Page 105 of Masked Seduction
The sound tastes sacred. Like a word I’ve been waiting my whole life to speak.
My hand moves reflexively to my shirtfront, where traces of her first feeding left a faint circle over my heart. I didn’t care. I didn’t even think to wipe it away. There was only the blur of her entrance, the sudden silence after Jenna’s final push, then the wet squall of life. A sound that split me wide open.
I remember the crown of dark hair, slick and impossibly small. The way the doctor lifted her—red, furious, and beautiful. My knees nearly gave out. I’ve seen death up close—hell, I’ve dealt it out more than once—but this was different. This was life at its rawest.
And Jenna. My girl. Glowing with sweat and tears. When they placed Vanya on her chest, the whole world narrowed to that one frame, mother and daughter, skin to skin, heartbeats colliding.
I didn’t know it was possible to love that hard. To feel joy that deep.
I close my eyes, remembering the moment. Nothing else existed. Not the empire. Not the threats. Only them.
My angels.
Tatiana spots me first, unleashing a banshee shriek as she hurries towards me. Anya barrels past Denis to clamp both armsaround my neck. Little Charles tugs at my pant-leg, round eyes searching.
“Uncle Abram, where’s the baby?”
I crouch, ruffling his hair. “With her mama right now. You’ll see her soon,malysh.”Everyone’s talking at once, and I raise my hands like a conductor. “Seven pounds even,” I announce. “Full head of dark hair and the longest fingers I’ve ever seen. She latched like a champion. Your niece is an absolute warrior.”
Mikail smirks. “Kid already has the Vasiliev grip. Good luck,pakhan.” Laughter breaks the tension.
Tatiana presses a tiny ivory and blue crocheted blanket into my palm. Denis slips me a slim envelope—college fund, first deposit, written in his precise block letters. I tuck both gifts close to my chest, struck speechless.
“Family dinner when Jenna’s home,” Anya says firmly, wiping mascara streaks. “Non-negotiable.”
Tatiana teases, “Try to get some sleep while you’re here, big brother.”
After my family leaves, I signal two plain-clothes Bratva sentries to plant themselves at the ward entrance. They nod, palms on concealed weapons.
It’s quiet inside Jenna’s room other than the soft beep of her monitor and Vanya’s ribbon-thin breaths. A bedside lamp washes everything in amber light. I sink into the chair beside the bassinet.
Jenna lies on her side, hair a dark red spill across the pillow. I brush one knuckle down her cheek. She doesn’t wake, but her lips curve, instinctively knowing I’m here. Vanya stirs, andI slide a fingertip into her miniature fist. She squeezes, soft but relentless. My pulse stutters at the fragile nails, the little wrinkles on her knuckles, the tininess of her hands.
My kingdom used to be red lines on a map and envelopes of tribute. But now it begins and ends in this room with one sleeping queen and one newborn heir.
Two angels.
I’ll bleed dry before I let the world bruise either one of them.
EPILOGUE II
JENNA
Two years later…
Sunlight pours down, warming my shoulders as I lean back against the lounger, letting my gaze drift lazily over the party.
The rooftop is a dream, our own private oasis perched high above the city. The sun glints off the sparkling blue pool, and the garden planters lining the edge are in full bloom, spilling over with bougainvillea and lavender.
The breeze carries a hint of jasmine, mixed with the faint smell of sunscreen and frosted cake. Beyond the high glass railing, Vegas stretches out in every direction—hazy mountains off in the distance, glittering hotels and casinos below. It still takes my breath away, even after all this time.
But today, our oasis has been transformed. Balloons sway gently, tied to the railings in soft rainbow hues, enough pastel frosting around to give a dentist nightmares for weeks. Abram went overboard as usual, turning this already-stunning rooftop into a storybook party scene—unicorn decor everywhere, fromthe bounce house to the glittering cake topper. It’s outrageous. It’s adorable. And it’s perfect.
I catch sight of Vanya, her silky black curls bouncing as she races past, giggling wildly with her cousins. Those ice-blue eyes—the exact same shade as Abram’s—light up with pure, unfiltered joy as she blows past, her little feet moving with the confidence of someone who knows just how adored she is.
Watching her now, I'm struck again by the disbelief that this perfect little human came from us.
Beside me, Claire laughs, taking a sip of her mojito. “She gets prettier every time I see her. I’d say she takes after her mother, but damn, those eyes of hers are all Abram.”
