Page 60 of The Bratva's Secret Baby
“Good,” I say. “Then maybe next time, you’ll remember not to run.”
She tilts her face up toward me. “There’s going to be a next time?”
I look down at her, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “There’s going to be a lot of next times.”
Her eyes soften. She touches my jaw.
“I don’t know how to be with someone like you,” she admits. “Not when everything’s been survival mode for so long.”
I nod. “Then we start slow. But we start.”
She swallows. “What if I mess it up?”
“You won’t.”
“And if I do?”
“I’ll still be here,” I say. “Still fixing what needs fixing. Still yours.”
Her breath trembles. Her hand finds mine under the blanket.
“Okay,” she finally says. “Then let’s get married.”
17
DOMINIK
I’m in the kitchen pouring hot water into the percolator when I hear her steps on the parquet. Slow and careful, the kind that means she heard the clink of the spoon and the scent of coffee pulled her from sleep. She stops at the doorway, barefoot, wearing one of my shirts like it’s always been hers.
“Coffee?” I ask.
She nods, the tension in her face softening as she steps in, and she fits into me without asking. Her body is still warm from sleep, and I let my hand slide through her hair and hold her there a while. The first light comes in through the window and streaks her curls golden. She makes a sound and rests her forehead against my chest, and I don’t rush her because there isn’t anything to rush right now.
I finish what I started at the counter, then I pour coffee into a mug and put it in her hands. She takes the first sip, and I can feel how alert she is under the calm because she’s still tracking the house, the doors, and Mila is in the next room, still sleeping.I keep my eyes on her anyway, because when she’s this close and not fighting me, it hits differently.
She climbs onto the counter like she belongs there, and her legs swing slowly while she cups the mug with both hands. When she looks at me, her eyes narrow. “What are you going to do?” she asks.
I pause, because I want another minute before I step back into the part of the day that bites. “I need to get a few things,” I tell her. “Food, medicine, and what Mila needs.” She nods like she already knew that was coming.
I tell her I’ve been working security at a hospital under the Nikolai name for years. It was a favor paid and closed. That’s where I was when the alert went off.
She meets my eyes and says, “You always meant to leave.”
I say I’ll handle the paperwork and the arrangements for the marriage, and she doesn’t argue this time.
Before I leave, I hold my hand out for her passport.
“I’ll need it to file the marriage,” I say.
She doesn’t move.
“Your real one,” I add.
Her eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Because changing your name right now looks like you’re hiding,” I say. “That’s what gets people flagged. I want it on record that Ana Markova married Dominik Volkov. I want it clean, and I want it public enough that they can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
“That puts me back in front of them,” she says.
