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I cupped her cheek, looking at her with the same adoration she’d had in her eyes yesterday when my secrets were laid bare for the Bratva leadership. I took both of her hands in mine, tracing my thumb along the smooth backs of hers.

“I adore you, my darling wife.”

She didn’t look up from our joined hands, flipping my palm up. She traced her thumb down the line that should have been there, the scar of a handfast missing from our vows. She opened her mouth, but before she could ask again, I changed the subject.

“I have to go meet Cosima and give her one last chance to surrender peacefully. I’ll be back soon.”

“I should go with you,” she whispered.

I mulled on that for a moment. Men had been watching the meeting spot and would be there the whole time.

O’Malley would be my driver, and he was a sharp fighter.

Shiny herself would be doing oversight, and she was no slouch either.

I wish I could take credit for their training, but I couldn’t.

That had been Dairo who’d insisted on finding veterans and former service members for our ranks.

“Alright,” I said quietly.

What happened next was the single most intimate act I could do as a husband. I dressed my wife.

I brushed her hair and picked a dress from her luggage.

I chose flats from among her things just in case something happened, and we’d need to run.

Neither of us would wear armor since the meeting would take place in public.

No one wanted things to end in a shootout and attract the attention of the law.

From what Morelli told me, Cosima was too clever a woman for something like that to happen. I touched Kira’s skin as I pulled up the zipper of her dress, placing a kiss at the base of her neck where the collar began. It felt intimate because it wasn’t just for the purpose of lust.

I sat her on the bed and carefully rolled tights up her legs to keep her warm against the cold spring. I kissed where they ended at her thighs, feeling the tender skin there, resisting the urge to place my teeth marks on her skin.

Before I left my place on my knees in front of her, I gave her another confession of my own.

“I knew about Giorgio Morelli,” I whispered, holding her hand. “Not who helped you, but that you had killed him.”

She nodded solemnly. “After yesterday, that means you know everything about me.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was so soft, so heavy with shame that I wanted to reach out and pull her onto my lap. But I wouldn’t just yet. “If this changes things—”

“Why would it?” I asked, my thumb caressing the delicate lines of her palm. God, I was a sorry fool for still wanting to see a mark there.

She looked at me, blinking in surprise. Then she flushed, her eyes darting away from me. “I was a whore, Eoghan. I whored—”

I grabbed her chin and turned her to face me, feeling my heart pounding in my chest.

“I do not accept your premise, Love,” I said through clenched teeth, whispering despite the power of my emotions. “You were saving a life. Your father’s life. I accept that as nothing short of an act of desperation and love. I, of all people, should understand such a thing.”

She looked at me, her eyes searching my face for any sign of a lie. I shook my head.

“Do not doubt me, sweet Muse.” I ran my knuckles against her skin, and she looked away.

“You are perpetually forgiving me, it seems,” she said, as she pulled my hand from her face and clasped it in both of hers.

“This is not something that needs forgiveness.” I bowed my head, planting a kiss on her hands again. “That was how you became aligned with Paradigm?”

She nodded.

“Tell me honestly: Are you really my wife?” Were the papers, the name, the marriage falsified? Or could they be waved away with a simple sleight of hand from Jericho’s contacts?

“Yes,” she whispered, the softness of her voice did nothing to blunt the conviction within them. “The marriage is real.”

“Is it?” I was asking a question that was slightly different from the first. “Tell me plainly. I need to hear it. Are you truly my wife ?”

“I am!”

How many times had she cried before me? How many tears had she shed in my presence? How many were caused by me? How many should I have prevented? I wasn’t sure. Too many to count, and I didn’t know how to make it stop. She blinked her tears away, her lips pulled down in a frown.

“I want to be.” Her voice delicately wavered with her honesty. “If you let me.”

Of all the most ridiculous notions she had, this was the silliest. The fact that she believed I had any choice but to worship at her feet.

I got up, went to one of the bags, and pulled out the large emerald ring that I had placed on her finger when we wed. I came back, sank down onto one knee, and kissed the back of her hand.

“Will you wear this for me?” I asked.

It wasn’t a proposal, but it was better than a contract and money. It was better than an ironclad prenup in her favor. At least, it was to me.

It was my mother’s ring. One I hoped to give our son when he was ready to choose his bride.

She looked at me, her eyes bright with tears. She didn’t say anything. She simply swallowed and nodded her head, offering me her hand, her ring finger extended. I put the ring back where it belonged and let out a relieved breath.

I bent down to kiss her hand again and said the words, “My Wife. My Muse. My Kira.”