Page 101 of Carved in Ruin

He tilts his head back, savoring the words like they’re air and he’s been drowning.

“Again.” He hisses.

“I love you.”

His lips curl into a smile. “Again.”

“I love you so much,Moya lyubov’.”

He laughs, the sound deep and rich, like velvet. “You finally figured out what it means.”

“Teaching me curse words, huh?” I tease, my brow arching. “Since when was ‘my love’ a swear word?”

Before I can get another jab in, his mouth is on mine, silencing me with a kiss. It’s slow but consuming, like he’s trying to fuse us together.

I brush my fingers over his hands resting on my thighs. They’re rough, calloused from years of violence and his obsession with carving.

“Been sculpting recently?” I ask, tracing the lines of his knuckles.

He nods, his gaze darkening.

“Aren’t you tired of sculpting me?” I taunt, though my voice carries no real bite.

“I’m lucky enough to call the most beautiful creature alive my wife. That is enough inspiration.”

I roll my eyes, though my cheeks heat. “It’ll get to my head.”

“Good,” he says, pulling me closer.

I can’t help but think back to the first time I stumbled into his carving room. I remember the way he froze, panic flaring in his eyes, as if I’d discovered a part of him he’d kept hidden. The walls were lined with sculptures, variations of me. My face, my body, moments of us together immortalized in stone.

He was terrified I’d be turned off, scared his obsession would send me running. But instead, I was drawn in, unable to look away. That room didn’t scare me; it consumed me, the same way he does.

We made love right there. He stared at me the whole time, his gaze flicking between me and the sculptures, like he couldn’t believe I was real.

Now, that obsession is growing on me. It’s not just something he feels, it’s something I need.

Rafael’s voice cuts through the peaceful silence of our shared space. “Your uncle tried to reach out to me again.”

I freeze, my body tensing against his. My shoulders tighten, and he doesn’t miss it.

Immediately, his hands find my shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the knots with practiced ease. “Relax,Moya lyubov’,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. “You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to meet him,” I say. “I don’t even remember him.”

Speaking of remembering, I still don’t remember that day—the one that changed our entire lives. I don’t remember the moment I set Rafael’s world on fire. It’s like my brain is shieldingme from it, as if it knows I’m not strong enough to face it. My mental health has gotten so much better now, but I know deep down that if those memories came rushing back, it would all come crashing down. And honestly? Selfishly, I don’t want to remember.

“Okay,Kroshka,” he replies simply, his hands still working their magic on my tense muscles.

I bite my lip, debating whether to continue. The words spill out anyway. “He swears he’s different from Milos, but I don’t want to take that risk. I can’t.”

Rafael hums, his fingers moving from my shoulders to my hair, coiling a strand around his finger as he always does when he’s grounding himself—and me. His tone is calm, but there’s an edge of steel in it. “I’ll send a strong message for him to stop his attempts.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my body finally relaxing against his touch. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“Always,” he says, brushing a kiss against my temple. “No one will ever disturb your peace again. Not while I’m here.”

After a minute of silence, he chuckles. “I’ve heard you’ve been harassing the Bratva women.”

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