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Kissing her head, I let out a sigh. “There are boxes at my parent’s house. Perhaps we can go through them at some point.”
“I thought both your parents were deceased.”
“They are, but we kept the house.”
“Does this mean I get to see pictures of you as a teenager?”
“I was a made man by the age of fifteen, so the only photos are from weddings or events we attended.
“Oh.”
Looking down, I study my wife’s face. “Are you surprised?”
“A little.” She traces the wedding band on my finger. “I thought you would’ve had a little more time before you were inducted into the life.”
“I understood from an early age what the family business entailed and how much of an honor it was to become join the brotherhood. Every childhood lesson, conversation, and experience molded me into the perfect Bratva soldier.”
Stepping away, I notice my footfall is absorbed by the large rugs covering the floor. “I like what you have done with the loft, Lina.” She joins me and takes my hand. “You left a few Dracula vibes, and I appreciate it.”
“It’s your home, Yuri. I just added a few soft touches to the coffin.”
“It’s our home.” Her pleased smile sends a jolt of satisfaction through my chest. “Did you make many changes to the bedroom?”
Pulling my hand, she walks backward. “How do you feel about dozens of small decorative pillows?”
“As long as my beautiful wife is lying on them, I’m fine with it.”
Hunger and tenderness fill her gaze as I follow her down the hall, and I know I will never be able to let her go.
To have and to hold from this day forth.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lina
The following day, I push the door to the loft below ours and walk through the empty space, hearing the clang of metal. After the building tour yesterday, I feel like I have a good sense of where things are.
The floor has two matching units and this one I can access at any time. The one on the other end of the hall is to be left alone, which means it’s stocked with things that I don’t need to know about.
I move toward the doorway of a room filled with gym equipment and stare at my husband’s black T-shirt. The material stretches around his biceps and is tight enough to highlight the valley between his pecs. “There you are.”
“How was your nap?”
“Perfect. I think the last week has taken a greater toll on me than I was aware of.”
“From seamstress to heiress to wife. All in the span of one week. It’s a wonder you’re not babbling in a dark corner.”
“I had enough of that growing up.” His features harden. “Sorry. That joke made you uncomfortable.”
“It’s not discomfort but anger. I want to grab that younger version of you and offer my protection.”
I snatch a towel from a stack and hand it to him. “My mother did her best with the brain chemistry she was given. Blaming her for her behavior is like telling someone who wasn’t born with a limb to walk anyway.”
“That doesn’t negate the price you paid.”
“Perhaps Mama was a hero. I don’t know what life was like with my father. For all I know, he was a monster, and she saved our lives. Whatever drove her from Russia had to be something unimaginable because leaving a cossetted life and flying across the world with her child couldn’t have been done lightly.”
His hand runs along my arm, and I look down at his ring. “Life wasn’t easy, but if you don’t know differently, you assume it’s normal. For many years our primary mode of communication was arguments. I wanted to spread my wings during my teenage years, and Mama refused to let it happen. We ping-ponged between her fears and my need to see the world beyond our small corner of the city.”
