Page 127 of Untamed

Moscow.Is.Beautiful.

Turns out, no one could tie Rodion to anything and my video caused momentary suspicion but no more.

We still decided to leave town for a bit.

I thought I would want to go back to my apartment, but I find that the memories of Shawn are too hard to shake. I knew it was time for me to leave, and now I have good reason to.

I always wanted to travel the world. And after seeing homes like the Romanov mansion? I have no interest in going back to that apartment. I’m also not leaving Rodion’s side, and he needs a bed and shower big enough to accommodate him.

And what better way to practice my photography?

I sit on the balcony of the home Rodion grew up in, my camera perched in my lap, and wonder… is home really a place? Or is it who you’re with?

Maybe home is the weight of Rodion’s jacket on my shoulders, the faint scent of him reassuring. Maybe it’s the quiet hum of voices drifting from inside the house, voices I’m slowly learning to know and trust.

Maybe home is a place you return to, a place where you’re accepted and cared for, no matter your past. Maybe it’s a sense of belonging that’s unshakable. Because here, with Rodion, he’shome.And when I’m with him… this is my home too.

I lift my camera, framing the snow-dusted trees that line their property. Their home is right outside of Moscow but has the perfect view of the iconic city. A light fog curls around the bare branches, chilling yet beautiful, as if softening the sharpness of winter.

Rodion steps onto the balcony behind me, leaning against the railing. “Of all the things you could steal from me, I never thought it would be that old jacket.”

I shrug. “What’s yours is mine.”

I love the sound of his low, dark chuckle. “As long as you’re mine, that’s all I care about.”

I smile. I know. He has more clothes in his closet than I’ve owned in my lifetime, a testament to the wealth he grew up with, but he doesn’t care about any of them.

His hair is still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the temples. It gives him an almost boyish charm. He watches me quietly, something he does a lot these days.

We’ve been in Russia now for a full month. I’m absolutely terrible at speaking Russian, but fortunately, his family has infinite patience.

I take photo after photo, moving around the balcony for different angles. He watches me in silence.

“You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll have to charge you for portraits.” I lower the camera just long enough to meet his gaze.

He smirks. “I’d pay.”

I grin at him. It feels so good, so freeing to just smile and let it all go. To enjoy the moment without worrying about tomorrow. To know that I have all I need, right here.

When I shiver, he reaches for my hand and frowns when he finds my fingers cold. “That’s enough of this. Inside with you. You’re turning into an icicle.”

“I want to take one more?—”

“Ember.” His tone is implacable. It still makes my heart do a little somersault in my chest.

“Mmm?”

“Do what your king tells you, little queen,” he whispers in my ear. “Behave yourself.”

I know he’s right, but it’s fun to push back a little.

We head downstairs, the sound of laughter coming from the living room. I glance through the glass doors, catching a glimpse of Zoya and Polina sprawled across the plush sofa, their heads bent together as they watch something on a phone.

Yana’s gone back with her husband, but the rest of them are here still. Zoya lives here with Polina and Rafail, and though Semyon and Rodion both have a place of their own, it seems we spend more time here than anywhere else. Not that I’m complaining. This place isepic.

Semyon lounges in the corner, his arms crossed, but there’s an uncharacteristic twitch to his lips. Rafail sits near the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in hand, watching them all with the quiet authority of someone who doesn’t need to say much to command a room.

It all feels… normal. Strangely domestic for a Bratva family. I expected them to be colder, more aloof.

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