Page 36 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

LIAM

T he door clicks shut behind us, and Ana slumps against it like her bones gave up.

“We made it,” I murmur, locking the deadbolt. “Safe and sound.”

She lets out a breath that’s half-laugh, half-collapse. “Yeah. We made it.”

Her heels hit the floor with a soft thud. She pads barefoot across the living room, collapsing onto the couch like she’s been holding her breath for hours. Her dress still fits like a dream, makeup untouched, but she looks wrecked in a way that doesn’t show up on camera.

I kick off my boots and drop beside her. “You were amazing tonight,” I say, nudging her knee with mine. “That last song? Nearly knocked me flat.”

She smiles—but it doesn’t stick. “Thanks. I’m glad it went okay. I really am.”

Her voice falters. I wait. I saw it back at the venue—the way she kept scanning the crowd, hands trembling when she thought no one would notice.

“I just…” She exhales hard. “I should be happy. And I am. But the whole time I was up there, I kept expecting Dariy to show up. Or worse—Papa.”

Her hands twist together in her lap. “And leaving Lily…” She trails off. “I know she was fine. I know. But I still felt like shit the whole night.”

I reach for her hand, threading our fingers. “Hey. We’re not aiming for perfect. We’re surviving. And you were gone, what—three hours, maybe? Lily was safe. You chased something that mattered to you. That’s not selfish. That’s brave as hell.”

Ana leans her head back against the cushion. “Doesn’t feel brave. Just… guilty.”

“It wasn’t,” I say. “And you’re not going anywhere you don’t want to. I’ll call Ingrid first thing and tell her where to stick her damn schedule.”

That earns a real laugh this time. “She might actually do it. Just to be petty.”

I grin. “Then I’ll record it.”

She opens one eye. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re fried,” I say, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s get you changed. Crawl into bed with Lily. I’ll barricade the damn door if I have to. No one’s getting through me.”

Her expression softens, but that worry still lingers behind her lashes like smoke that won’t clear. I don’t press. Not yet. She’ll tell me what she needs to in her own time.

For now, we’re home. We’re safe.

And I’ll make damn sure it stays that way.

Ana doesn’t move right away, but when I stand and offer my hand, she takes it.

We change out of our clothes—her into an oversized tee and fuzzy socks, me into sweats and a ratty old t-shirt—and tiptoe into the nursery. Lily’s still asleep, curled on her side in her crib, a stuffed fox tucked against her cheek.

Ana just stares at her for a minute, brushing her fingers over Lily’s tiny hand. “She’s getting so big.”

“She made a new face today,” I whisper. “Scrunches her nose like she smelled something foul. I think she was mimicking me.”

Ana smiles and looks at me over her shoulder. “You do make a lot of faces.”

“I’m expressive.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

We both grin, the tension easing. I carefully scoop Lily into my arms, and she stirs but doesn’t cry—just lets out a soft sigh and nestles into my chest. We carry her back to the living room and settle on the couch, Ana curling against my side, Lily in her lap now, still half-asleep but beginning to stir.

“Hey, kotik ,” Ana coos softly. “Did you miss Mama?”

Lily yawns, then squints up at her with those impossibly big blue eyes. I reach down and tap her nose, then stick my tongue out at her.

She stares at me for a beat, then, slowly, sticks her tongue out in return.

Ana gasps. “Did she—did she copy you?”

“No way.” I do it again—tongue out, exaggerated. Lily does it back.

“Oh my God.” Ana starts giggling. “She’s mocking you already.”

“She gets it from your side,” I say, grinning.

We keep going—sticking out our tongues, making ridiculous noises, clicking our mouths, puffing our cheeks. Lily tries to mimic every single one, more invested than I’ve ever seen her. Ana makes a long 'brrrrr' sound, and Lily’s eyes go wide as she tries to copy it, spitting all over Ana’s shirt.

Ana giggles so hard she nearly drops her. “Oh, she’s definitely yours.”

The two of us dissolve into laughter, helpless and delirious, our daughter cackling along with us like she understands every bit of it.

And for a little while, it’s enough.

No Russians. No politics. No secrets.

Just the three of us, cocooned in this tiny stolen moment of joy.

We play with her a little longer, letting her babble and mimic, her little hands clumsily patting our cheeks as she experiments with sounds and movement.

It’s wild, how fast she’s changing. Two weeks ago, she could barely hold up her head.

Now she’s sticking her tongue out on command and blowing spit bubbles like it’s her full-time job.

Ana's eyes are brighter now, her laughter coming easier, more freely. It does something to me—watching her like this. Whole and glowing, with Lily cradled in her arms like she was made to be there. Like she finally belongs somewhere.

Eventually, Lily starts to rub at her eyes and give those soft, pitiful whimpers that mean nap time isn’t far off.

Ana carries her back to the nursery and settles her into the crib with practiced ease.

I stand behind her, watching her sway side to side and hum softly as she runs her fingers through Lily’s curls.

And in that quiet, something tightens in my chest.

I want to believe this is our life now. That we’re past the worst of it.

But I know better.

Trouble’s still circling. Dariy doesn’t give up. Anatoly’s out now, and God only knows what that means for us. And Miranda—whatever game she’s playing, it’s getting more dangerous by the day.

I glance at Ana as she brushes a kiss to Lily’s forehead, the lines of exhaustion and stress softened for once.

I’ll protect them both. I don’t care what it costs me.

But some part of me—the part that knows how these things usually go—can’t stop wondering just how long this little slice of peace is going to last… and what’s waiting to rip it out from under us when it’s gone.

Once Lily’s settled and the white noise machine hums softly through the nursery, Ana turns to me in the hallway, her fingers lacing through mine.

