Page 129 of Unbroken

I stare at her for a second, then glance at the half-finished crib like it’s betrayed me.

She laughs, her hand covering her mouth.

I growl low in my throat and sit back on my heels. “All that work, and now it’s for show.”

“You’ll thank me later when you’re the one getting up for the three a.m. feeding,” she says sweetly.

I huff out a breath. “We’re taking turns.”

“Sure we are.”

She steps closer and kneels beside me. I just watch her. The way her hand flattens instinctively over thecurve of her belly. The way her breathing shifts when I lean in, like she feels me before I touch her.

I lift one hand and curl it around the back of her neck.

Pull her in slow.

No fire this time. No bruising heat or need sharpened by grief.

Justquiet.

My mouth brushes hers with reverence. Like she’s something holy, and I’m unworthy.

Soft. Slow. Like the world can wait.

When I finally pull back, I press my forehead to hers, my voice little more than a rasp.

“Bassinet it is.”

“I love you,” she whispers.

I kiss her mouth, her neck, all the way down to her belly, then back up again. “And I love you.”

ZOYA

Mariah taught me how to slip past the trackers. No one was better at it than she was—precise, paranoid, and a little brilliant. She never showed off, never put herself at risk, just quietly made sure she could vanish if she needed to. Shewas the only one who really knew how. Ruthie knows a little now, but not everything. Not like I do.

I took my phone, stuffed it into the hollow back of a teddy bear—one I kept around just for this purpose—and tucked it under the blanket on my bed. Then I grabbed my burner phone, checked the biometric nodules wired into the bracelet around my wrist, and slid the decoy ball into place.

Weapons check: solid.

Rafail might’ve been overprotective and overbearing, but he made damn sure I knew how to wield a gun.

They’re coming.

And it’s going to be a fucking massacre.

The Irish will kill them. Every one of them. And Ruthie’s here. Luka’s here. And tonight—of all fucking nights—Ruthie asked me to pick up apregnancytest.

We don’t have the firepower to hold them off. I don’t have time to convince my brothers. But if I can disperse the Irish…

So I make a decision and call Rafail.

I hate lying to him. God, I don’t think I’ve ever lied to him before.

But he’s the first I call.

“On my way,” he says, with no hesitation. “Heading to the warehouse. Lock the house down.”