Page 30 of Sold to the Bratva (Sinful Mafia Daddies #2)

ISAAC

Five Years Later

T he gallery lights cast a soft golden glow, turning the room warm and intimate.

I hover near the refreshments table, trying to keep my three kids from toppling a tower of champagne flutes.

Kira, six, stands with her arms crossed like a miniature general surveying her domain.

Four-year-old Nikolai keeps sneaking bites of every chocolate-covered strawberry within reach.

And Alina, only one and already the queen of all she sees, perches on my hip, her little fingers hooked in my collar, her curls damp from the lights.

Katya’s gallery buzzes with life. Patrons drift from painting to painting, their wineglasses half finished, their expressions glowing with awe. Laughter, soft jazz, and the hum of recognition swirl through the room, and everyone senses they’re witnessing something special, something meaningful.

And at the center of it all, like a flame pulling every moth in the room toward her, is my wife.

Katya stands in a crimson dress that hugs every curve and flows like liquid fire down her body.

Her hands move as she talks, expressive and elegant, and the people around her, artists, critics, and friends, hang on her every word.

She glows. Radiates. The fire that used to be anger, rebellion, fight-for-her-life fury has evolved into something just as fierce, but refined.

Focused. Beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone command a room the way she does.

“Mommy looks like a princess,” Kira whispers beside me, clutching her little sketchbook, the one Katya gave her last week so she could “document the world through her eyes.”

“She looks like a queen,” I correct softly, eyes still locked on my wife.

Katya turns her head just slightly, her gaze sweeping the room until it lands on me. Her smile is immediate. Bright and happy. It hits me like a punch to the heart, the way it has for nearly seven years now.

She starts making her way toward me, excusing herself with a graceful wave, her heels clicking against the polished hardwood floor. People step aside for her. Not because she demands it, but because she carries herself like someone who knows exactly who she is.

When she reaches me, I pass Alina to her so I can run a hand down Katya’s back, relishing the feel of her warm skin beneath the open slit in her dress.

“Hey, Mama,” I murmur, leaning in for a kiss.

She accepts it with a smirk. “Hey, Papa.”

“How’s the queen of the evening holding up?” I ask.

Katya looks down at our daughter now nestled against her chest.

“I’m a little tired, but I feel unbelievably grateful. It still doesn’t feel real, you know?”

I glance around the gallery at the lights, the canvases, the framed quotes from Katya about what art means to her, what it saved her from, what it gave her. I watch the patrons gaze in awe at the world she’s created.

“It’s real,” I say. “You did it, solnishko . You made it real.”

My sunshine. She’s poured more light into my life than I ever knew existed. She exhales a long breath, as though she’s been holding it for months, and rewards me with a chaste kiss.

“Mommy, can I show Aunt Evie my sketch?” Kira asks, tugging on Katya’s dress.

“Of course, baby,” Katya answers affectionately. “Just don’t run, okay?”

Kira nods solemnly and skips away before Katya finishes her sentence.

“I said, don’t run,” she mutters, and I chuckle.

“Technically, skipping isn’t running,” I point out, and she just shoots me with a withering stare.

Katya shifts Alina into my arms again and runs her hand down Nikolai’s soft hair, brushing away a crumb from his cheek.

“You know,” I say, watching her touch each child as though she’s grounding herself through them, “I still don’t understand how I got this lucky.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, amused. “You kidnapped me into an arranged marriage. Ringing any bells?”

I grin. “I did not kidnap you,” I argue. “You could have left any time you wanted. If I remember correctly, you eventually realized that you could never live without me and chose to stay.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t help the smile that breaks through. “It was coercion,” she teases, before pressing her lips close to my ear. “Because you were really good at giving me orgasms.”

For a fraction of a second, I forget that we’re in the middle of a crowded room, and all I want to do is push her against a wall and take her right there. Then Alina moves against my chest and breaks the spell. I start counting down the seconds until we’re finally alone again.

“You’re perfect,” I say quietly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, the most I dare touch her in the middle of this crowd. “I don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of you. What you’ve done is simply amazing. You’ve built something beautiful. Something that’s entirely yours.”

Her expression softens, and she looks away for a moment, blinking too fast.

I lower my voice. “I know it hasn’t always been easy. I know we started in a way neither of us would’ve planned. But Katya, you’ve turned it into something I never dreamed I could have. A family. A home. And now this.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she whispers. “You’ve always had my back, even when I didn’t think I deserved it.”

I press a kiss to her forehead. “You deserve everything.”

A small voice beside us pipes up. “Papa, someone took the last cupcake,” Nikolai whines with a pout.

Katya laughs and ruffles his hair. “You’ve already had two,” she reminds him, wiping at the crumbs still at the corner of his lips.

He looks at her with the stormiest expression and starts mindlessly moving his fingers as if he’s counting.

“My tummy has room for more,” he finally says, and we can’t help but laugh at our boy’s insatiable sweet tooth.

I hand Alina to Katya and scoop Nikolai into my arms. “Come on, let’s go raid the secret stash I keep behind the drink bar. But don’t tell your mom.”

“You’re paying his dentist bill,” Katya calls behind us.

As I walk away, I glance back at her.

She’s standing there with Alina against her chest, watching the room like it belongs to her. And it kind of does.

She’s still the girl who defied her father, still the woman who challenged me to be better, still the heart that beats in perfect rhythm with mine.

But there’s something imperceptibly different about her now.

She’s in charge, and she likes it. I like it, too.

I love that she’s found the thing she’s most passionate about, and she’s made her dream a reality.

When the night winds down and the last guests leave, we pack up the kids, tuck them into bed at home, and collapse together in the living room, surrounded by half-empty wineglasses and the smell of oil paint still clinging to Katya’s hands.

