Page 37 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

The cemetery stretched out under an overcast Chicago sky, headstones dotting the green landscape like scattered teeth.

Kostya stood slightly behind Azriel, close enough to catch her if she fell but far enough to give her space to grieve.

The small gathering consisted of just them, the priest, and two gravediggers who waited respectfully at a distance.

Danny Hartford’s funeral was a modest affair.

No elaborate flower arrangements, no crowds of mourners, just a simple casket and a woman saying goodbye to a father who had never deserved her love.

Kostya had arranged everything quietly, using contacts who knew how to handle burials without asking questions about the cause of death.

Azriel stood perfectly still as the priest spoke about forgiveness and eternal rest, her black dress stark against her pale skin.

She hadn’t cried yet, not since that moment in the warehouse when she’d whispered those three words against his neck.

The shock was still there, written in the careful way she held herself, the distant look in her smoky gray eyes.

Kostya’s chest tightened as he watched her drop a single white rose onto the lowering casket. He’d killed men before, dozens of them, and never lost sleep over it. But seeing Azriel stand over her father’s grave, knowing his bullet had put Danny there, carved something hollow in his stomach.

“Thank you,” she said quietly as they walked back toward the car, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. “For arranging this. For letting me say goodbye properly.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that.” The words came out rougher than he intended. “Azriel, about what happened...”

“Don’t.” She stopped walking and turned to face him fully. “Don’t you dare apologize for saving my life.”

“I killed your father.”

“My father killed himself the moment he decided to use me as bait.” Her voice was steady, matter-of-fact. “What you did in that warehouse—that was justice. Maybe the only kind of justice Danny Hartford was ever going to face.”

Kostya studied her face, looking for signs of the breakdown he was sure had to be coming. But all he saw was a woman who had made peace with hard truths, who understood the world they lived in better than he’d given her credit for.

“He’s finally at peace now,” she continued, glancing back toward the cemetery. “And he can’t hurt anyone else. Maybe that’s how it was always supposed to end.”

They drove home in comfortable silence, her hand resting on his thigh as he navigated the afternoon traffic. The weight of her touch grounded him, reminded him that she was here, alive, choosing to be beside him despite everything that had happened.

The mansion felt different when they walked through the front door, like a house that had been holding its breath and could finally exhale. Kostya helped her out of her coat, his fingers lingering on her shoulders longer than necessary.

“I should change,” she said, but made no move toward the stairs.

“You should.” He turned her to face him, his hands framing her face. “But first, tell me how you’re really doing.”

“I’m tired.” The admission came out soft, vulnerable. “I’m sad for the man he could have been, the father I wished he were. But I’m not sad that he’s gone, and that makes me feel guilty.”

“You don’t get to choose how you grieve.” Kostya’s thumbs traced the sharp line of her cheekbones. “There’s no right way to mourn someone who hurt you.”

She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing for a moment. “Stay with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

They went upstairs together, and Kostya sat on the edge of the bed while she changed into comfortable clothes.

The domestic intimacy of it struck him as profound in a way that surprised him.

This was what he’d been fighting for in that warehouse, what he’d kill for again without hesitation.

Not just her body or her presence, but these quiet moments that made a house feel like a home.

His phone buzzed against the nightstand, but he ignored it. Whatever crisis was brewing in the Bratva world could wait. Tonight belonged to them.

“Kostya?” Azriel emerged from the bathroom in soft pajamas, her hair loose around her shoulders. “Will you tell me about your mother?”

The question caught him off guard. “My mother?”

“You’ve told me stories about your brothers, your cousins, but never her.” She settled beside him on the bed, tucking her legs beneath her. “I’d like to know about the woman who raised you.”

Kostya was quiet for a long moment, sorting through memories he rarely allowed himself to revisit. “She was fierce. Protective. She used to say that the Nikolai men were born with too much fire in their blood, and it was her job to teach us how to use it without burning down everything we loved.”

“Did she succeed?”

