Page 35 of Crystal Veil (Rostov Bratva #2)

ELENA

The wind brushes against my cheek as I step out onto the upstairs balcony, the salty air stirring my hair like a whisper.

Evening paints the sky in streaks of lavender and rose, the last rays of sunlight dripping across the horizon like melted gold.

Below, the estate grounds stretch out, palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze.

From up here, everything looks serene. But inside me, nothing feels quiet.

My fingers trace the smooth marble railing as I lean forward. Every decision I've made has led to this moment, standing here in Renat's sanctuary, carrying his child, feeling the ground shift beneath my feet in ways I never expected.

The door behind me opens with a soft creak.

I don't have to turn to know it's Amelia.

She's the only one who comes without making noise, without needing permission.

The only person who ever let me be Elena Martinez without asking for anything else in return.

Her presence wraps around me like a warm blanket, familiar and comforting.

“Thought I'd find you out here,” she murmurs, her voice as familiar as my own heartbeat.

She steps beside me, her hand resting lightly on the balcony rail.

She's dressed simply, in a soft linen blouse tucked into jeans, her hair swept back in a low ponytail.

The years have only made her more striking, but it's the fire in her eyes that still anchors me.

That spark of determination reminds me that, even when we were children, we could be more than our circumstances.

“I needed air,” I whisper, my voice a hush above the distant sound of waves.

She studies me in silence, her blue eyes reading me like an open book. “That's not all you needed.”

I bite my lip, my fingers curling around the railing.

I know why she's here. Because I told her everything.

About Renat. About the baby. About the choices I've made that terrify me more than anything I've faced as a journalist. And because she knows me better than anyone, she's not going to let me hide behind my walls.

“He let Sergey live,” I state. The words feel like ice melting on my tongue. “But he didn't let him walk away whole. He stripped him of everything. His title. His ink. His identity. Sent him to Siberia with nothing but shame and regret.”

Amelia exhales, slow and steady. Her fingers drum against the railing, a nervous habit she's had since childhood. “And how do you feel about that?”

I think about the look in Renat's eyes when he turned away from Sergey.

The steel in his voice when he delivered judgment.

The way his hands remained steady even as he pronounced a fate worse than death.

He could have pulled the trigger. The old Renat, the one driven purely by brutality and tradition, would have.

But he didn't. He chose something else that showed mercy and wrath all at once.

“I don't know,” I admit, my voice cracking slightly. “Part of me wanted him to end it. But I couldn’t let him live with Sergey’s blood on his hands.”

She turns sharply toward me. “Elena...”

I close my eyes, letting the truth settle into my bones.

Renat is ruthless, but he's not cruel. He's controlled by principle, not rage.

Every violent act he commits is calculated.

Strategic. And when he touches me, there is no domination in it.

No erasure of who I am. Only heat. Only worship and reverence that make my knees weak.

The breeze picks up, carrying with it the scent of night-blooming cereus from the garden below. I open my eyes and watch as the last traces of daylight fade from the sky, leaving us in the soft glow of the estate's security lights.

“He chose to let Sergey live,” I continue, my voice growing stronger. “He chose restraint when everything in his world told him to choose violence. And he's been different. Since I told him about the baby.”

The memory of that conversation floods back.

The way his face went completely still, his eyes widening just a fraction before he pulled me into his arms. The way he held me like I was made of spun glass, his large hands trembling against my back.

The way he whispered promises in Russian against my hair, words I didn't need to understand to feel their depth.

Amelia's smile is gentle. The same one she's worn since we were children, sharing secrets under blanket forts. “Isn't that what we all want? Someone who changes for the better because they love us?”

I laugh softly, the sound brittle and raw.

“He tells me he wants a future with me. With our child.

He talks about schools and birthday parties and normal things that seem impossible in his world.

But I keep waiting for the moment he decides I'm a weakness. The day he looks at me and sees a crack in his empire, not a piece of his heart.”

“You don’t trust love because that’s what you saw growing up,” Amelia responds, her voice firm but kind.

“But love isn't weakness. It's strength.

It's the thing your mother clung to in the dark. The thing that made her leave Cuba with nothing but the clothes on her back and a baby in her arms. The thing that made her keep going when everything else fell apart.”

I nod, tears finally slipping free, warm against my cheeks. “She was the strongest person I ever knew. And I love her…always.”

“And she raised the strongest woman I know.” Amelia squeezes my hand, her grip firm and reassuring.

“You didn't choose this man because he scares you.

You chose him because he makes you feel seen.

Because when he looks at you, he doesn't see a broken little girl hiding in closets. He sees the woman who faced him down with a lie on her lips and fire in her eyes.”

Her truth slices through me, clean and precise, leaving nowhere to hide.

I think about the first time I met Renat, how he looked at me across that crowded gala like I was the only person in the room.

Not because I was beautiful or available, but because I was challenging him. Because I was standing my ground.

“He doesn't try to make me smaller,” I whisper, the realization blooming in my chest. “He doesn't ask me to be less than I am.”

“No,” Amelia agrees. “He doesn't. And that's how you know he's different.”

The breeze catches my hair, lifting it like a lover's hand. I look out at the darkening sky, stars blinking to life one by one. The moon hangs low and full, its silver light shining across the distant water.

She's right. Renat doesn't hold me in his world like a possession.

He guards me like I'm the only thing that matters.

He listens, even when I fight him. He respects my voice.

My choices. My opinions, even when they contradict his own instincts.

And beneath all that danger and control, there is a man who is afraid of losing me.

A man who wants to protect not just my body but my soul.

I press a hand to my stomach, where new life stirs beneath my ribs. The baby is real now, more than just a positive test. I felt the first real flutter of movement yesterday, so subtle I almost missed it. But it was there, a tiny reminder that I'm not just making choices for myself anymore.

“I'm not afraid anymore,” I whisper, the words carried on the wind.

“Good,” Amelia sighs, stepping back. “Because it's time to stop running.”

She leaves me silent as she came, and I stand in the fading light alone but not lonely.

The sky shifts to indigo, and far below, I see Renat stepping out onto the garden path.

He's shed his jacket, his white shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Even from this distance, I can see the tension in his shoulders.

He looks up, sensing me the way he always does. Our eyes meet across the distance, and the hard lines of his face soften as he smiles. Not the sharp, dangerous smile he wears for the world, but the gentle one reserved only for me.

I smile back, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I descend the stairs slowly, my bare feet silent on the marble.

The house is quiet around me, most of the staff having retired for the evening.

Security moves like shadows in the periphery, but they give me space, understanding that I belong here now.

I find Renat standing beside the fountain. The water glimmers in the moonlight, creating patterns of silver that dance across his face.

“You're beautiful,” he murmurs as I approach.

I reach him, and his hands come up to frame my face, his thumbs brushing away the last traces of tears. His touch is gentle, like he's afraid I might disappear.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “For pulling away. For being afraid.”

He shakes his head, his fingers tangling in my hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. I knew what I was asking when I asked you to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” I tell him, and mean it. “I trust you with my life. With our child's life.”

His eyes close briefly, and when they open, I see emotion that makes my chest ache.

“I love you,” he breathes. “I love you more than I thought possible. More than I ever wanted to love anyone.”

I rise on my toes, my hands fisting in his shirt. “I love you too. I choose you, Renat. Not because you saved me. Not because I need you. But because I want you. Because you make me want to be brave.”

He kisses me, soft and deep, pouring years of longing into the space between us. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against the solid wall of his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, matching the rhythm of my own.

When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine, his breathing ragged.

“Come upstairs with me,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire.

I nod, unable to speak past the emotion clogging my throat.