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Oleg sits across from me, the file in his hand, his expression more serious than usual. I can tell something’s off as soon as he walks in. He doesn’t waste time, which I appreciate. No small talk—just straight to the point.

“I’ve been doing some digging,” he starts, handing me the file. “It’s about Jennifer’s mother, Cristy Jewels.”

I narrow my eyes, taking the file from him and flipping it open. The papers inside are full of dates, police records, and reports, all leading to her death. I scan them quickly, piecing together the story, but I want to hear it from Oleg.

“She was killed by a Bratva member during a shootout,” Oleg continues, his voice heavy. “One of our own.”

I pause, my eyes flicking up to meet his. “Who?”

Oleg hesitates. I can see the shift in his posture, the slight tensing of his shoulders. He knows better than to withhold information from me. Finally, he says, “It was Kirill.”

The name hits me harder than I expect. My cousin, Anatoly. It’s been years since I’ve seen him, not since we sent him to Russia to avoid the charges. He was always reckless, always a fucking liability. Young, stupid, and quick to act without thinking. When the shootout happened, he was just a kid—barely twenty-one. The Bratva stepped in and took care of it, tucked him away in Russia, and that was that.

“Anatoly,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“It was considered minor at the time,” Oleg explains. “There were bigger things happening. Anatoly was shipped off, and the case was buried. Cristy Jewels… she was just collateral damage.”

I close the file, my fingers tightening around the edge. This was the real reason Jennifer hated me, why she ran. It wasn’t just fear or betrayal—her mother’s death was tied directly to the Bratva. To my family. To me, whether I knew it or not.

“Justice was never served for her,” Oleg adds, his voice quieter now. “Anatoly’s been living comfortably in Russia, and her family got nothing. Jennifer never got any closure.”

I slam the file shut, the sound echoing through the office. The anger inside me burns hotter. Anatoly had been protected. The Bratva had protected him, and in doing so, they had buried the truth, left Jennifer and her family with nothing. Now I understand why she wanted to run, why she betrayed me.

“She was just a kid when it happened,” Oleg continues. “Her mother was all she had. You can understand her decision now, right? Her decision to disassociate herself from you and the Bratva. She lost her mother because of us. Hell, I almost feel bad for her.”

Oleg’s words sink in, and for the first time, I feel the anger I’ve been holding on to start to fade. My resentment towards Jennifer for running, for betraying me—it’s all starting to make sense. I can’t say I would’ve done anything differently if I were in her place.

I stare at the closed file on my desk, my mind running through everything. Oleg’s right. Jennifer had every reason to hate me, every reason to run. The Bratva took away the only family she had, and I hadn’t even known.

“So what now?” I ask, not really expecting an answer.

Oleg leans back, crossing his arms as he studies me. “That’s up to you. If you want my opinion? This changes things. You can’t just punish her like you’ve been planning to. She had her reasons, and they weren’t exactly wrong.”

I don’t respond right away, still processing everything. Oleg’s right—again. Punishing her feels… wrong. It feels beneath me now that I know the truth.

Still, it’s hard to let go of the anger completely. She left me. She betrayed me. Even if it was for a reason I can now understand, it doesn’t change the fact that she tried to cut me out of her life. And the possessiveness I feel toward her—it hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s mine, and I’m not going to let her go.

“Oleg,” I say after a moment, my voice steady. “Keep this quiet. No one else needs to know about Anatoly’s involvement. As far as the Bratva is concerned, Jennifer is still my wife, and nothing changes that.”

Oleg nods, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “And Jennifer?” he asks. “What are you going to do about her?”

I stand, walking over to the window, the city sprawling out below. A strange mix of emotions churns inside me—anger, guilt, maybe even regret. Above all, there’s a deep sense of responsibility. Jennifer had every reason to hate me, to hate the Bratva. Now that I know the truth, there’s no turning back.

“I’m going to make things right,” I finally say. “She’s still mine, and she needs to understand that.”

Oleg doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he agrees. He gives a slight nod before turning and leaving the office.

