Page 153 of Bratva Bidder

He nods, then surprises me. “I’m not scared anymore.”

I blink. “Scared of what?”

“Everything,” he says simply. “I used to be scared all the time. Even when I didn’t say it.”

I hug him close, burying my face in the crook of his neck. His skin smells like salt and sunscreen and life.

When I pull back, my eyes sting, but I smile through it. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too,” he says, with the kind of honesty only children possess.

Later, we eat watermelon on the sand, and Mila gets sticky juice all over her chin. Konstantin carves their initials into the driftwood log we’re sitting on. Irina dozes in the shade of an umbrella, snoring softly.

We’re staying in a little white cottage nestled at the edge of a dune, its windows always thrown open to the breeze and the scent of salt. It’s part of a sleepy coastal town that doesn’t ask questions, the kind of place with fishermen who nod in greeting and neighbors who loan you sunscreen and fresh mangoes. The cottage came with faded blue shutters, a porch swing, and an old radio that still crackles with music when you turn the dial just right.

I’m lying on the couch in the living room, the late afternoon sun stretching golden fingers across the floorboards. The air is warm, a lullaby of gull cries and gentle waves seeping through the open window. I didn’t mean to fall asleep—just closed my eyes for a moment—but when I wake, the sky outside has shifted to dusk.

I blink up at the ceiling.

It’s too quiet.

I sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Mila?” I call, voice still scratchy. “Nikolai?”

No answer.

I pad to the kitchen, which is empty as well. The kids’ shoes are gone, and so is Irina’s scarf. I glance outside. The beach is still, tinged with lavender and flame as the sun prepares to dip below the horizon.

“Konstantin?” I call again, stepping out onto the porch. A breeze lifts the hem of my dress, and something uneasy stirs inside me. It’s not like them to disappear without a word.

Then I see them, little glimmers of light far down the beach. Candles, maybe? Lanterns? It’s hard to tell from here. They flicker in a line, like breadcrumbs laid out just for me.

I step down into the sand, barefoot, heart thudding a little harder than it should. The path of lights leads toward a cove, half-shielded by a rocky outcrop we haven’t explored yet.

The sky is violet now, the stars just beginning to wink awake.

I round the bend and gasp.

Dozens of little lanterns glow in the sand, forming a soft, glowing circle. Irina stands nearby with a hand over her heart, beaming. Mila and Nikolai are there too, holding sparklers, their faces lit with excitement. Someone’s even managed to hang fairy lights between two wooden stakes in the sand, casting a soft shimmer over the waterline.

“Surprise,” says a voice behind me.

I turn, and Konstantin is there, wearing a linen shirt that clings to his chest, his hair still damp from the ocean, eyes gleaming with something I haven’t seen before.

Hope.

“You scared me,” I whisper, pressing a hand to my chest.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, taking a step closer. “But I wanted it to be perfect.”

And then he drops to one knee.

My breath catches.

He doesn’t pull out a ring. Instead, he takes my hand and presses something cool into my palm. A seashell. A tiny, perfect spiral.

“I don’t have a fancy ring yet. I wanted to do this here, just us.”

My eyes are blurring. “Konstantin…”