She leans her head on my shoulder. “How do you think it went?”

“You mean your wildly successful gallery opening where you sold out half your collection, impressed a dozen critics, and got invited to speak at Columbia?”

She shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, that one.”

I laugh and pull her closer. “I think it couldn’t have gone better if I’d threatened every person there to sing your praises.”

She looks up at me suspiciously. “You didn’t do that, right?” she asks, raising her eyebrow.

I can’t help but laugh. “Of course I didn’t do that, love. Everyone there was so charmed by you, they didn’t even know I was there. Isaac who? That sad, old man in the corner with the three kids?”

She laughs and stretches up to kiss me. “You’re not sad or old,” she argues. “I like to think I keep you young.”

“You definitely do,” I say as our kisses quickly turn from innocent to urgent.

“Think we’ll survive three kids and a growing empire of paintbrushes and onesies?”

I glance down at her, this woman who gave me everything without asking for anything in return.

“We’ve survived worse,” I say softly. “And thrived.”

She nestles in against my chest, and we sit there like that for a while, the house quiet except for the occasional baby rustle or sleepy sigh from one of the kids in their respective baby monitors.

“I still can’t believe this is our life,” she murmurs.

I look around, at the sketches on the table and the toys scattered on the rug, the photos on the walls, and the woman curled up beside me who gave me all of it.

“Believe it,” I whisper. “Because I don’t plan on letting it go. Not now. Not ever.”

We drift off like that, curled together on the couch.

The moment we wake, we regret it, every joint stiff and sore for no good reason.

We shake it off and slip into our usual morning routine.

Katya showers and dresses, then wakes the kids and gets them ready for whatever adventures the nanny has planned.

I’m standing in the foyer, finishing a phone call about a shipment from Havana, when I hear the patter of little feet. Nikolai rounds the corner, his curls a mess, holding a toy truck in one hand and a juice box in the other like a warrior preparing for battle.

“Papa,” he calls, skidding to a stop. “Kira says I’m not allowed to hang my drawings on her art wall, but she said she could hang hers on mine.”

I sigh, crouch to his level, and tap the tip of his nose. “Because you hung yours with duct tape and peeled the paint off the wall.”

“But it looked good!”

Katya steps into the hallway then, laughing softly as she scoops Nikolai into her arms and kisses his cheek. “We’ll make you your own gallery, my love. But no duct tape, all right?”

She kisses Nikolai’s curls before setting him down. He takes off immediately, all rambunctious energy, leaving us alone for a moment.

I pull her to me, not daring to try and kiss her or start anything.

There’s no time for that during our busy mornings.

But this moment of stillness is rare, nonetheless.

Usually, someone’s crying, someone’s knocking over furniture, someone’s calling me about an issue with the docks.

But in this moment, we get to enjoy each other without any rush.

“I’m glad you didn’t run away at the beginning,” I say, pulling back just enough to look at her. “What made you change your mind?”

Katya smirks. “You did.”

“Me?”

“You proved to me that I was looking everywhere but right in front of me for my soulmate. You were everything I ever needed, I just had to open my eyes and heart to see it.”

I don’t speak. I just kiss her again, the kind of kiss that’s less about hunger and more about history. About what we’ve built. What we’ve survived.

When I finally pull back, I rest my forehead against hers. “And now you’re stuck with me for eternity, wife.”

“Best decision I ever made,” she whispers.

Later that evening, after dinner and bedtime stories, after Kira draped herself dramatically across Katya’s lap to complain about her brother chewing too loudly and Alina screamed until we sang her four songs and read three stories, we find ourselves on the back patio.

The stars are out, twinkling above the garden she’s worked so hard to cultivate. She’s wrapped in my hoodie, her paint- streaked sweatpants bunched at the ankles, a mug of tea cradled in her hands.

“Are we good parents?” she asks out of nowhere.

“What?” I ask, turning to her in confusion. “Where’s this coming from?”

She picks at a glob of dried paint on her pants. “I don’t know,” she sighs. “I’ve just been thinking of Papa lately. I thought he was a good dad at some point in my life. I must have or I wouldn’t have gone along with everything he told me.”

“I seem to remember you didn’t exactly follow his orders without a little rebellion,” I remind her.

“No, but I always did what he said. Even marrying you. At what point did he stop being a good father and start being a monster?”

I can tell this weighs so heavily on her, and I pull her against my chest, gently stroking her hair.

“You know, Mikhail’s been taking on a lot more of my responsibilities,” I tell her. “After Alina was born, I made the decision to step back as much as I could because I want our kids to always know that our family comes first to me.”

“I didn’t mean that you might end up as a monster,” she says wearily. “What if I turn into one?”

I lift up her chin to force her to look at me, and I hope she can see all the love and trust I have for her.

“You are an incredible mother, Katya,” I tell her honestly.

“Even though I never got to meet your mother, I bet she was just as good. She lives through you, and you continue to show that you only got the good parts of your parents. You are the least selfish person I’ve ever met.

I’m not even a little worried about you becoming your father. ”

She nods, satisfied, and leans again into my chest. “I’d never force Kira or Alina to marry a stranger,” she finally whispers. “Even if it does turn out to be a great decision.”

“No,” I agree. “We’ll let our kids marry for love. Or not get married at all. No matter what they want, we’ll support and encourage.”

“How did you get to be such a wonderful person?” she asks, kissing my cheek tenderly.

“I learned by watching you,” I murmur into her hair.

And it’s true. She’s made me into the best version of myself, and I’ll never be able to repay her for the beauty she’s brought into my life. Not even if we have a million lifetimes together. And I hope we do. Because I don’t want to imagine an eternity that she’s not part of.

The End