Page 121 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

As much as I’d like to join her in sleep, I can’t. I keep replaying the last few hours in my mind. I killed him. My own father.

I keep waiting for it to haunt me. It doesn’t. What unsettles me isn’t the killing—it’s how easily I could do it again.

Vera shifts beside me, her fingers tightening on my thigh. I wrap my arm around her shoulders to pull her closer. She murmurs something in her sleep and settles again.

Lev pulls up to the building and kills the engine. “We’re here,” he says, his voice rough. “You two need anything?”

“We’re good.” I open my door and slide out, then reach in to help Vera. She stumbles a little, still half-asleep, and I catch her against my chest. “Just need to sleep.”

Lev nods. “Call me if you need anything. I don’t think we’ll need them now, but there are guards stationed at their usual posts.” He pauses. “I know coming back to the penthouse isn’t ideal, but at least it’s secure.”

“Right, good.”

I lead Vera to the elevator, my arm around her waist to steady her. She leans into me, her body soft and warm against mine. The elevator ride up is quiet.

When the doors open, I guide her down the hallway to our door. I swipe the keycard and push it open.

Vera stops just inside the doorway. Her eyes sweep across the living room, then to the windows that overlook the city.

“I missed this place,” she says, her voice soft with surprise. “Can you believe that?”

“Yes.”

She turns to face me. Her eyes are still heavy with sleep, but she manages a small smile.

I pull her into my arms and kiss her. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s hungry and desperate, weeks of fear and longing and relief pouring out of me and into her. She kisses me back just as desperately, her hands tangling in my hair.

I want her. I want to strip her clothes off and carry her to the bed so I can lose myself in her for hours. I want to forget everything that’s happened by burying myself in her body.

When I start to move us toward the bedroom, a sharp pain shoots through my ribs. I gasp and stumble, breaking the kiss.

Vera catches me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Roman.” Her voice is firm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just my ribs. I got lucky.”

“Lucky’s not the word I’d use.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t press the issue. I let her pull me up and lead me to the bedroom. I’m exhausted in a way I haven’t been in years, every part of me aching.

She helps me undress and I collapse onto the bed. Vera curls around me, careful of the injuries, and presses her face into my undamaged side.

By the time I turn to look at her, she’s already asleep.

Within moments I follow her under. For the first time in maybe my whole life, I sleep the night through until dawn.

The first light of dawn filters through the windows. I’m awake before Vera. The bandage on my ribs is stiff with dried blood. I need to change it.

I slide out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her. She murmurs something in her sleep and rolls onto her side, her hand searching for me in the empty space. I watch her for a moment, my chest tight with something I still can’t name.

Then I head for the shower.

The hot water stings the wound on my side. I peel off the bandage and toss it in the trash, then let the water run over me, washing away the last traces of blood and sweat and gunpowder. By the time I get out, the wound is clean. I dress it again, then pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

When I return to the bedroom, Vera is awake. She’s standing in front of the full-length mirror, her hands resting on her stomach. She’s wearing one of my shirts, the hem brushing her thighs. Her hair is a mess around her shoulders.