Page 153 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"I keep what I need on the legal side. The rest is yours."

A cry rose upstairs. Two floors down, I still knew Tanya's hungry cry.

"That's why."

Feodor followed my gaze to the ceiling. "I thought you'd at least hold out until she walks."

"She rolled over for the first time yesterday. I missed it."

I had been down at the docks, dealing with an argument I could've dumped on someone else. When I got home, I watched the video of Tanya's clumsy little roll twelve times.

Still couldn't swallow the fact I hadn't been there.

My father had never cared about any of my firsts. I didn't want to become him—and I'd almost walked straight into his footprints anyway.

"I already missed too much before she was even born," I said. "I'm not missing what comes next."

Feodor opened the files. "If I take this, I'm not reporting to you every day. And I'm not handing power back because you wake up and change your mind."

"I'm not changing my mind."

"And if someone challenges the Morozov family?"

"Let them try you first."

He went quiet, then held out his hand. "Congratulations, Kiryan."

He rarely used my name. I gripped his hand. "Don't make me regret it."

"You should worry I'll do it better than you."

"Then prove it."

The crying upstairs got louder. I let go and stood.

"The meeting isn't over," Feodor said.

"It is now." I headed for the door.

"You just said this wasn't retirement."

"It isn't." I opened the door. "It is going home."

❦ ❦ ❦

Three years later, Elena's private studio took up an entire floor of a red-brick building in Manhattan. There was no Morozov name outside. The sign only carried her own—Elena Rossi.

Collectors booked months out. Young painters lined up to learn from her. She didn't have to hide behind a fake name anymore. She didn't have to prove her brush could buy anything for a family.

And she still carved out one afternoon every week to teach kids in the neighborhood for free.

I picked her and Tanya up after class every week. Today was no different.

The community studio was chaos—paper, paint, kids everywhere. Tanya wore a rainbow smock, two little braids, and she gripped a paintbrush almost as long as her arm.

"Daddy." She spotted me and held up her paper. "Look."

I crouched in front of her. Three blocks of color. The biggest was black, one beside it was hazel, and the smallest was a bright, loud yellow.