Page 108 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"I left four bodyguards. Two teams of two. You decide how far back they stay, and you can send any of them away. They don't report your schedule to me."

"And if I refuse?"

He went quiet, thumb rubbing the handle of his cup. "I'd worry. So... I am asking you to accept it."

Asking. Not ordering.

Hearing that word from him hit heavy enough to tighten my chest.

His eyes flicked to my mouth, then he forced them away. My fingers stayed on the cup, and my heart started to run.

"And us," he said. "I'm not going to trade protection for your forgiveness. I'm not going to pretend we are okay. But I will keep pursuing you until you tell me it is never happening."

"What if I tell you right now?"

His gaze locked onto mine. "I'd accept it. Then I'd leave your life."

That should've been what I wanted to hear. Instead, the air in my lungs suddenly felt thin.

I looked down. "I haven't forgiven you. I don't trust you."

"I'll prove it."

"That could take a long time."

I clenched my fork, then eased my grip.

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Is that an invitation?"

"It is a warning."

"I accept."

I couldn't stop a small laugh. His eyes softened with it.

The next few days, I spent more time at the new free art studio in the neighborhood.

I taught kids how to mix color, told them shadows didn't have to be black. One girl painted her mother orange because her mom felt warm when she picked her up. The mother beside her blinked hard, eyes shining.

I didn't correct the girl.

Art wasn't about getting the "right" answer. It was about saying what you couldn't say any other way.

The kids started calling me Teacher Elena. Parents stayed to help. Before class, kids fought to carry my paper.

"Teacher, why do you always touch your tummy?" a little girl with braids asked.

My hand froze. "Do I?"

"You do. You just did it again."

"Maybe I am hungry."

She pulled out a crushed cookie and held it out like it mattered. "Then you eat this."

My nose stung. "Thank you."

I took it and looked out the window. Two men in plain clothes stood apart—one near the coffee shop, one by the newsstand. They didn't come close to the studio.