Page 71 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

He stares down at me and says, “For the sake of your relationship with Violet, for the peace in our home, and for the success of my reign when I am officially crowned Pakhan, I have to accept that what’s done is done.”

The measured words are very conciliatory but restrained and tightly controlled.

“We have to move on,” he adds, sadly.

Move on.

Together. But alone. Separate bedrooms. Separate beds.

The driver opens the SUV’s rear passenger door, and I slide inside. Pleasant warmth envelops me against the cold. Kirill follows, and the door shuts behind him. The locks engage, feeling so final, trapping us in this place. Man and wife. Roommates with rings.

I don’t think I want that. He wants me to have a voice. Damn it, I’m using it.

“The gynecologist asked me if I wanted to get on birth control.” I turn toward him.

He shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “More children will be expected. At least one son.”

“So will I eventually move into your bedroom?” I ask.

His brow lifts, a flicker of amusement passing through his expression as he signals the driver to move.

“Maybe,” he says, low and throaty.

Chapter 21

Sandrine

The car ride back from Norridge unfolds in a quiet but hopeful silence.

Maybe…

Maybe we can be those people in the video again.

I sit beside Kirill with my hands folded in my lap. He’s staring straight ahead, his eyes hidden behind platinum-rimmed shades. I’m painfully aware of the ghost of his touch where his fingers had wrapped around mine for much of the afternoon.

He hasn’t spoken in several minutes, but when I shift in my seat and turn toward him, he immediately glances my way. The sharp line of his jaw and the controlled, firm set of his mouth have more effect on me now. Kirill is a man built for decisions and destruction. Not complications. And yet, he chose a giant one.

Me. A wife who doesn’t remember him.

“I want to meet my daughter,” I say, needing that connection.

It’s making me reach outside myself. Even if it’s a hard fall and it blows up in my face.

His gaze drops briefly to his hands as he breathes in and out. When he looks back up at me, his expression is composed and sorrowful.

My heart drops. “Wait…”

“No. You’re not ready.” His answer stabs me in the heart.

I search his face, longing to understand why he’s drawing this line. God, I hate how attracted I am to him.

“If I wasn’t ready, the doctors at Norridge would have suggested you leave me there,” I reply firmly.

“They could’ve lined up every doctor in the country. I still wouldn’t have left you there.” The possession in his voice stuns me.

“Exactly. It’s taken a day to process that I have a daughter. I can handle it.”

“You passed out.”