“With some of us more than others.” He smiled at the memory of his mother’s exasperated sighs when she’d catch him and his brothers fighting in the garden. “She died when I was fifteen. Cancer. It was fast, which I suppose was a mercy.”

Azriel’s hand found his, their fingers interlacing naturally. “She would have liked me, I think.”

“She would have adored you.” The certainty in his voice surprised them both. “She always said the right woman would be the one who could handle our world without letting it change who she was at heart. You did that, even when everything was falling apart around us.”

“I had good reason to survive.” Her thumb traced patterns on the back of his hand. “I had something worth fighting for.”

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Kostya turned to study her profile in the lamplight, memorizing the curve of her lips, the determined set of her jaw. She was beautiful, but it was more than that. She was his match in every way that mattered.

“Azriel.”

“Hmm?”

“I meant what I said on the phone. Before everything went to hell.” He waited until she met his eyes. “I love you. Not because you’re my wife or because of how this all started. I love you because you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and you chose to let me be part of your life anyway.”

Her smile was radiant, transforming her face from pretty to breathtaking. “I love you too. I think I have for a while now, but I was too scared to admit it. Too scared that caring about you that much would make me weak.”

“And now?”

“Now I know it makes me stronger.” She shifted closer, her hand moving to rest over his heart. “When my father had that gun to my head, all I could think about was protecting you. About making sure we both made it out alive. Love didn’t make me weak, Kostya. It made me fight.”

He kissed her then, soft and reverent, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the connection between them. She responded with equal tenderness, her lips moving against his like a promise.

When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his, both of them breathing hard.

“What happens now?” she whispered.

“Now we build something together. Something that’s ours.” His hands tangled in her hair, holding her close. “No more secrets, no more half-truths. Just us, figuring out what forever looks like.”

“I’d like that.”

They settled back against the pillows, Azriel’s head on his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her.

For the first time in weeks, Kostya felt something close to peace.

The threats were neutralized, the woman he loved was safe in his arms, and the future stretched out before them full of possibility.

His phone buzzed again, more insistently this time. With a sigh, he reached for it, careful not to disturb Azriel.

The message was from Viktor: Need to talk. New development with the Hartford situation. Not urgent, but soon.

Kostya frowned, his thumb hovering over the screen. The Hartford situation was supposed to be closed. Danny was dead, his associates either killed in the warehouse firefight or scattered to the wind. What new development could there be?

“Work?” Azriel’s voice was drowsy, content.

“Nothing that can’t wait until morning.” He set the phone aside and tightened his arms around her. Whatever Viktor had discovered, it would keep. Tonight was about them, about the love they’d finally acknowledged and the life they were going to build together.

But even as he closed his eyes, a small part of his mind remained alert, processing possibilities.

In their world, loose ends had a way of becoming nooses.

Danny Hartford was dead, but the network he’d been part of, the rivals who had helped orchestrate Azriel’s kidnapping, they were still out there.

And if Viktor was calling it a development worth discussing, it meant the game was far from over.

Kostya’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Let them come. He’d shown mercy once, tried to handle Danny’s betrayal with restraint, and it had nearly cost him everything.

If others thought they could threaten what was his, they were about to learn that Kostya Nikolai’s capacity for mercy had limits.

But that was tomorrow’s war. Tonight, he had everything he needed right here in his arms.

“Sleep, solnyshka ,” he murmured against Azriel’s hair, using the Russian endearment that meant sunshine. “I’ve got you.”

She made a soft sound of contentment, burrowing deeper into his embrace. Within minutes, her breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep.

Kostya lay awake longer, listening to the steady beat of her heart against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing. This woman had changed everything for him, had shown him what it meant to have something worth protecting beyond family loyalty and Bratva honor.

Whatever storm was brewing on the horizon, whatever enemies were gathering in the shadows, they would face it together. He’d make sure of that.

His phone buzzed one final time, but he didn’t reach for it. The world outside could wait. Right now, there was only this: the woman he loved safe in his arms, the quiet peace of a battle won, and the promise of whatever came next.

In the distance, thunder rumbled across the Chicago skyline, but inside the mansion, all was still.

For now.