Page 78 of Hostage of the Russian
“I should change,” she said, but made no move toward the stairs.
“You should.” He turned her to face him, his hands framing her face. “But first, tell me how you’re really doing.”
“I’m tired.” The admission came out soft, vulnerable. “I’m sad for the man he could have been, the father I wished he were. But I’m not sad that he’s gone, and that makes me feel guilty.”
“You don’t get to choose how you grieve.” Kostya’s thumbs traced the sharp line of her cheekbones. “There’s no right way to mourn someone who hurt you.”
She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing for a moment. “Stay with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
They went upstairs together, and Kostya sat on the edge of the bed while she changed into comfortable clothes. The domestic intimacy of it struck him as profound in a way that surprised him. This was what he’d been fighting for in that warehouse, what he’d kill for again without hesitation. Not just her body or her presence, but these quiet moments that made a house feel like a home.
His phone buzzed against the nightstand, but he ignored it. Whatever crisis was brewing in the Bratva world could wait. Tonight belonged to them.
“Kostya?” Azriel emerged from the bathroom in soft pajamas, her hair loose around her shoulders. “Will you tell me about your mother?”
The question caught him off guard. “My mother?”
“You’ve told me stories about your brothers, your cousins, but never her.” She settled beside him on the bed, tucking her legs beneath her. “I’d like to know about the woman who raised you.”
Kostya was quiet for a long moment, sorting through memories he rarely allowed himself to revisit. “She was fierce. Protective. She used to say that the Nikolai men were born with too much fire in their blood, and it was her job to teach us how to use it without burning down everything we loved.”
“Did she succeed?”
“With some of us more than others.” He smiled at the memory of his mother’s exasperated sighs when she’d catch him and his brothers fighting in the garden. “She died when I was fifteen. Cancer. It was fast, which I suppose was a mercy.”
Azriel’s hand found his, their fingers interlacing naturally. “She would have liked me, I think.”
“She would have adored you.” The certainty in his voice surprised them both. “She always said the right woman would be the one who could handle our world without letting it change who she was at heart. You did that, even when everything was falling apart around us.”
“I had good reason to survive.” Her thumb traced patterns on the back of his hand. “I had something worth fighting for.”
The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Kostya turned to study her profile in the lamplight, memorizing the curve of her lips, the determined set of her jaw. She was beautiful, but it was more than that. She was his match in every way that mattered.
“Azriel.”
“Hmm?”
“I meant what I said on the phone. Before everything went to hell.” He waited until she met his eyes. “I love you. Not because you’re my wife or because of how this all started. I love you because you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and you chose to let me be part of your life anyway.”
Her smile was radiant, transforming her face from pretty to breathtaking. “I love you too. I think I have for a while now, but I was too scared to admit it. Too scared that caring about you that much would make me weak.”
“And now?”
“Now I know it makes me stronger.” She shifted closer, her hand moving to rest over his heart. “When my father had that gun to my head, all I could think about was protecting you. About making sure we both made it out alive. Love didn’t make me weak, Kostya. It made me fight.”
He kissed her then, soft and reverent, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the connection between them. She responded with equal tenderness, her lips moving against his like a promise.
When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his, both of them breathing hard.
“What happens now?” she whispered.
“Now we build something together. Something that’s ours.” His hands tangled in her hair, holding her close. “No more secrets, no more half-truths. Just us, figuring out what forever looks like.”
“I’d like that.”
They settled back against the pillows, Azriel’s head on his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her. For the first time in weeks, Kostya felt something close to peace. The threats were neutralized, the woman he loved was safe in his arms, and the future stretched out before them full of possibility.
