Page 29 of Sold to the Bratva (Sinful Mafia Daddies #2)

KATYA

One Year Later

A particular hush settles over the studio just before the sun slips beneath the horizon.

Light pours through the high windows and turns molten gold, warming the deep wood floors and scattering soft shadows across my unfinished canvas.

My fingers are streaked with burnt sienna and ultramarine, my hair twisted into a loose knot I’ve pinned and repinned at least four times tonight.

The familiar tang of paint and turpentine hangs in the air, anchoring me.

My body still remembers the strain of last year. My daughter turns one tomorrow, and the looming milestone drags up every ounce of the anxiety I felt the night she was born. Back then I had no idea the man threatening our lives was my own father.

I stretch, trying to work the anxiety out of my limbs. Usually, painting keeps me sane. Standing before a canvas, brush in hand, coaxing an image only I can see until it finally exists is enough to ground me. Tonight, though, I need a little more.

I turn just as Isaac steps inside, and my heart flutters. Nearly two years together haven’t dimmed that reaction. He still knows exactly how to spike my heart rate and how to settle it again.

He’s wearing dark slacks and a fitted charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos on his forearms. And strapped securely to his chest in a soft gray baby carrier is Kira.

The sight should be ridiculous, almost comical, yet my heart stutters harder. My two favorite people, perfectly paired.

She’s fast asleep, her cheek pressed against Isaac’s chest, her small hands tucked near her mouth. A thin patch of dark curls peeks from the top of the carrier, and I can see the steady rise and fall of her tiny body with every breath. My chest aches with how much I love them.

I cross the room to meet him, careful not to jostle Kira. I press a kiss to her head, inhaling the soft baby scent that clings to her, then tilt my face up to kiss Isaac. It’s slow and sure. Familiar and still electric.

He rests his free hand on my hip, pulling me closer without ever disturbing Kira’s sleep.

“You’re beautiful when you paint,” he says once our lips part. “The focus in your eyes undoes me.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes in response. “Don’t flatter me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he teases, kissing me again.

I glance back at the canvas. It’s abstract, deep blues and sharp whites clashing against one another like waves in a storm. I’ve been chasing something in it for days now. A feeling. A shape. A release.

Isaac follows my gaze.

“I love seeing you in your element,” he says, brushing a kiss to my temple. “And one day, you’ll own your gallery, and we’ll be right here cheering you on.”

A lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it down and smile. “I know you will. None of this would be possible without your support.”

He grins, leaning back slightly to study my face. “I didn’t do much.”

“You love me,” I tell him simply. “That’s a hell of a lot.”

“Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” he says, his voice warm.

I let the silence stretch, my hand moving to rest on Kira’s back, still pressed to Isaac’s chest. She shifts slightly, letting out a tiny sigh in her sleep, and something tightens in my throat.

“It’s been a year,” I say suddenly. “Do you ever think about it?”

He doesn’t need to ask what I mean. He just nods.

“All the time,” he says.

My gaze falls to the floor. “I know I’ll have to talk to him someday, hear it all from his own mouth, but I still haven’t found the will to pick up the phone.”

“You don’t owe them anything.”

I nod, but the ache doesn’t go away. “He used me. My own father. My mother would’ve been furious.”

“She would’ve sided with you.”

“She would’ve burned the world for me,” I whisper.

Isaac reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together. “I almost did.”

My eyes sting, but I blink the tears away before they fall.

After the attack, once I’d recovered from giving birth and had time to process everything, I told Isaac he could do whatever he wanted with Viktor and Oleg. I expected him to kill them and honestly, I wanted him to.

But instead, he branded them. He literally inked their treachery into their skin and sent them out of the city. They’re alive, as far as I know, but forever marked.

“I didn’t want their blood on your hands,” he told me that night, sitting at my hospital bedside as I cradled Kira.

And I loved him more for it.

“I still think you should have killed him,” I say absentmindedly.

“He died the day he chose Oleg over you,” Isaac grumbles. “Actually killing him would have been too kind after what he did. He deserves to live with the weight of his betrayal for the rest of his miserable days.”

My voice is barely a whisper. “Maybe. I just wish our daughter could have known a grandparent. I wish she could know that my father wasn’t always a monster.”

Isaac steps closer, slips his free arm around my waist, and presses a kiss to my hair. “She’ll know you. And you’re the only good thing Viktor ever managed to do.”

We stand like that for a long time, just breathing, just being. The light has shifted again, turning pink as the sun begins its descent.

Eventually, I pull away and glance at the painting again.

“I’m thinking about turning this into a series,” I tell him. “It felt so cathartic to let my feelings explode onto the canvas and not worry about what it looked like in the end.”

“It reminds me of resilience,” he murmurs.

“That could be a good name for it.” I smile. “Or maybe the theme of the whole art show.”

We laugh softly, and Kira stirs. Her tiny eyes flutter open, big and blue and still uncertain of the world.

