Page 106 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

I glared at him. He set the coat down like he'd won without trying.

"Don't look so satisfied."

"I am just glad I don't have to walk halfway across New York wearing that thing."

I thought of myself in the shower and snapped my eyes away. "Blanket's in the cabinet."

Behind me, he let out a soft, almost-silent laugh.

Kiryan was too tall. That couch didn't stand a chance. He didn't complain, though. He didn't go upstairs.

After midnight, thunder jerked me awake. From downstairs, I heard his voice, low.

"She's sleeping. Talk in the morning. Keep eyes on Matteo."

A pause. His voice went colder. "Clear the roads around here. Don't let any car park under her window."

He left me a boundary no one could look through.

I lay back down, palm over my still-flat stomach.

The baby stayed quiet. And the baby's father stayed downstairs.

I'd hidden everything about the baby at first because I was hopeless. Then because I was scared—scared he'd take my freedom, scared he'd only care out of duty.

But tonight, he hadn't even known, and he'd still chosen to respect me.

If he kept doing that... how long could I hold out?

At dawn, the smell of food woke me.

I threw on a coat and went down the wooden ladder, stopping on the last rung.

Kiryan stood at the stove, shirtless. Light hit the tattoos across his broad back and the old damage—gunshot marks and knife scars stretching as he flipped eggs.

His waist sat obscenely low. The images I'd barely crushed last night came roaring back.

"Morning," he said without turning.

"How do you know I am here?"

"The ladder creaked."

He killed the burner and faced me. The two-headed eagle on his chest was split by old scars, but it only made him look meaner. The wooden spatula in his hand made him look like a dangerous man dropped into a quiet life by mistake.

"You could have put a shirt on."

"Nothing is dry yet."

"Your shirt isn't dry, but your pants are?"

He paused for half a beat.

I held back a smile. On the table sat eggs, bread, fruit—my cup already filled with milk. His side held coffee.

"How do you know I don't drink coffee in the morning?"

He slid a plate toward me. "The coffee shop across from your gallery. You always order milk."