Page 76 of Vendetta Crown

"Moments without blood and fear?"

"Moments where I'm just a man cooking for the woman he loves." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "It's not what I was raised to value, but it's everything that's important."

I reach up and take his hand, squeezing it between both of mine before planting a soft kiss on it.

The savory aroma of the stroganoff fills the air, and wraps around me like a warm blanket. I take a deep breath, letting the rich scent settle deep into my lungs.

It feels nice.

Ruslan's hand pulls away as he makes his way back to the stove, and I miss his presence now more than ever. But as I continue to watch him, I feel my guard slowly coming down.

And along with it comes a renewed courage to reflect on the source of my exhaustion.

"Playing my mother today..." I begin, my voice catching. "It made everything real again. Not that it was ever not real, but?—"

"You had to put it away to survive." Ruslan finishes my thought, stirring the stroganoff. "I understand that."

I nod, watching his broad shoulders move as he works. "Our children will only know one grandmother. I wish they could have known all of them."

"Yours maybe." Ruslan's hands pause momentarily. "My father wouldn't have been much of a grandfather even if he lived. He would have seen them as tools for the bratva, not children to be cherished."

"But your mother?—"

"Yes, Liliya will dote on them," he says, his expression softening. "She may be stern with adults, but she melts around children. It's the only time I've seen her truly smile. It's why my nieces love her so much."

I imagine our twins crawling on Liliya's lap, her rigid exterior crumbling for them. The thought brings an unexpected warmth to my chest.

Standing up from my chair, I walk around the counter until I wrap my arm around Ruslan's wide body from behind. He lets out an appreciative breath, and I bury my face against the hard muscles of his back and plant a gentle kiss on his shoulder blade.

"What kind of world are we bringing them into, Ruslan?" I ask softly. "I want them to feel safe, to never know what it's like to look over their shoulders constantly."

He turns from the stove, his golden eyes serious. "They won't live as we did. I promise you this,zarechka. They will know safety, not fear. Love, not control."

I reach over and touch the scar on Ruslan's wrist, tracing the raised white line with my fingertip.

"Sometimes I wonder if we're fooling ourselves," I whisper. "Thinking we can build something normal amidst all this."

He abandons the stroganoff for a moment to catch my hand, bringing it to his lips. "What's normal anyway? People spending lives they hate to chase things they don't need?"

"Normal is boring and predictable. Normal is safe. Normal isn't wondering if your husband will come home with bullet holes in him." My voice hitches. "Normal isn't worrying that your stalker will find where your children sleep."

Ruslan turns around completely now and pulls me into his arms. I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"I grew up with a father who meticulously planned every murder like a golfer checking the weather," he says quietly. "That was my normal. Your normal was being Jamie Fields until it wasn't. And it took me meeting you to realize something else."

"What's that?"

His hands move to cup my face. "We make our own normal,zarechka."

"But how do we protect them from the truth? The bratva isn't something you can hide in a drawer."

"We don't hide it. We teach them to navigate it." His thumb traces the fading bruise on my cheek. "My father taught Lev and me with terror and pain. I will teach our children with honesty and choice."

"And if they choose differently than you want?"

"Then they choose. Simple as that. The ability to choose was something that so many of us in this life never had."

I think of Mikayla's tearful face, her fierce protection of her sisters despite everything. I think about the other pakhan's wives. Ruslan is right. None of them were ever given a choice.

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