Page 64 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

“Can we go to the swings?” she asked, already pulling me.

“The swings?” I turned the camera toward her, her long golden hair bouncing off her back.

The frame caught her hand still holding mine. The joyful laugh that escaped her softly through tears registered. And fuck, that sound hit me straight in the chest.

“My mom used to take Lourdes and me to the park before she died. It’s… I don’t know. It feels like something I want to do right now.”

Mentioning Lourdes tickled something complicated in my gut.

“Have you spoken to your sister?” I asked carefully.

Her head shook, the movement tight. “You told me not to.”

The weight of her sadness at not being able to share something special with her sister settled heavily on my shoulders.

“That will change,” I said, my thumb brushing over the ring. “I need to handle your father and mine first.” I exhaled slowly, wondering if De la Vega would try to hurt me somehow. “You’ll have everything, Sandrine. Protection. Power. No one will ever be able to touch you or tell you no again.”

She studied me for a moment, weighing the promise with skeptical eyes. Then she smiled softly in a way that made me believe we would make it.

“All I want is you, Kirill,” she said, rubbing her belly. “And our baby. That’s all I ever wanted.”

And that was all I needed to hear.

I set the phone on a nearby bench, angling it toward us, then led her to the swings. “You sit. I’ll push you.”

The cold metal chains stung my hands as I steadied the seat for her. She sat, gathering her coat around her as I stepped behind her and began to push. I would always remember how my heart danced in my chest when her familiar laughter returned.

“Not too high, baby. You’re carrying the future of my brotherhood.” I don’t tell her that I hope it’s a boy.

That will soften my father, seeing the next pakhan in my arms.

I stepped back, loving how the wind caught her hair. Remembering the phone, I jogged back to check the recording. I watched in the viewfinder and smiled at how Sandrine looked suspended in time. Free and happy.

Then she slowed, her nose turning red. Her pale white fingers meant she was cold. I needed to fix that. With some well-deserved heat. In my bed.

Back at the swings, I caught her, my hands sliding to her waist. Sandrine leaned forward, and she kissed me.

“I’m cold,” she murmured, her breath brushing against my lips.

“Let’s go home,” I said, helping her off the swing.

I kept my arm around her as we walked toward the bench. I picked up the phone and ended the recording. The final frame was her smile.

With her head on my shoulder, I stared at the thumbnail. My thumb hovered over the screen as instinct warred with my duties. This was for my survival. I just knew I’d need this someday.

Smiling, I uploaded the video to a secure drive. As perfect as that moment had felt, I knew the world I lived in too well to trust that we’d be accepted at face value.

I’m going to need this because no one will believe this delicate artist with anxiety issues just agreed to marry a brutal Bratva heir.

But now, I had proof.

Chapter 19

Sandrine

My fingers tremble slightly as they clutch Kirill’s phone, my pulse an erratic time bomb in my throat.

“That is certainly me,” I whisper in a weak voice, the words forcing their way through a dense resistance inside my chest. “Was me.”