Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
We move forward toward the building and find a door, unguarded. We quietly enter and make our way through the space.
The warehouse stinks of rust and gasoline. I slip through the shadows, Mikhail covering my flank. One wrong move and she’s gone.
Then I hear it — her voice, sharp as a blade, cutting through the darkness.
“My husband’s coming. And when he gets here, you’ll beg for mercy you don’t deserve.”
Pride slams into me. She’s terrified, but she’s still fighting.
I see where Katya stands, facing a man with malice in her eyes.
The first shot I fire takes the smirk off her captor’s face.
Chaos erupts. Bullets sing. Mikhail drops one man; I’m already on the other. He shoves Katya forward like a shield, but I don’t hesitate. My bullet finds his temple before his finger finds the trigger.
Katya stumbles into my arms, rope biting her wrists, tears streaking paint down her cheeks. I cut her free and crush her to me.
“You came,” she whispers, voice trembling.
“I’ll always come for you,” I growl against her hair. “No one touches my wife. Ever.”
When we finally stumble back into the night, her hand never leaves mine.
Back in the car, I untie her wrists and look for any other injuries before starting the engine and heading toward home.
She shivers in the passenger seat and I crank up the heat.
“I thought we were okay,” I say, my voice rough.
“We were,” she says. “But I’m not.”
The honesty slices like glass. I nod slowly.
“I’m trying, Isaac. I’m trying to be this woman you need. A wife. A mother. A Bratva queen or whatever the hell this life is shaping me into. But it’s happening so fast. And I’m scared I’ll lose myself in it.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you,” I say softly.
She finally looks at me. Her eyes are rimmed red, yet clear and strong.
“I needed to remember who I was before you,” she says. “Before all of this. Before guns and guards and kidnappings.”
“And did you?”
She draws a slow breath and nods. “I remembered I used to feel alive when I painted. I remembered that I wanted a life of my own. That I still do.”
I reach for her hand. She lets me take it.
“I didn’t leave to hurt you,” she says. “I just needed to breathe.”
I nod once. “I get that. I should’ve seen it,” I say quietly. “I should’ve asked more, given you space before you felt you had to run from me to find it. Before you had to find out how dangerous it was to leave without telling me.”
She shakes her head. “I always thought I’d travel, open a gallery, maybe fall in love on my own time. Do things in the order that made sense to me.”
“And now it’s all upside down.”
She nods slowly. “I’m terrified, Isaac. I sure as hell didn’t think I’d be pregnant this soon. And I didn’t think I’d have to give up everything I ever dreamed of just to keep the peace between our families. I certainly didn’t think I’d be kidnapped.”
My throat tightens. I can hear the resignation in her voice, the sadness she hasn’t dared say out loud until now.
“I’m not trying to take anything from you, Katya. I want to build something with you. If you want this studio, it’s yours. If you want to open a gallery, I’ll fund it. If you need two lives, one here and one with me, I’ll make it happen. I told you, there is nothing you can ask for that I won’t give. And I will never let anyone hurt you again.”
Tears gather in her eyes, and she shakes her head. “Why are you so good to me?”
Because I love you, I almost say.
But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead I tell her, “Because I see you, all of you. And I want you to feel like you still belong to yourself, even when you belong to me, too.”
A tear slips down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. I pull her into my arms and hold her while she cries. And when her breathing slows, when her hand curls into the fabric of my jacket and she rests her forehead against my shoulder, I whisper, “Come home.”
She doesn’t answer. She only leans into me, small in my arms yet carrying a weight that has been breaking her open piece by piece. I hold her as though she’s fragile, even though I know she’s anything but.
Eventually, she pulls back, just enough to look up at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but steady now. Clear.
“You haven’t lost your dreams, Katya,” I promise her. “Not to me. And not because of this marriage.”
Her brow furrows, as if she wants to believe me but isn’t sure she should.
I soften my voice. “I care for you,” I promise. “I’ll do anything you need to protect you and our child.”