Page 91 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

“Get some rest,” I say to Violet. “I’ll bring you some soup later. You must eat something.”

“Okay, Daddy.” She yawns and stifles a cough. “Mommy?”

We both go still as Sandrine looks down at our daughter. “Yes, sweetie?”

“I still had fun today.” She brings the cover up to her chin. “But I was really cold. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want our fun to end.” She frowns. “What if you have to go away again?”

That’s a knife in the chest.

“Today won’t be the only time we can play like that.” She strokes Violet’s leg over the blanket. “When I was little, my mother would play in the snow with my sister and me. We’d get cold. Go inside for cocoa. Change into dry clothes and go back outside.”

I freeze as she recites what’s obviously a memory. But one from before the accident, if she’s talking about her mother who died when she was young.

“Okay, Mommy. But I don’t like cocoa.”

“You never had my cocoa. I’ll bring up some juice for you.” Sandrine smiles and strolls past me.

I have far more practice being a father than a husband. While Violet is given an unprecedented amount of freedom and latitude with my patience, there’s no doubt that I’m in charge.

I can’t apply the same logic and behavior to a wife. And the frustration I felt out there in the snow fades with each passing second.

In the hallway, I tug Sandrine aside. “Hang on.”

Electricity crackles between us as our eyes lock.

She looks down at my hand on her arm. “Kirill, I’m sorry, I⁠—”

“No,” I bite out. “I’m sorry. For earlier. The way I reacted.”

Her gaze searches mine, but she doesn’t accept my apology. I exhale slowly, dragging a hand up and down the back of my neck.

“It happens,” I add. “I didn’t always know what the hell I was doing. I made mistakes.”

She considers my admission. “And now I’ll be making them. According to you, you’ll be gone all the time, so I’ll have to figure it out myself.”

I tug her closer, narrowing the space between us. I’ve kept a distance from her too long. Since that night of our date, my body remembers her. And wants her. I just haven’t been able to let myself take it further.

Before I can second-guess it, I press a kiss to her lips.

It’s brief, restrained, and nothing like the hunger that still simmers beneath the surface. But it feels necessary. I can keep going, but I break the kiss, remembering her comment about her mother.

Holding her close, I say, “You mentioned your mother. Playing in the snow. Drinking cocoa?”

“I did.” She nods, staring up at me. “I saw old pictures. Lourdes shared photo albums with me from our childhood.”

“Oh. Again, I’m sorry.” I brush her hair from her face.

There’s an inferno in her eyes, but she backs off. “I’ll go make Violet some soup for lunch.”

“Sandrine, your clothes are wet, too,” I call out to her.

Touching her pants, she nods. “I hadn’t noticed. I was worried about Violet.”

“Go change and get warm. I’ll tell the cook to make the soup for both of you. And I’ll get her juice.”

Conflict flickers in her eyes. “Whatever you think is best, Kirill.”

Without another word, she disappears down the hall and into her bedroom. While I stand there and get my breathing under control from the kiss and how she looked at me.