Page 20

Ivan

Back in New York, the city’s familiar pulse throbs around me as I step through the front door of my home. The past few days have been a blur of meetings, business, and securing the empire I’ve built. Now, as I cross the threshold, a strange sense of anticipation settles in my chest. It’s been a while since I’ve had a moment of quiet, and as I head towards my study, I wonder if Sarah has managed to find some semblance of peace in this place.

When I push open the door to the study, I’m met with a sight that stops me in my tracks. Sarah is sitting on the edge of the large leather chair, her back turned to me as she flips through a worn photo album. The room is filled with the soft rustle of turning pages, the dim light from the desk lamp casting a warm glow over her as she studies the images.

She looks up as I enter, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and something else—something softer, more vulnerable. “I was just tidying up,” she says quickly, as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “I found this tucked away in one of the drawers.”

I cross the room, my gaze drifting to the album in her lap. It’s been years since I’ve seen it—years since I’ve allowed myself to look through those old photos. Memories come flooding back as I sit down beside her, my hand brushing over the faded cover.

“Family pictures,” I murmur, my voice tinged with a note of something I can’t quite name. “It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at these.”

Sarah glances up at me, her expression tentative, as if she’s unsure whether to ask the questions I can see forming in her mind. After a moment, she gathers her courage. “Who are they?” she asks softly, her fingers tracing the edge of a photograph.

I lean forward, my eyes landing on the image she’s holding. It’s an old picture—one of the few from my childhood that managed to survive the years. My mother’s face stares back at me, frozen in time, her smile bright and full of life. Beside her, my older brother Kirill stands tall and proud, his arm wrapped protectively around me. We’re all so young in that picture, so innocent.

“That’s my mother,” I say quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “My brother, Kirill. This was taken not long before… before everything changed.”

Sarah looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. “What happened?”

I take a deep breath, the memories clawing at the edges of my mind. I’ve spent years burying them, locking them away in the darkest corners of my soul, but with Sarah sitting here, looking at me with such quiet understanding, the urge to open up is too strong to resist.

“She was killed,” I say, my voice flat, devoid of the emotion I feel gnawing at my insides. “I was just a kid, but I remember every detail like it was yesterday. We were out, and then… it happened so fast. One moment she was there, and the next… she was gone.”

Sarah’s hand tightens on the album, her eyes wide with shock and sympathy. “Ivan, I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head, brushing off her apology. “Don’t be. It’s in the past. It shaped who I am—who we are. Kirill took it the hardest. He was older, understood more. He swore vengeance that day, and we kept that promise. We did what we had to do.”

There’s a darkness in my voice, a hard edge that I know Sarah hears. I watch her carefully, wondering if this will push her away, if the truth of who I am and where I come from will make her see me differently. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. Instead, she reaches out, placing her hand on mine, a simple gesture of comfort that I didn’t know I needed.

“The Mafia world… it’s dark, dangerous. I lost my childhood to its terrors, to the violence and the bloodshed. It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s what made me who I am.”

Sarah’s fingers tighten around mine, and when she speaks, her voice is soft but firm. “I know it’s a dark world, Ivan. You’ve survived it. You’ve come through it stronger.”

I stare at her, taken aback by the certainty in her voice, the way she looks at me, as if she sees something more than the darkness I’ve let define me. “Maybe,” I murmur, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But it’s a world I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Now… you’re part of it.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes filled with an emotion I can’t quite name—something between determination and understanding. “I chose this, Ivan. I knew what I was getting into. I’m not going to let the darkness swallow me whole.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, stirring something deep within me. I don’t respond immediately, instead letting the silence stretch between us, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

In that silence, there’s a new understanding, a bond that feels stronger than anything we’ve shared before.

The weight of the past hangs between us, a shared burden that neither of us can escape. I can see the emotions swirling in Sarah’s eyes as she listens to my story, her expression softening as she processes the pain and loss I’ve just laid bare. There’s something else in her gaze—something deeper, a reflection of her own struggles and the scars she carries.

I don’t have to ask her to open up; I can see she’s ready, that she’s been holding on to her own story, just waiting for the right moment to let it out. She takes a deep breath, her fingers still entwined with mine, and begins to speak.

“My childhood wasn’t anything like what’s in those pictures,” she says, her voice low, almost hesitant. “My mother… she never really cared about me or my brother. She was always off somewhere, drunk, with some new boyfriend. I don’t even remember a time when she was sober. She was more like a stranger living in our house than a mother.”

I feel a pang of something—sympathy, anger, I’m not sure—stirring in my chest as I listen to her. The thought of Sarah, the strong, resilient woman I’ve come to know, being neglected and abandoned as a child twists something inside me. I tighten my grip on her hand, silently urging her to continue.