As the door clicks shut, I sit back down at my desk, staring at the closed file. Jennifer has every reason to hate me, but she’s still mine. I’ll make her see that, no matter what it takes.

***

I return home as the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the garden. As I approach, I spot Jennifer strolling through the rows of flowers with Tyler in her arms. There’s a softness to the moment that catches me off guard— the way she looks down at him, her expression peaceful, content. She’s always been good with him. Better than I could ever be.

That’s about to change.

I step into the garden, my shoes crunching on the gravel path. Jennifer looks up, her eyes narrowing slightly, but Tyler’s reaction is immediate. His little arms stretch out toward me, babbling some nonsense that makes both me and Jennifer pause.

“He wants you to hold him,” she says, her voice soft but surprised.

For a second, I hesitate. I’m not exactly the nurturing type. Yet, something compels me to step forward, to reach out and take my son from her arms. He feels warm and small against my chest, his weight surprisingly comforting. I don’t realize I’m smiling until Jennifer raises an eyebrow.

“You’re smiling,” she remarks, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”

I blink, glancing down at Tyler, who stares back up at me with his wide, curious eyes. I hadn’t noticed. It feels… natural, holding him. He’s a part of me, after all.

We walk together for a while, and the silence is not as tense as it used to be. Tyler babbles contently in my arms, his small head resting against my shoulder. The garden is quiet, just the sounds of the evening settling in around us. I feel a strange sense of peace, something I haven’t felt in years.

As we round a corner, Jennifer slows her pace, and I do the same. Her eyes flicker to Tyler, who’s slowly falling asleep, and then back to me.

“Timur…,” she begins, her voice hesitant, like she’s searching for the right words. “I never expected this. You with him. It’s… different.”

I nod slightly, knowing exactly what she means. “I didn’t either.”

We stop near a bench, and I sit down, still holding Tyler against my chest. He’s asleep now, his small breaths rhythmic and steady. I glance at Jennifer, and the weight of everything that’s happened—the lies, the running, the betrayal—settles between us. Yet somehow, none of it seems to matter in this moment.

“I know about your mother,” I say quietly, watching her reaction carefully. Her body tenses, and she meets my gaze, her eyes wide and startled.

“My cousin, Anatoly,” I continue, my voice low. “He’s the one responsible for what happened. He was young, stupid, and reckless. The Bratva sent him away to avoid the consequences, but I know what that loss did to you, Jennifer.”

She stares at me, her expression a mix of shock and something else I can’t quite place. Pain, maybe. Or confusion. I can’t tell.

“I understand now why you ran,” I add, my tone firm. “Why you did what you did. Revenge is a core value in Bratva. An eye for an eye.”

I pause, glancing down at Tyler before looking back at her. “You’re a Sharov now. That means something. So… say it. What do you want me to do to him?”

Jennifer looks taken aback, her breath catching in her throat. She stares at me for a long moment, processing my words. I’m offering her revenge. The chance to take back what Anatoly stole from her.

Then, something changes in her expression. The sharpness fades, replaced by something softer.

“I don’t want that,” she whispers, shaking her head slowly. “I’m… I’m content without revenge. It won’t bring my mother back. Right now, I’m living my life with our beautiful baby boy. I’m happy… despite everything. Or at least, I can learn to be.”

Her words surprise me, but they’re genuine. There’s no hate left in her, no burning desire for vengeance. She’s moved on, somehow. As I look at her, holding our son, I start to realize that maybe… maybe she’s right.

“Just promise me one thing,” she adds softly, stepping closer. “Don’t turn him heartless, Timur. Don’t make him like… like you.”

Her plea catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. She’s asking for something I’m not sure I can promise. As I look down at Tyler, sleeping so peacefully, I feel a tug in my chest.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I nod slowly, pulling her close, keeping my voice low. “I’ll try,” I say, unsure if I can even keep that promise. For now, it’s enough.

