Page 41 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

"Everyone seems to think that." Frustration bleeds into his voice. "Dmitri thinks I should do it. Elena thinks I should run. You..." He looks at me intently. "You haven't told me what you think."

I've been dreading this moment when he would ask me directly for my opinion. Because the truth is, I don't know what the right answer is.

"I think," I say slowly, "that whatever you decide, we'll face it together. But I also think you need to decide what kind of father you want to be."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you want to be the kind of father who teaches our child to shoot before they can ride a bike?

Do you want them to grow up knowing that Daddy kills people for a living?

" I place my hand on my stomach. "Or do you want to be the kind of father who coaches soccer and helps with homework and worries about normal things like grades and curfews? "

Anton is quiet for a long time, staring out at the moonlit gardens. "When I was a child," he finally says, "before everything went wrong, my mother used to read me stories about knights and dragons. Good versus evil, with clear lines and happy endings."

"I remember you telling me that."

"I used to dream about being one of those knights. Protecting people, fighting for something good and pure." His laugh is bitter. "Instead, I became the dragon."

"You're not a dragon, Anton. You are and will always be my knight. I will support you in whatever you do. If you choose the Bratva, I’ll stand beside you. I know you’ll make the changes we talked about. If you choose to walk away, I’ll stand beside you.”

He looks into my eyes for several long seconds.

I see the decision he’s made.

He takes my hand and leads me inside.

We climb the stairs to the master bedroom we will be sleeping in for the first time tonight. We removed every last bit of furniture left behind by my parents. We even replaced the rugs and window coverings. There was nothing left of that unholy union.

The bedroom is bathed in soft candlelight, rose petals scattered across the fresh white linens. Anton closes the door behind us.

Suddenly the magnitude of this moment hits me.

We're married.

We're having a baby.

We survived everything that tried to tear us apart.

"Mrs. Malikov," he says softly, approaching me with that predatory grace that still makes my pulse quicken.

"I like the sound of that," I whisper as his hands frame my face.

His kiss is gentle at first, reverent, like he's afraid I might disappear if he holds too tight. But I need more than gentle tonight. I need to feel alive, to celebrate that we made it through the darkness into this light.

"I need you," I breathe against his lips. "All of you."

Something shifts in his eyes—hunger replacing tenderness. His hands move to the buttons of my dress, working them free one by one. The silk pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but white lace and moonlight.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his gaze traveling over my body with pure love in his eyes. When his eyes linger on the small swell of my belly, something fierce and possessive crosses his features. "My wife. My baby."

The words send heat pooling low in my stomach. I reach for his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine. My fingers trace the still-pink scars across his chest—reminders of how close I came to losing him.

"Don't think about that tonight," he says, reading my expression. "Tonight is about us. About this."

He lifts me onto the bed with careful strength, his mouth finding the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. I arch beneath him, my hands tangling in his dark hair.

"Anton," I gasp as his lips trail lower, worshipping every inch of exposed skin.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he whispers against my collarbone. "The baby?—"

"Won't hurt the baby," I assure him, pulling his face back to mine. "I need my husband. Please."

The last of his restraint snaps. His mouth claims mine with desperate hunger while his hands map my changed body with wonder. Every touch is electric, sending sparks through my oversensitive skin.

When he finally joins us together, it's with exquisite slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. The connection is overwhelming—not just physical, but something deeper. Soul-deep. Complete.

"I love you," he breathes against my ear as we move together in perfect rhythm. "Forever. Always."

"Forever," I echo, lost in the sensation of being so completely claimed, so utterly his.

We take our time, savoring every kiss, every caress, every whispered endearment. This isn't just passion—it's a promise.

Every caress is deliberate, drawing out the most pleasure.

"You're so perfect," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. "So incredibly perfect."

I arch into his touch, my skin hypersensitive to every brush of his lips, every whisper of his breath. The scars on his chest catch the candlelight, reminders of how precious this is, how easily it could have been lost.

"Don't stop," I breathe, my hands sliding down the strong planes of his back. "Please don't stop."

He shifts above me, careful of my changing body, his movements slow and reverent.

When he kisses me again, I taste salt—tears, though I'm not sure if they're his or mine. Maybe both. The overwhelming gratitude that we're here, alive, together.

"My wife," he whispers against my throat. The word sends shivers through me. "My beautiful wife."

My hands tangle in his hair as sensation builds, white-hot and consuming.

"Anton," I gasp, his name a prayer on my lips.

"I've got you," he promises, his forehead pressed to mine. "I'll always have you."

When release finally claims us both, it's with a tenderness that brings tears to my eyes.

We collapse together, breathless and sated, his hand immediately finding its way to rest protectively over our child.

"No regrets?" he asks softly, echoing his earlier question.

"None," I whisper, settling against his chest where his heart beats strong and steady beneath my cheek.

"This is exactly where I belong."

As sleep begins to claim us both, I think about the decision he still needs to make about the Bratva. But that can wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow we'll face whatever comes next.

Together.