Page 155 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

For choosing Kirill.

“He was angry.” I looked up through wet lashes. “Maybe he’ll know what to do.”

Kirill took out his phone. “Call him back and tell him to come here. You’re nursing. You’re weak. Violet is sick.”

“He said he wouldn’t set foot in your home. Not after the way you spoke to him.”

“The way he spoke to me,” he bit back and went to say more, but Violet’s screams drowned him out.

“Please,” I whispered, stepping closer, desperation bleeding into every word. “Just for an hour. I told him I would be there when he got home from work.”

His jaw ticked in irritation, that cruel look of his sharpening in a way that made my stomach twist.

“You already said yes?” he asked, his voice infinitely more dangerous.

“He’s my father, Kirill,” I said, the words breaking apart as they left me. “I just… I miss him.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks, feeling free that I’d gotten this off my chest. But Violet cried harder, shattering my two seconds of feeling good. I looked down at her, at her tiny face contorted with discomfort.

Gone was the perfect life we had created together. Replaced by a demon.

An evil spell cast on her by Kirill’s evil father. I shook that away. My perfect angel is still here. Somewhere.

“I’ll be back in one hour,” I murmured, more to her than to him.

I pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, inhaling the warm, lavender scent from her last bath.

When I held the baby out, Kirill didn’t move, didn’t reach for her.

My arms trembled as I stepped closer, forcibly placing our daughter into his arms. I kept our bodies touching, waiting for a reaction from him. I just got stiffness. I second-guessed myself briefly, worrying that leaving her might blow this up worse.

Finally, he took her, let her weight settle into his arms. My mind eased for just a few seconds.

He’s so careful. So natural with her. From day one, he’s been so good with her. Especially those scary few minutes after she was born and didn’t breathe.

He was nothing like my father said he’d be.

“I’ll be back,” I said again, rising onto my toes to press a kiss to his mouth.

But he moved back again. Not far. But enough. The message landed like a weight on my chest. He wasn’t happy with me. I saw it in the tight line of his jaw. The silence. Like the night I told him I was pregnant and he said all the wrong things.

That look of his as I stood there, wanting to leave, hurt more. We’ve gone backward.

I watched pregnancy classes online. This friction was normal. My hormones were out of whack, and fathers needed time to adjust to being second place to a baby.

We’ll get through this. We have to get through this. We risked so much to be together.

With my arms free for the first time in hours, I shook them loose. I didn’t bother brushing my hair or even looking in the mirror. I put on my coat and marched to the door.

“Sandrine,” Kirill called out to me.

I froze with my hand on the doorknob, but I didn’t look back at him. I wouldn’t change my mind.

“Take the knife.” He motioned to the closet where he keeps weapons.

“He’s my father, Kirill. He won’t hurt me.”

He shook his head, and I felt dumb. Naïve. Exhaling, I went to the closet and selected the 4-inch fixed-blade spear point with the green handle.