Page 11 of The Last Hope

“???? ! ????! ????!” he cried, jumping into the man’s arms. He caught him effortlessly, lifting him with ease.

I watched his strong arms wrap around the small body, inhaling his son’s hair with closed eyes. And my thoughts drifted immediately to my son.

He would never have a father who held him like this. Never have a worthy man to look up to as he grew.

I tensed as the little boy jumped down from his father’s arms and rushed back toward me, pulling his father along behind him.

“????, look ! I found a mom !” he exclaimed, grabbing my hand.

I stared at him, and he returned my gaze with so much hope that my chest tightened.

Slowly, I lifted my eyes to the man before me, feeling uneasy—and whatever breath remained in my lungs vanished when I saw that his pensive gaze was already fixed on me.

He took a few more steps in my direction, and I tried to back away, but my legs refused to move, as if my feet were anchored to the floor.

He kept moving forward until our bodies were separated only by his son. I lowered my head as a dark fear crept in, preparing myself for the worst.

What if he hit me for being near his son ?

What if he thought I had planted the idea of a new mother in his child’s head ?

What if he told Antonio ?

I shuddered, squeezing my eyes shut when he raised his hand.

I waited for the hit.

I waited for the familiar pain.

I waited for a shout—mine or his, I didn’t even know.

But nothing happened for long seconds.

Nothing except a light touch under my chin that made me shiver.

He pressed gently, and I lifted my head, my eyes still firmly shut.

“Look at me,” he murmured against my face, his scent filling my senses—the sea and pine trees, things I hadn’t seen or smelled in so long.

I slowly opened my eyes, and my gaze met icy blue ones. When I had seen them for the first time in the reception hall, they had reminded me of icebergs—cold and calculating.

But now, as he looked at me with this deep stare, they reminded me of a clear summer sky—warm and soft.

“I… I saw him crying. I just wanted to help,” I murmured hesitantly, feeling my lips tremble as he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

His hand left my chin, glided down my arm, and finally grasped my free hand, lifting it between us.

His blue eyes studied my hand, and I whimpered when he gently squeezed my wrist. I tried to pull away, but he held firm, sendingme a warning look—not one that frightened me as I expected, but still, I stopped resisting.

He pulled up my sleeve, his fingers brushing over the violet bruises, making me tremble. I felt my cheeks burn as I sensed him observing me through his lashes while Andrei clung to me.

“Is it your husband who did this to you ?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes turning cold again—turning back into icebergs.

“He is not my husband,” I nearly shouted, my voice laced with hatred, and I froze, startled by my own reaction. I bit my lip, avoiding the Russian’s gaze.

“How—”

“Mamma !” my son’s voice suddenly echoed down the hall.