“Come to bed?” she murmurs, barely louder than a breath.

I nod.

We slip into our bedroom, quiet and dim, the door clicking shut behind us. Only the amber glow of the bedside lamp cuts through the shadows, softening the edges of everything—our movements, our fears, our truths. Outside these walls, the world is still dangerous. But here… here is calm.

Ana sits at the edge of the bed, messing with the hem of her sleep shirt. She’s quiet. Not tense, just… worn out. I stand there for a second, watching her. Her hair’s a little messy, falling over her shoulder, and there’s this look in her eyes—tired, but steady.

She looks up at me, and I don’t need her to say anything. I already know.

I walk over. She lifts her arms, and I pull the shirt off her, slow and careful. I let it drop, then rest my hands on her waist. Her skin’s warm. Familiar. My thumbs move without thinking, brushing her sides.

“You okay?” I ask, pressing my lips to her forehead.

She nods, but her voice is rough. “I just need to feel like something’s real. That there’s something mine.”

“You’ve got me,” I say. “I mean it.”

She leans in and kisses me slowly. Her mouth tastes like lip balm and something sweet. Her hands slide up my chest and around my neck, pulling me in.

We fall back onto the bed together, bodies finding each other without trying. The sheets are a little cold, but she’s warm against me. I run my hands down her back, over her sides, just taking her in. Like I haven’t already a hundred times. Like I’ll never get tired of it.

She lets out a soft breath when I kiss her neck. Her fingers tighten in my hair. There’s no rush. Just us. Just this.

She touches me like she’s trying to stay grounded. I hold her like I’m scared to let go.

Her legs wrap around my waist. She says my name under her breath, over and over, like it’s the only thing keeping her steady. She kisses my shoulder, my jaw, the side of my face. I don’t say anything. I don’t need to.

I just hold her tighter.

Afterward, we lie tangled in the sheets, her cheek resting over my heart. I stroke her back in lazy circles, the silence between us comfortable, golden.

I close my eyes, soaking it in.

This is what I fight for.

This is what I’ll protect.

Even if it kills me.

Ana’s breathing evens out before mine. Her hand’s still resting against my chest, fingers soft and half-curled. I can feel the slow rise and fall of her body, warm and solid beside me under the covers.

The room’s quiet, but not dead quiet—there’s that little hum from the white noise machine down the hall, a car passing outside, the old pipes clicking like they always do. It’s familiar. Comfortable. Like we’re in our own little bubble.

I let my eyes close. Everything aches in a way that feels good for once. Her hair’s tickling my shoulder. She smells like shampoo and skin and something that feels like home.

I’m just starting to drift—right at that edge where sleep’s about to take me?—

Buzz

The phone vibrates on the nightstand, too loud in the dark.

I groan a little, grabbing it without sitting up. The screen lights up way too bright.

Burns: Need you at HQ. Now. Urgent.

My stomach drops. Of-fucking-course.

I lie there for a second, staring at the message. Then I shut my eyes and let out a slow breath.

So much for a quiet night.

I slip out of bed as carefully as I can, untangling from Ana like I’m trying not to wake a sleeping dragon. She stirs a little, mumbling something, but doesn’t open her eyes. Just rolls into the warm spot I left behind.

I lean down and press a kiss to her temple. “Back soon,” I whisper.

She doesn’t hear me. Maybe that’s better.

I pull on jeans, grab a hoodie, keys, phone. My gun, too—just in case.

Outside, the air’s colder than I expected. Sharp enough to wake me up. The street’s quiet, just the hum of a distant train and a stray cat darting into an alley.

Shane’s leaning against the wall near the entrance. He straightens when he sees me.

“You good?” he asks.

I shrug. “Burns wants something. That’s all I got.”

He frowns but doesn’t ask more. I climb into the car and shut the door, trying not to think too hard about what the hell I’m walking into.

It doesn’t take long to reach HQ, but the place feels… off. No lights on inside, no movement in the front lot. I park and get out slowly, every sense sharpening. The silence feels wrong—not just empty, but expectant, like the building itself is holding its breath.

I try the door. Locked.

I knock once. Then twice.

No answer.

I pull out my phone and call Burns.

Straight to voicemail.

My pulse ticks up.

Something’s not right.

I check the time—well past midnight. I start pacing, boots crunching softly against gravel, staring up at the windows like I might catch a glimpse of him lurking behind one.

Still nothing.

With a sigh, I tap Lucky’s contact and lift the phone to my ear.

He answers on the second ring, voice groggy. “This better be good.”

“Burns texted me to come to HQ. I’m here, but the place is locked up and dark. He’s not answering.”

A pause.

“You think something happened?” Lucky asks.

“I don’t know. Feels… weird.”

“Or maybe he passed out drunk in his office again and forgot to unlock the door.”

I run a hand through my hair. “Maybe. But something’s off, Lucky. I can feel it.”

He exhales. “You’ve been running on no sleep and adrenaline. Don’t let your brain start seeing ghosts.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Maybe.”

I lower the phone from my ear, thumb hovering over the screen like I might call Burns again.

That’s when it buzzes.

Not a call.

A text.

Unknown Number: Didn’t take much to pull you away.

Unknown Number: Timing really is everything.

My stomach drops.

I stare at the words, heart thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to punch its way out.

There’s no name. No follow-up. Just those two lines. Just enough to twist the knife.

Is this a trap? A warning? A bluff?

It could mean anything, but my gut is screaming.

I turn back to the car, jaw clenched so tight it aches, adrenaline burning through me like fire. Throwing the car into gear, I tear out of the parking lot like the devil’s at my heels, praying to whatever’s listening that I’m not already too late.