Page 45 of Sweet Deception (Savage Vow #2)

Eight years later, the Moscow estate hummed with life, our life, carved from the ashes of a war we’d barely survived.

The night unfurled above us, a tapestry of stars spilling across the sky, bright and boundless.

The air carried the scent of earth and pine, a quiet freedom we’d clawed our way to.

Inside, our children slept, or so I thought until I heard a giggle from the doorway.

“Papa, look!” Our son, Sasha, seven years old and all mischief, darted onto the balcony, his dark hair a wild mess like Gleb’s. He held a toy plane, zooming it through the air with a dramatic whoosh. “It’s flying to the moon! And it’s gonna fight aliens, Papa! Pew Pew!”

Gleb turned, his broad silhouette softening as he crouched to Sasha’s level. “The moon, huh? You’ll need more fuel for that, malysh.” He ruffled Sasha’s hair, then scooped him up, tossing him lightly into the air. Sasha’s laughter rang out, sharp and bright, slicing through the stillness.

“Both of you, now?” Gleb grinned, rare and unguarded, and hoisted Katya up with his free arm. He spun them together, Sasha shrieking with delight, Katya’s bear flopping wildly. “You’re heavier than the Bratva’s secrets,” he teased, but his eyes shone, warm and alive.

“Put them down before you strain something,” I said, smirking, though my voice betrayed the ache of love in it.

He set them on the stone floor, and Sasha immediately tackled my legs, wrapping his arms around me. “Mama, tell Papa I’m stronger than him!”

“Oh, you are,” I said, bending to kiss his forehead. “But don’t tell him that, he’ll sulk.”

Gleb snorted, pulling Katya onto his shoulders. “Sulk? Never.” She giggled, tugging his damp hair, and he pretended to wince. “This one’s the real boss, though. Look at her.”

Katya beamed, all dimples and pride, and I laughed, a sound that still felt like a gift after so long in the dark. Eight years since hate had burned between us, since love had forged us in blood and chaos. Now, here we were, parents to these wild, beautiful souls.

“Go inside, you two,” I said, shooing them gently. “Bedtime. We’ll come kiss you goodnight.”

Sasha pouted but obeyed, dragging Katya by the hand, her bear trailing behind.

The door clicked shut, and silence settled, save for the rustle of the night.

I turned back to the sky, stars glinting like shards of hope.

My shoulder twinged faintly, a ghost of that bullet from years ago, but I felt safe. Whole.

“Beautiful,” I murmured, tracing the endless glow above.

Gleb’s gaze shifted, not to the stars, but to me. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low, rough with something raw. “You are.”

I met his eyes, catching the depth there, no longer the sharp edge of a cartel king, but a man unarmored, mine. “I meant the stars.”

“So did I.” He stepped closer, his hand finding my waist, warm through my sweater. “But they’re nothing next to you.”

A laugh slipped out, soft and real. “You’re getting soft, Gleb.”

“Only for you.” His lips quirked, and it unraveled me, eight years of scars, and still, he could do that. Then a drop hit my cheek, cool and sudden. Rain. It fell in a gentle rush, silver threads weaving through the night.

I stepped from the balcony’s shelter, tilting my face to it, letting it soak me. “Come on,” I said, reaching for him.

He arched a brow. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I’ve survived worse.” I grinned, tugging his arm. “Dance with me.”

He hesitated, Gleb, the man who’d once ruled with iron, hesitating, and then he followed. Rain darkened his shirt, plastering it to his chest, his hair falling into his eyes. He looked younger, softer, like the boy he might’ve been before the Bratva ruined him.

I took his hands, guiding him into a slow sway. No music, just the rain’s rhythm and our breaths mingling. His grip tightened, calluses brushing my skin, and I felt every battle we’d fought together. “I never thought we’d have this,” I whispered, voice breaking. “A family. Peace.”

His jaw tensed, eyes shadowing with the past. “I almost lost you.” He drew me closer, one hand splaying across my back, the other cradling my face.

Rain streaked his cheeks, masking tears he’d never let fall.

“That bullet, watching you bleed, Anna, I’d tear the world apart before I let that happen again. ”

I pressed my forehead to his, water dripping between us. “You don’t have to. We’re here. We made it.”

His breath hitched, and I felt it, Gleb, trembling. “You saved me,” he said, barely audible. “From the darkness. From myself.”

Tears stung my eyes, blending with the rain. “You saved me too. Every time you held on.”

He kissed me slowly, tasting of rain and salt.

Not the fierce claim of our early days, but a vow etched into our bones.

I sank into him, arms looping around his neck, and we swayed, the world dissolving until it was just us.

The rain poured harder, drenching us, but we didn’t care.

He spun me once, awkward and perfect, and I laughed, wild, free and alive.

He pulled me back, chest rising fast, and murmured against my lips, “I’d do it all again.

Every war, every wound. For you. For them. ”

“So would I,” I breathed, clinging to him.

We danced until the rain eased, until the stars pierced the thinning clouds, until our breaths synced.

Then we sank to the wet stone, side by side, gazing up.

His hand found mine, fingers locking tight, and we lay there, stargazing, the weight of our past a faint pulse beneath the sky’s infinite promise.

Inside, our children dreamed, safe because of us.

Out here, we were just Anna and Gleb, enemies once, lovers always, wrapped in the quiet miracle of now.

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