Page 104 of Crown of Hate

My tongue darts out, wetting over my lips. “Careful what you wish for, Mr. Zhirkov. I’m a married woman, you know.”

“And I have the most beautiful wife on the planet. That makes us even.”

He pins a finger under my chin and tilts my face. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he asks with a deep, husky tone.

“Why don’t you show me instead?” I whisper.

“My pleasure.”

His lips capture mine in a kiss so deep, so passionate, I can feel his love coursing through my veins.

I return it with equal fervor, pouring every ounce of my soul into it. Into him.

Intous.

EPILOGUE

MIKHAIL

Eight months later…

“He has your eyes.” Alya’s voice is soft, filled with wonder. Her big, light brown eyes, pools of warmth and love, meet mine over the bundle in her arms. “Want to hold him?”

I’m rooted to the spot, a foot away from the bed, staring at them both like a freaking idiot.

Our son came screaming into the world thirty minutes ago. I’d been with Alya, clutching her hand while she fought through pain I can’t even imagine, all to bring our child into this world.

I’ve killed men without blinking, bathed in blood without flinching. But seeing her in so much pain had ripped something deep inside me. Her strength, her resilience was—is—unmatched.

And now? I can’t bring myself to move closer to her or hold our baby. They’re both so perfect together, so pure and beautiful that I feel my tainted soul shouldn’t be anywhere near them.

“Mikhail.” She calls my name and nods towards our son. “He’s waiting for his papa to hold him.”

My legs are wobbly as I walk to the bed and sit at the edge. “He’s… he’s beautiful.”

Alya smiles. “He is.” She places our child in my arms, and I’m struck by how impossibly soft and light he is. She’s entrusting me with this fragile, precious life, and I’m terrified I’ll drop him… or break him. “He’s your son. Our son.”

“I don’t deserve to be his father.” The words tumble out. I love my son with every fiber of my being. I’d move mountains to keep him safe, but the fear of failing him is overwhelming. “What if I’m not a good father?”

Alya places her hand on mine, warm and reassuring. “I’m not a perfect mother either, but we’ll love and protect him with everything we’ve got. That’s why we’re his parents—not because we’re perfect, but because we’ll love him fiercely, flaws and all.”

Our son opens his blue eyes, the same shade as mine, and flashes a gummy smile at me. Even though there are only wisps of hair on his head, I can tell it’s auburn. Same as his mother.

I smile back at him. “Hello, Maksim.”

Alya’s brows shoot up. “Maksim?”

“It means ‘the greatest,’” I explain, not taking my eyes off our son for even a second. “We’ll raise him with great love. So, Maksim.”

“Maksim,” she echoes. “I love it.”

I finally look up at my wife. She’s radiant, glowing with the joy of new motherhood. “Thank you for making me a father, Alya.”

“Thank you for making me a mother, Mikhail.” She scoots closer and rests against me. “And thank you, Maksim, for being our son. I promise to love and cherish you, always.”

My heart lashes against my chest. It might even explode from the happiness surging through me. I’m filled with a warmth and joy I’ve never known, and to my shock, I feel my eyes start to burn.

“Are you crying?” Alya asks. Her eyes are narrowed on me, and her eyes are sparkling.

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