Page 91 of Blood, Bones, and the Bratva Bogeyman

He shrugs, grabbing his wooden knife and stabbing the pillow next to him with focused precision.

That’s my boy.

Calypso narrows her eyes. “Sit down, Pakhan.”

I can’t help the laugh that rips from my throat as I sit. “You are the boss,Soroka.”

My little magpie has me wrapped around every glitter-dipped finger.

She climbs into my lap as if she owns an empire, because she does, and starts painting my nails with militant focus. She hums under her breath, soft and content, as her brush runs over my nails.

I’d kill to protect that sound.

I already have and would again.

A shadow moves in the doorway. Cressida leans against the frame, her arms crossed and one brow arched. She’s barefoot, her glittery black painted toes on display, wearing one of myshirts and a pair of leggings. She’s fucking dangerous. Her mouth curves, equal parts amused and predatory.

“He let you use the pink glitter again?”

Calypso nods. “Papa said I’m the boss.”

Cressida’s smirk deepens. “Did he now?”

“She is vicious,” I say dryly. “You created a glitter warlord.”

My little fox crosses the room and kneels beside me. Her fingers wrap around my wrist, inspecting the half-finished sparkly mess with faux seriousness. Then she looks up with glowing eyes.

“You love it.”

I do.

More than fucking anything.

I pull Cressida close and kiss her in the way that shows her what she means to me. It is slow and reverent, a vow sealed in silence. Her lips curve against mine before she pulls away.

“Eww,” Calypso groans. “Can you not? I’m working.”

Cressida snorts and rises, scooping Calypso into her arms. “Time for bed, glitter gremlin.”

“But I’m not—”

She gives her a look, and Calypso sighs with a pout. “Fine.”

Nikolai doesn’t argue. He never does. He just trails after them like a little general, scowling and determined to keep them in line.

I watch them disappear, and my heart, this mangled fucking thing in my chest, clenches like it’s still trying to learn to beat around joy.

We weren’t supposed to have this. I used to think love made you weak. That it stripped you down and carved out your edges. But I have come to realize that love doesn’t make me weak, it makes me lethal.

Because I’ll destroy anything that threatens what I love.

We survived the fire Giselda brought to our door.

We bled, we broke, and we built this from the wreckage.

My empire still stands and now, it’s ruled by a girl in a tutu with glitter in her hair.

Climbing to my feet, I follow behind them and dive into the routine we’ve established once Nik was born. Bath then bed then story time with papa.