Page 39 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

"I know I don't have much to offer," I continue. "No legitimate job, no clean past. Just a man who loves you and wants to be better because of you."

"Yes," she whispers.

"Yes?"

"Yes, you idiot. Of course, yes." She laughs through her tears. "Did you really think I'd say no?"

Relief floods through me so powerfully it makes me dizzy. "Take the ring out."

She does, her hands shaking slightly. I take it from her, and even that small movement sends pain through my chest. But I manage to slip it onto her finger, where it catches the light from the window.

"Perfect fit," I observe.

"How did you know my size?"

"Dmitri asked Elena. Apparently, mothers know these things."

"Get in bed with me," I tell her.

She gives me a look like I've lost my mind. "Absolutely not. You're in pain, you just had surgery?—"

"Only you can make me feel better," I interrupt, shifting carefully to make room. "Please, solnyshko . I need to hold you."

She hesitates, clearly torn between wanting to be close to me and not wanting to hurt me. Finally, she sighs. "If I hurt you?—"

"You won't."

She climbs into the narrow hospital bed with extreme care, settling against my uninjured side.

The moment her warmth presses against me, some of the tension I've been carrying finally releases.

This is what I needed—her heartbeat against my ribs, her scent in my lungs, the solid proof that she's alive and safe.

"Better?" she asks softly.

"Much." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "Now tell me what happened after I went down. All of it."

Her body tenses slightly. "Anton?—"

"I need to know."

She's quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest around the bandages.

"They took me. Popov's men. Put me in a van." Her jaw tightens. "One of them thought he could have some fun before delivering me to the Pakhan."

Rage flares hot in my chest despite the pain medication. "Did he touch you?"

"He tried." A smile ghosts across her lips. "I broke his nose. And his kneecap. Beat the shit out of him, actually."

Pride swells through me, mixing with the fury. "That's my girl."

"Dmitri found me before they could get far. Killed them all." She shifts slightly, getting more comfortable. "Mama had a concussion and some bruises, but she's alive. She's at the estate now, but she wants out of Russia as soon as possible."

"And the Orlov Bratva?" I need to know what kind of world we're bringing our child into.

"Chaos," she says simply. "With Vadim and Mikhail both dead, everyone's scrambling to figure out what comes next. But Dmitri says there's no active hit on any of us right now. Everyone's too busy trying to claim territory."

"For now," I say grimly.

"For now," she agrees. "But we're safe, Anton. Dmitri made sure of that."

The mention of my best friend reminds me of something important. "I want guards on you. Round the clock. I'll make sure Dmitri?—"

Lena laughs. "It's already done. Dmitri is practically my shadow. I can't go to the bathroom without him checking the stalls first."

Of course he is. Dmitri knows me well enough to anticipate what I'd want. "Good. Keep it that way until this all settles."

"He's very protective of his nephew," she says, her hand moving to rest on her still-flat stomach. "Or niece. He keeps insisting it's a boy, but I have a feeling he'll spoil them rotten either way."

The image of Dmitri teaching our child to pick locks or throw knives makes me smile despite everything. "He'll be a good uncle."

"The best," she agrees. Then her voice grows quieter. "Anton? What happens now? When you get out of here?"

It's the question I've been avoiding thinking about, even before I almost died. The Bratva world is all I've ever known, but it's no place to raise a family. No place for Lena to be safe and happy.

"We leave," I say finally. "Russia, the Bratva, all of it. We disappear. Find somewhere quiet where our child can grow up normal."

"You'd really walk away from all this?"

I tighten my arm around her carefully. "Lena, you and this baby are my family now. Everything else is just noise."

She's quiet for a long time, and I think she might have fallen asleep.

"I want our child to know where they come from. The good parts, anyway. Your mother's strength, your father's... well, we don’t have to talk about him. My mother's resilience."

"And your stubbornness," I add.

"And your protectiveness." She tilts her head to look at me. "But don’t make any decisions right now. You’ve been conscious five minutes. We’ll worry about what comes next later.”

We lie there in comfortable silence, planning a future that seemed impossible just a few weeks ago. A life where our biggest worry is what to name our baby, not which enemies are hunting us.

"I love you, Mrs. Malikov," I murmur against her hair.

"Not legally, yet," she points out.

"Soon."

"Soon," she agrees, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

For the first time since I was five years old, I'm not planning anyone's death.

I'm just lying here with the woman I love, thinking about cribs and baby names and whether we'll need to childproof our home.

It's the most peaceful I've ever felt in my life.