Page 33 of A Secretary for the Bratva Boss

"It is." He kisses my temple. "But I know you. If I brought you here and it was not finished, you would immediately start working. You would not rest. And my wife, and my son, must rest."

"You... you had everyone unpack while we were at lunch?"

"I had everyone unpack for the last three days," he corrects me, pulling out a chair for me at a table that is already set. "It is done. Everything is to your satisfaction."

Tender, overwhelming emotion clogs my throat. This man. This terrifying, possessive, Bratva boss. He knows me. He sees the part of me that is still that girl from the foster system, the one who can't rest, the one who has to do things herself to make sure they're real. And he just... handles it.

"I... It's perfect," I whisper, looking around. "It's... a lot."

"It is not." He smiles. "It is just the beginning. Now, I have one more thing to show you."

"Anton, you've shown me enough..."

"This, you will want to see." He leads me through the house, his hand firm on the small of my back, guiding me. We go out sliding glass doors, onto a huge stone patio. There's a lawn, green and perfect, that slopes down toward the river. And in the corner, under a massive oak tree—a kennel. Not a kennel. Abeautiful, miniature version of the house, with a little fenced-in yard.

"Anton?" I ask, my heart starting a ragged, fast rhythm.

"You said you were sad to leave the penthouse. That you would be alone here, when I am at the office."

"I'm not alone, I have..." I pat my belly.

"I know." He squeezes my hand. "But I thought... you might like a different kind of security." He whistles, a sharp, clear sound. A door on the little doghouse swings open, and a puppy comes tumbling out. It's a beagle. But not a normal one. He's almost entirely pristine white, with two perfect, floppy black ears, and a single black spot on his back. Just like the cartoon. Just like the stuffed animal from my memory. He bounds across the grass, yipping, and tumbles to a stop at my feet.

My hands fly to my mouth. I can't breathe. "Oh..." The sound is a choked, broken sob. I lower myself to my knees, which is a feat. The puppy, all wiggles and wet nose, scrambles into my lap, licking my hands. "Snoopy..." I whisper, my voice cracking.

Tears are streaming down my face, hot and fast. I'm sobbing, my shoulders shaking. I look up at Anton, who is watching me, his face full of a raw, tender emotion I've only ever seen when we're alone in the dark.

"You... you remembered," I cry, my hand fisting in the puppy's thick fur. "That stupid story... You remembered."

He comes to me, kneeling in front of me on the grass, his custom suit be damned. He frames my face with his hands, his thumbs wiping away my tears.

"I remember everything you say, Talia," he says, his voice rough. "It was not a stupid story. It was a map. It was a piece of your past I could fix." He kisses me, tasting my tears, the salt, and the nine months of love that have built a fortress around my heart. "He is not a stuffed dog," Anton murmurs against my lips."My people located a breeder in England who specializes in this coloration. I thought... he could guard our son."

"He's perfect," I sob, laughing and crying all at once. Anton pulls me to my feet, one arm around me, the other under the wiggling puppy. We are a family. A broken and ridiculously powerful family. He holds us, me and the puppy and the son under my heart, and he kisses my temple. "Anything for you,moya zhena." He whispers. "My love. My wife. Anything. Forever."