Page 63 of Owned By The Bratva King

“Yeah, rusalka. It’s good.” I hold my arms to her, and she melts into my chest.

“I really want to go home,” she whispers. “Can we?”

“Sure. No one called about your apartment, and with Silvio out of action, it’ll be safe now.”

The man guarding Quinn’s place looks exhausted and grateful to be leaving. We head inside, and she sinks into her couch with a sigh.

“Will it always be this way?” she asks. “People out to hurt us?”

“For Silvio, it was personal.” I sit beside her, and she rests her head on my shoulder. “I have enemies, but it’s usually bratva business, and that’s different. That I can handle. Now,” I turn to look at her, “what does my wife want?”

“Breakfast.” She smiles. “I have nothing to cook, and I’m starving.”

“We can do that.” I kiss her. “I mean, what do you want in life? Do you have a dream I can grant?”

“I always thought I’d like to lose forty pounds, but since meeting you, I’ve changed my mind.”

“You will not be doing that. In fact,” I pat her belly, “I’d like to see you get a lot bigger over a few months if you catch my drift.”

“Cool your jets, Roman. We’re less than a week into this relationship. I’ll be staying on the pill for a little while longer.”

“Damn, you kept that quiet. We can put a pin in it, but this is not over. You want to be something more than my hot pregnant wife?” I arch an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“My mom wanted to be a professional pastry chef,” she begins, snuggling closer. “She was such a great baker, and my best memories are of her in her apron, diligently kneading and piping. It wasn’t to be; she married my father, they had me, and then life dragged her down and down until she couldn’t claw her way out.”

“No wonder you like to bake,” I say. “My mama was similar, but with her, it was bread. The house always smelled of it.”

Quinn squeezes my arm, and we bask in the warmth of this unexpected moment of connection.

“I’ve always wanted to train to be a pâtissier,” she says. “Mom is part of me; it would be a great way to feel close to her. I miss her so much.”

“Moya zhena, there is nothing in this world you cannot do. I will find the best school, the best training?—”

“What if I’m not good enough, Roman?” Her voice is suddenly shaky. “It’s not just the money. You need to help me believe I can do it.”

“What did I say?” I grab her chin and turn her face to mine. “You can do anything, and it’s not because I can make it happen. You are a powerhouse, Quinn. A woman of strength and determination. Think about what you’ve had to do to survive, not only recently but for your whole life. You think you’ve been cowering in the shadows?”

I press my forehead to hers. “No way. You were down but never beat. It takes guts to fight for yourself, but you did every day. And you kept your compassion and heart.”

I mean every word, but I make a silent promise—I will find her uncle and keep an eye on the bastard. If he finds himself on the wrong end of some scumbag’s shank, that will be a happy coincidence, of course. And as for the killer of Quinn’s parents, I will find them, too.

“I messaged Katrina and told her what happened to Sugar Rush.” Quinn sighs. “She was such a good baker and now she’s out of a job.”

“When we open your new bakery, it’ll be three times the size. You can have Katrina on your staff.” I smile at her wide-eyed surprise. “As you want it, my love. I promise.”

She throws her arms around my neck and dives on me, smothering my face with kisses. “You’re the best, Roman,” she says.

“I know. Now, what do you want to eat? I’ll order it in.”

“Waffles, coffee, and fresh fruit salad.”

I frown. “Okay. But I want a pistachio and cardamom cinnamon bun, and my usual place isn’t doing them right now. Show me how to make them?”

“The dough needs time to rise. Twice.” She laughs at my exaggerated sad face. “Don’t look that way. I’m adaptable. I know a recipe we can throw together in half an hour, and luckily for you, I have everything I need.”

I pull her mouth to mine. “Me too,” I murmur.

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