Page 132 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

“For believing in me.” She kisses me.

I grip the back of her hair. “Now do you want to explain to me how you got here?”

“I, um. I drove.” She shrugs. “You were right. I knew how.”

“And how did you get past my guards?” Before she can answer, I see my driver standing in the vestibule, holding a hat.

I swear under my breath, not even knowing where to begin, and who to kill first.

“Don’t be mad.” She reaches up and threads her fingers into my hair.

I grip her hair in response and kiss her. “You like me like this, moya zhena? Rough with passion?”

“I do.” She turns back to all the supplies and moves her hands across the brushes. “So, I can come here any time to paint.”

“Anytime.”

She looks down at her watch. “Violet. I left her with the nanny.”

Admittedly, I only meant to meet Nell here on my own, explain Sandrine was home, show her the paintings, and arrange for them to meet if Nell wanted to sign her.

I lead her through the studio. Rome wasn’t built in a day. This is the first step for the full restoration of who she was. Not just her name.

“You know…” She takes my hand. “Driving here, I had that strange déjà vu feeling.”

That gives me a shred of hope that she’ll eventually remember what happened the night of her accident.

“We made love in this parking lot quite often,” I tell her. “You loved it here, said the sound of the water soothed you.”

“Do you know what soothes me now?” she says, turning in my arms.

“What, dorogaya?”

“Hearing you and Violet.” She kisses me. “Let’s go home.”

Smiling, I take the keys from her. “I’m driving.”

Chapter 42

Sandrine

Kirill rains his terror all over the country for the next two weeks. More Bratva leaders have fallen under the spectacular weight of my husband’s force.

He thinks I can roll over just as easily.

“I said no.” He doesn’t raise his voice to me, but his tone is heavy and immovable, like everything else about him.

“It’s just a little birthday party,” I inform him, keeping my tone even and very careful. “It’s for a girl with autism in Violet’s class. The mom told me no one else is going.”

“That’s not our problem.”

The our hits me in the chest. Even though we’re in stark disagreement about this, I feel like a solid part of this family with him and our daughter.

So of course I push him.

“The little girl doesn’t have any friends besides Violet. It will be good for her, too. She doesn’t do any playdates.”

Kirill’s jaw tightens. “She has everything she needs here.”