“Hi, baby girl,” I whisper, cupping her cheek. “You awake now?”

“She always knows when you’re talking about her,” Isaac says, grinning.

“I think she likes hearing her name.”

“She’s going to rule this house one day. I can feel it.”

“She already does.”

He chuckles. “Fair point.”

I take her from the carrier carefully, cradling her to my chest, and she settles with a soft hum of contentment. Isaac wraps his arm around us both, his hand spreading over my lower back.

“This is everything I’ll ever need,” I say quietly. “Right here. You, her, this little life we’ve built together.”

Isaac brushes a kiss to the side of my face. “And it’s only the beginning.”

He releases me long enough for me to pass Kira back to him and tidy the studio.

Once I’m satisfied, we walk hand in hand to the car and drive home.

A comfortable silence settles between us, and the secret I’m carrying feels heavier by the mile.

I’ll tell him tonight. I have to. Soon my body will give me away.

I decide I’ll tell him later that night while I watch the two of them play.

Isaac kneels beside Kira, guiding her tiny hands to stack the colorful blocks she always knocks over moments after building them.

He’s patient and gentle, nothing like the fearsome man the world knows.

The contrast still startles me. There’s Isaac Kozlov, who runs the most powerful Bratva in New York, and Isaac, who sings lullabies, kisses scraped knees, and slow dances with me in the kitchen once the baby is asleep.

I press a hand to my stomach. It’s still flat, no sign yet of the life growing inside me, but I feel it.

I’ve known for a few days now, ever since the wave of nausea hit me while I was brushing my teeth.

I didn’t want to say anything right away.

Not until I was sure. The doctor confirmed it today, though, and I’m ready to let him in on the joy.

“Isaac,” I say, stepping into the room with a smile tugging at my lips.

He glances over his shoulder and the smile he gives me is enough to melt the floor beneath my feet.

“There’s my favorite girl.”

Kira lets out a squeal of delight, and Isaac laughs, adding, “Well, one of them.”

I kneel beside him, brushing a hand along Kira’s curls before leaning in to press a kiss to Isaac’s cheek. He smells like clean soap and sandalwood. Home.

“I need you to do something for me,” I murmur, brushing invisible lint from his shoulder.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Anything.”

“Okay,” I say softly. “Close your eyes.”

Isaac gives me a curious look but obeys, his long lashes fluttering shut.

I reach for a tiny box behind me, the one I’d hidden on the bookshelf earlier. I slide it open and pull out the plastic test, placing it carefully in Kira’s hands. She coos at the weight of it, and I have to stop her from putting it in her mouth.

I guide Isaac’s hands gently toward Kira’s little grip, helping her offer the test up to her daddy like it’s just another toy. It’s so small in his large, calloused hands.

“Open them.”

He blinks, and his gaze drops automatically to the test.

His brow furrows, then his eyes widen.

His face splits into the kind of grin that turns my whole body to mush. He looks from the test to Kira, then back to me.

“You’re pregnant again?” he breathes, voice hoarse.

I nod, feeling the warmth bloom in my chest. “I am.”

There’s a moment where time seems to hold still. Then, suddenly, I’m in his arms, pulled tight against his chest, his mouth covering mine in a kiss that steals the air from my lungs.

“Are you ready to go on this ride with me again?”

“For my wife?” he whispers against my lips. “Always.”

Tears spring to my eyes, but I don’t let them fall just yet. I don’t want to blur the sight of his joy. This moment, this pure, unfiltered happiness, is something I want to remember for the rest of my life.

Later, in bed, he kisses me softly, his mouth languishing over mine. As soon as Kira was safely in her crib and starting to fall asleep, he’d whisked me away to show me just how happy he was that we’re expecting again.

“I’d forgotten how much the pregnancy hormones enhance the experience.” I sigh, settling myself back against the pillows.

He drops a hot kiss to my chest. “I’d forgotten how big your pregnancy hormones make your boobs.”

“You’re such a man,” I chastise, rolling my eyes but having no heat behind the action.

I’d be a lot more annoyed if he weren’t so damn good at giving my tits the attention they deserve.

“I’m a happy man,” he says quietly. “You’ve made me unbelievably happy from the moment I met you.”

“Damn it.” I laugh. “I spent a long time trying to make you absolutely miserable.”

He kisses me again, soft but sure. “That definitely didn’t work. You couldn’t have gotten rid of me if you’d held a gun to my head. I would’ve happily taken that bullet.”

I snuggle against his chest, and he presses a kiss to the crown of my head.

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” I murmur. “Because you’re a really phenomenal father. And, every now and then, you’re a pretty okay husband.”

He tickles my side at the barb and I can’t help but giggle before I kiss the space just under his Adam’s apple.

“You never succeeded in making me miserable,” he says. “But you’ve always driven me absolutely crazy.”

I sit up and look down at him. His eyes are dark and I can see the desire growing there again already.

“Good,” I whisper, before kissing him deeply.