Page 86 of Inked Athena

I place my hand over my belly. The baby is still a bit too young to kick, but I talk myself sometimes into believing he or she is already moving, breathing, thriving, loving. It’s enough to remind me I’m never truly alone anymore.

There’s a part of me that desperately wants to believe in Hope’s version of love conquering all. The part that melts when Samuil wraps his arms around me at night. The part that thrills at how his presence fills every room. The part that wants to believe I’m enough—more than enough—to be his equal partner in this life we’re creating.

But there’s another part of me that can’t forget what I’ve seen. What he’s done. What he might still do in the future.

The imagined flutter comes again, gentle but insistent, like a reminder that some choices have already been made. Some bridges already crossed.

Hope presses her cheek to my shoulder. “Stop thinking so hard. You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.”

“I can’t help it.” I rest my forehead against the cool glass, watching London blur through the fog. “Everything’s changing so fast.”

“Yeah,” she agrees softly. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

I close my eyes and let out a long breath, thinking of Samuil’s arms around me, his voice in my ear, his hand protective over our growing child.

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe change is exactly what we all need.

31

SAMUIL

Blood and sweat stain the tape wrapped around my knuckles as I step back up to the punching bag. We’re in a private gym and the air in here reeks of luxury—premium leather, polished hardwood, and the particular kind of silence that only serious money can buy.

“Your form’s getting sloppy,” Myles taunts as I execute another combination on the heavy bag. “Too much time lounging on that yacht with your baby mama?”

I shoot him a look that would make most men piss themselves. Myles just grins wider.

“Speaking of Nova…” He lets the words hang there like bait.

“Don’t.”

“What? I was just going to say?—”

“You were going to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. Again.” I increase the intensity of my strikes, letting the satisfying impact drown out whatever bullshit he’s about to spew.

“Fine. But Hope mentioned?—”

“Hope needs to mind her own fucking business.” The bag swings wildly as I unleash a particularly vicious combination. “And so do you.”

“Alright, alright.” Myles holds up his hands in mock surrender. “No talk about the beautiful, pregnant woman you’re in love with but won’t commit to. Got it. Message received.”

I stop mid-strike, fixing him with a cold stare. “You’re fired.”

“Again?” He laughs. “That’s, what, the third time this month?”

“Keep pushing and I’ll make it permanent.”

We both know I won’t. Myles has been by my side since college—through the disaster with Katerina, through Ilya’s betrayal, through enough bloodshed to fill the Thames. Add the Scotland debacle to that, and he’s earned the right to push my buttons.

Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the door. “Let’s grab some air. I know a good route for a little jog.”

I recognize the glint in his eye. The same look he gets before doing something stupid that will probably end with someone bleeding.

But the workout has barely taken the edge off the constant tension thrumming through my veins. The kind that comes from having a pregnant woman you’d kill for, a brother you need to kill, and an empire that demands blood to keep running.

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