“My brother was just a kid,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “He needed someone, and it wasn’t going to be her. So, I had to step up. I had to be the one to take care of him, to make sure he had food, that he got to school, that he was safe. I was just a kid myself, but there was no one else.”

She pauses, her eyes glazing over with the weight of the memories. I stay silent, letting her take her time, knowing how hard it is to dredge up these kinds of things.

“Then, when he got sick… everything changed. We didn’t have the money for his treatment. I was desperate. That’s when I got involved with the American Mafia. It was the only way to get the money we needed to save him. I didn’t think about what it would cost me in the long run. I just knew I couldn’t let him die.”

Her voice trembles, and I see the tears welling up in her eyes, but she blinks them back, determined to stay strong. I reach out, my hand brushing against her stomach, the place where our child is growing. The reality of it—of the life we’ve created together—hits me all over again, and I find myself wanting to offer her something I’m not sure I know how to give.

“Our child will never know that kind of terror,” I say softly, my hand resting on her stomach, feeling the faintest warmth beneath my palm. “I promise you, Sarah. They’ll be protected. They’ll grow up safely, with everything they need.”

She nods, her hand coming to rest on top of mine, her eyes locked on mine. There’s a fierce determination in her gaze, but also a vulnerability that she rarely lets show. “This child will be safe,” she agrees, her voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes. “They’ll have a life we never did.”

We’re both quiet for a moment, the weight of our promises hanging in the air between us. It’s an intimate moment, one that’s charged with more than just the physical connection we’ve shared. This is deeper, more meaningful, and I can feel it in the way my heart beats a little faster, the way my chest tightens with something that feels suspiciously like… care .

I’ve always been a man who keeps his emotions under tight control, who doesn’t let anyone get too close. With Sarah… it’s different. I find myself caring more than I ever expected to, more than I think I should. It’s unsettling, this growing attachment, but at the same time, it feels inevitable, like something I can’t stop even if I wanted to.

Sarah looks like she wants to say something, her lips parting slightly as she takes a breath. Before she can speak, my phone buzzes on the desk, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet.

I glance at the screen, my eyes narrowing as I recognize the number. It’s an important call—one I can’t ignore. I hesitate, torn between answering it and staying here with Sarah, in this moment that feels so rare, so fragile.

“I have to take this,” I say, my voice gruff as I pull away slightly, reaching for the phone.

Sarah nods, understanding flashing in her eyes, but I can see the way she tenses, the way the moment we shared begins to slip away. I hate the necessity of it, the way our lives are constantly interrupted by the demands of this world we’re both trapped in.

I answer the call, my tone sharp and businesslike as I speak. “What is it?”

“It’s Maxim,” comes the familiar voice, steady as always. “I’ve been keeping tabs on Kace and his crew. There’s been some chatter, but nothing solid. Interestingly, it seems like Sophia hasn’t said anything to Kace about Sarah’s involvement.”

“Good,” I reply, a sense of relief settling in my chest. “It keeps Sarah out of harm’s way.”

“That’s what I figured,” Maxim says. “For now, everything seems quiet on their end, but I’ll keep watching.”

“Do that. I want to know the second anything changes,” I say, my tone firm. “We can’t afford any surprises.”

“Understood,” Maxim responds before hanging up.

I put the phone down, my thoughts immediately returning to Sarah. She’s sitting there, her posture still tense, the vulnerability she showed just moments ago now guarded. I cross the room and sit beside her again, reaching out to gently touch her arm.

“You’re safe,” I say, my voice softer now, meant to reassure. “As long as we stay ahead of them, you don’t have to worry.”

Sarah looks at me, her eyes searching mine for any sign of doubt, but I meet her gaze with certainty. I need her to feel secure, to know that no matter what happens, I’ll protect her.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” I add, my hand moving to her stomach, where our child is growing. “Our child will face no such terror, Sarah. I’ll make sure of it.”

Her hand covers mine again, her touch warm and grounding. “This child will be protected,” she whispers, her voice filled with a quiet determination. “They’ll grow up safely, away from all the darkness.”

We’re both silent for a moment, just looking at each other, and it’s an intimate moment, more so than I would’ve expected. There’s a softness in her eyes that I’ve rarely seen, a connection forming between us that goes beyond mere physical attraction. It’s something deeper, something that makes me realize how much I’ve started to care about her.

I don’t get why, but I feel it—this pull towards her, this need to keep her close, to protect her, not just because she’s carrying my child but because she’s become important to me in ways I hadn’t anticipated.