As the last of Jennifer’s words fade into the cool evening air, I find myself staring at her, unable to shake the quiet strength in her voice. She doesn’t want revenge. It’s a concept so foreign to me, one I’ve built my life around. Here she stands, offering me something else—something purer.

I move closer, my hand brushing against her arm. Her eyes meet mine, soft yet resolute, and something stirs in me. Without thinking, I lean down, pressing my lips to hers. The kiss starts slow, tentative, as if we’re both testing the waters. Then it deepens, heat spreading between us like wildfire. My hand slips around her waist, pulling her closer, and she melts against me, her body giving in just as easily as it always does.

Her lips part, and I take the invitation, exploring the warmth of her mouth. It’s not the first time we’ve kissed, but something about this moment feels different. There’s a rawness, an unspoken understanding between us that wasn’t there before. My hands slide up her back, fingers tangling in her hair, and she lets out a soft gasp against my mouth.

For a moment, everything else disappears. The past, the lies, even the pain. It’s just us. I kiss her harder, savoring the feel of her body against mine. She tastes like home, like something I never knew I needed until now.

A soft cry breaks the moment.

We both freeze, pulling apart as Tyler stirs in my arms. His tiny fists clench, his face scrunching in discomfort, and Jennifer is at his side instantly, her hands gentle as she soothes him. “Shh, baby,” she coos softly, rubbing his back. “It’s okay. Mama’s here.”

I watch her, my chest tight with something unfamiliar. Seeing her like this—so tender, so natural with our son—does something to me. She smiles down at Tyler, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and for the first time in a long while, I feel… peace.

“Come on,” I say after a moment, my voice rougher than intended. “Let’s go inside.”

Jennifer nods, still humming softly to Tyler as we walk back toward the house. The garden fades behind us, and soon we’re sitting on the sofa in the living room, the warmth of the fire crackling beside us. She lays Tyler down gently on a blanket nearby, and he settles back to sleep.

I turn to her, leaning forward slightly. “Are you sure?” I ask, my voice low. “About not wanting revenge. It’s a rare opportunity, Jennifer. Not many get the chance.”

She glances at Tyler, a soft smile tugging at her lips before meeting my gaze again. “I’m sure,” she whispers. “My mother wouldn’t have wanted it.”

Her words hang in the air, and I can see the conviction in her eyes. She’s not just saying it for the sake of peace. She means it.

“What was she like?” I ask, surprising even myself with the question. I’ve never cared much about someone else’s past, especially not in the way I care now. I want to know—about her mother, about what shaped Jennifer into the woman sitting before me.

Jennifer’s face softens, and she leans back against the cushions, her eyes distant as she begins to speak. “She was… everything to me,” she starts, her voice thick with emotion. “Strong, brave, kind. She was a police officer, and she always stood up for what was right. No matter the cost.”

I listen, my gaze fixed on her, watching the way her eyes light up when she talks about her mother. “She raised me alone,” Jennifer continues, a sad smile on her lips. “My father wasn’t in the picture, but she never let me feel like I was missing anything. She worked long hours, but she always made time for me. We didn’t have much, but she gave me everything.”

Her words hit me harder than I expect. I can see the love she had for her mother, the way her voice trembles when she talks about her. “She always wanted to protect me,” Jennifer adds, her eyes glistening. “Even after I went off to college at eighteen, she’d call me after her shifts just to make sure I was okay.”

Jennifer pauses, her hand brushing against Tyler’s tiny foot as he sleeps soundly beside us. “When she was killed,” she whispers, her voice cracking, “it broke me. I couldn’t think straight. I was so angry.”

I reach for her hand, my fingers brushing over hers, and she doesn’t pull away. “I get it,” I say quietly. “Violence is… part of this life.”

Jennifer meets my gaze, her expression softening as she nods. “I know,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I just want to raise our son in peace. I want him to be safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

My chest tightens, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. I know one thing—I’m not going to let anything happen to them. Not anymore.

“You don’t have to worry,” I say, my voice firm. “He’ll be safe. Both of you will.”

Jennifer smiles softly, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can actually keep that promise.