Page 81 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

At that cue, Drago and his men leave through the kitchen door where cars idle in the rear courtyard.

“Goodnight, Mommy,” Violet says, and skips toward me, her face beaming as if she knows she’ll see me again tomorrow.

With her head tilting toward me, she signals she must want a kiss. I’ve never kissed a child. Not that I remember.

“Goodnight, sweet Violet,” I reply, bending down to press a gentle kiss on her lips.

They’re soft and cool.

She skips back to Kirill, slipping her hand into his. Together they move down the hallway. He pauses just before turning, his body angled, but his gaze finds mine.

The world narrows to the look he gives me. Unspoken promises pass between us. I bite my lip and wait a beat.

And then he smiles.

I exhale, happy that he’s happy. When everything softens, the sharp lines of his face make him look less like the man who put a gun to my head and more like the one in the framed photographs from this afternoon.

Thank you… He mouths and then leaves for the stairway, the sound of Violet’s bangles fading down the hallway.

It’s crazy how much I instantly miss them after only a few seconds.

My poor family missed me for five years.

Chapter 25

Kirill

When I return to the kitchen, Sandrine is waiting. Not just waiting, she’s standing at the window gazing into the courtyard. With no one else around, I study the curves of her hips, the swell of her breasts, and the gentle short waves of her blonde hair. Which suits her. Suits who she is today.

She belongs to me, but she doesn’t know how I fought for us or what being my wife means. It hits me all at once, like time folding in on itself, past and present collapsing into a single, disorienting moment.

For a second, it’s years back. She’s younger. I’m younger. She’s mine. And I’m hers. God, I thought that was enough. I was so wrong.

“Ready?” I ask, my voice deep.

Sandrine turns and smiles. A chill moves through me, subtle but unmistakable, raising the hairs along the back of my neck.

“Yeah.” She nods and tucks a purse under her arm.

Consumed with the details of tonight’s security needs, I just now notice what she’s wearing. The cream-colored sweater dress molds to her body in ways I remember. How each week the fabric stretched tighter and tighter as she grew with my child. Those visceral memories were practically burned in my brain.

From the closet near the door, I grab the mink coat she never got to wear.

“This is yours.” I drop it on her shoulders. “I bought it for you shortly after Violet was born.”

She smooths the arms, then looks up at me. “It’s so soft. And warm.”

“I made a pledge that you would have the best of everything as my wife. To prove to your father and everyone else, I was proud that you were mine.”

“Did I ask for things like this?” She touches it again. “And the jewelry?”

“No,” I say sharply. “That’s what made you special. You asked for nothing. You loved me for me.”

Throat dry and tight, I step back and put up a thick blockade across my heart before I lose myself in the illusion that we are just picking up where we left off.

We step outside, and I let the bitter cold clear my head. My security detail, a line of black SUVs, idles in a formation. Sandrine pauses beside me, her gaze sweeping over them, her hand instinctively grabbing mine again.

Muscle memory.