ll need to tie up over the next year, with obligations and territories that need to be transferred properly, though I pressed on with the succession plan even after you left.”
Even when he thought he might have lost me forever, he continued dismantling his empire to build us a different future. The knowledge makes tears slip down my cheeks without permission.
“After that’s finished, the only people I answer to are you and our daughter.”
I listen to his words while emotions cycle through me like weather systems with relief, love, residual anger, and hope all competing for space in my chest. “I still love you too. I was angry, furious actually, though I still shouldn’t have left where it was safe.”
“You had every right to be angry. I broke my word about the most important thing in our relationship.” He squirms. “I should have offered to leave so you would stay here where it was safe.”
“It wouldn’t have worked. I’m too stubborn sometimes, and I was determined to leave.” I lean closer, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I promise not to leave again if you promise to keep your word.”
“I promise. No more lies, no more secrets, and no more unilateral decisions about our lives.” He extends his hand toward me like we’re sealing a business deal rather than rebuilding our relationship. “Partners in everything.”
I take his hand and let him pull me toward the bed. “Partners in everything.”
The kiss that follows seals our agreement, though it quickly becomes something much deeper. His mouth moves against mine with careful intensity, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of forgiveness and new beginnings. I feel the tremor in his hands as they frame my face, and the way his breath deepens when I open my mouth to him.
“I still loved you even when I hated you,” I whisper against his lips. “Especially then.”
He responds by kissing me without hesitation, framing my face with reverence that makes my heart race. This kiss is slow and about more than just desire. It’s about belonging, recognition, and coming home. His tongue traces the seam of my lips before delving deeper, and I melt into him completely.
The robe falls away as he worships me like I’m the answer to every brutal question he’s ever asked. His mouth traces the line of my collarbone with infinite patience, finding the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder that makes me gasp and arch against him. Each press of his lips against my skin feels like a brand, marking me as his in ways that have nothing to do with possession and everything to do with devotion.
“I need you,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice rough with want and something deeper that makes my pulse stutter. “I need to feel you and know this is real.”
“Show me.”
His hands become reverent as they explore my changing body, fingers tracing every curve with the kind of attention that makes me feel adored. When he reaches the swell of my belly, he pauses to press his palm flat against my skin, feeling for movement that comes immediately in response to his touch.
“She knows her daddy’s voice,” I say, watching his expression transform with wonder.
“Both my girls,” he whispers, leaning down to press gentle kisses across my stomach. “My whole world.”
His mouth continues its journey downward, kissing and nipping at my hip bones before settling between my thighs with purposeful intent. The first touch of his tongue makes me cry out, arching my back off the mattress as sensation floods my system. He’s always been skilled with his mouth, though this morning feels more intense and emotional, like he’s trying to pour all his love and regret and promises into every stroke.
“God, Nikandr, please—”
“Shh, beautiful,” he whispers against my pussy. “Let me take care of you. Let me show you how sorry I am, how much you mean to me.” He works me with patient devotion, using his tongue and lips and the gentle scrape of his teeth to drive me steadily toward madness. When he finds that perfect rhythm that makes my thighs tremble, he maintains it relentlessly, one hand pressed flat against my belly while the other grips my hip to hold me in place.
The pressure builds and builds until I’m gasping his name, twisting my fingers in his hair as I fight against the overwhelming sensations. When he sucks firmly on my clit, I shatter completely, crying out as pleasure shoots through me.
He doesn’t stop or give me time to recover. Instead, he continues his gentle assault until I’m shaking and sobbing, my body hypersensitive and desperate for more. Only when I’m completely wrung out does he finally lift his head, his lips glistening as he moves up my body with predatory grace.
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he whispers against my throat, his voice rough with barely contained need.
“I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”
When he finally positions himself between my thighs, we both go still for a moment. The head of his cock presses against my entrance, and I can feel how much control he’s exerting to go slowly.
“Please,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer.
He slides inside me inch by inch, his jaw clenched with restraint. I’m still sensitive from his mouth, and the feeling of him filling my pussy makes me gasp and dig my nails into his shoulders. When he’s fully seated, we both breathe heavily, overwhelmed by the intensity of being connected again.
“I love you,” he whispers against my ear as he begins to move with slow, deliberate strokes. “I love you so much it terrifies me.”
“I love you too. Always, even when I wanted to strangle you.”
We move together with desperate tenderness, each thrust a promise and an apology and a claim of ownership that goes both ways. His cock fills me completely, stretching me in ways that make me gasp and cling to his shoulders for anchor points. The rhythm we find is unhurried, focused more on connection than release, though the pleasure builds steadily between us.
He shifts the angle slightly, and I cry out. “Right there,” I say, arching to meet him. “Don’t stop.”
“Never.” He maintains that perfect rhythm while his mouth finds mine again. “I’ll never stop loving you, never stop protecting you, and never stop choosing you over everything else.”
The words push me closer to the edge, though it’s the emotion behind them that threatens to undo me completely. This isn’t just sex. It’s a claiming and a promise of forever sealed with sweat and breath and the perfect friction of our bodies moving together.
When my climax builds again, he watches my face with fascination, like he’s memorizing every expression that crosses my features. His own control is starting to fray, and I see the effort it takes for him to maintain the slow pace when his body is demanding more.
“Let go,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his throat. “I want to feel you lose control.”
His rhythm falters, becoming more urgent as he thrusts harder and faster. The change in pace sends me spiraling toward my own climax, and when he reaches between us to touch my clit, it takes only a couple of strokes before I shatter around him with a cry.
“That’s it. So beautiful.” He grunts and continues thrusting.
The orgasm tears through me with enough force to make me see stars, and my inner muscles clench around his cock as pleasure touches every nerve ending. He follows me over the edge seconds later, going rigid as he spills his seed inside me with a groan.
Afterward, we lie tangled together while our breathing slowly returns to normal. I trace the scar on his shoulder from an old bullet wound, then map the fresh bruises on his ribs from his fight with Vadim. Each mark tells a story of violence and survival, of a life lived on the edge of danger. “I’ve never felt safer than I do right now,” I whisper against his chest.
He tightens his arms around me, careful of my tender spots though his grip is possessive. “This life is ours now. No more bratva, no more threats, and no more looking over our shoulders. Just a family.”
“Exactly.” I press my palm against my belly, and Elizabeth kicks in response to the sound of her father’s voice.
The promise settles into my bones like truth, hope, and the foundation for the future we’re going to build together. Outside, the world continues its complicated dance of violence and politics and power struggles, though inside these walls, we’ve created something untouchable.
