Page 88 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

“Boots,” she echoes and flies from my bedroom.

In my closet, I consider what is good playing-in-the-snow clothes for me. I don’t see any ski-wear or anything waterproof. I grab a pair of thick jeans and a bulky sweater.

Violet returns wearing something that will get equally wet. Kids need to be kids and have fun. Right?

My childhood was stolen, and I look forward to replacing the lost memories with my daughter.

She grabs my hand the moment I have my boots on. “Come on, Mommy. It’s still snowing. I want to eat the snowflakes!”

We move through the house hand in hand, past a watchful presence of guards. Their smaller number means Kirill isn’t home. A bulk of his Bratva force travels with him. Did he leave early? Or did he not come home at all last night?

Icy dread pools in my stomach. I believed him when he said he hadn’t been with anyone in the five years since I’d been gone. There was no reason to lie. And there’s no reason to think he’d take a mistress now if he went through all this trouble to find me.

So, where is he?

With no answer available, I step outside, and the cold smacks me in the face. But that’s easily shelved by the delight of the falling snow. Big wet flakes land on my nose and lips.

“Taste them, Mommy!” Violet looks up and catches them on her tongue.

I do the same with my eyes closed. A memory flashes at me, the same cold, the same wet snow, the same taste on my tongue. So many memories are breaking through, it’s overwhelming.

One of the therapists at Marlowe said because I’d spent so many years in Lakeshore, hidden from the world, there was nothing to jar memories. People without brain injuries are reminded of the past all the time. I was kept locked away.

Violet doesn’t wait. She darts around cars belonging to the house staff and guards, pulling me toward the gate leading to the back of the property. She laughs with her whole body, all wild joy and pink cheeks.

When the house guards follow a few steps too close, she spins, her face frowning for the first time that I’ve seen.

“No,” she declares with surprising authority. “I’m with my mommy. She’ll protect me like Daddy.”

The guards obey like dire wolves respecting the alpha. Nodding, they step back, but don’t retreat.

I glance at the men, wanting to assure them that I can do as my daughter claimed. I doubt I can, though. I’m not armed and have never shot a gun. I think. I know I’d be useless with a knife.

The question fades as Violet tugs me toward the edge of the courtyard. The property behind the mansion stretches wide and long. Untouched snow blankets everything and feels sacred.

“What’s the matter, Mommy?”

“It’s so pretty, I hate to ruin it.”

Violet thinks about that, but then shakes her head. “It will be prettier with snow angels.”

With that, she dives into what appears to be at least eight inches of snow. A shiver of dread hits me. Is this too deep? Before I have a chance to worry more, she’s on her back, laughing and making impressions with her arms and legs waving up and down.

Smiling, I follow her. Looking at the snow, I’m not sure I want to get that wet.

“Like this, Mommy.” Violet climbs out of her white angel and jumps to another spot.

She turns and then falls backward. My heart leaps at the thought that she’ll hit her head, but the snow is so dense that it cushions her. I don’t know if it will cushion my weight the same, so I do an improvised reverse swan dive, cheating and leading with my butt.

Even with my coat, the snow feels bitterly cold, but I forget everything and let myself exist in this blissful new memory I’m sharing with my daughter.

God, I hope she never loses these moments, the way I’ve lost all mine with my mother.

“Let’s look at them.” Violet bounces up again. “So pretty!”

I stand and admire my work. The vision of the grooves in the wings stays with me. I want to paint this. The layers, the depth.

“Catch me, Mommy.” Violet attempts to run in the high drifts.