Page 58 of Crimson Curse
When we reach the reliquary case, I stop abruptly. The Byzantine artifact glimmers under the precisely calibrated spotlight, gold and silver mirroring every carefully planned ray of illumination. The craftsmanship remains breathtaking; intricate metalwork that took master artisans months to complete, decorative elements that tell stories spanning centuries, a piece of human creativity that has survived wars, theft, and neglect to rest safely behind this glass.
My chest constricts with unexpected emotion. “It started here,” I whisper, my fingertips grazing the cool surface of the display case. “The theft, the war between you and Viktor, all of it.”
The memories flood back unbidden. Daniil’s hand comes to rest at the small of my back, warm through the silk of my dress, grounding me in the present moment instead of the painful past.
“And it ends here,” he replies quietly.
I turn to face him fully, shaking my head with gentle disagreement. The gallery continues to buzz with activity around us, but our conversation exists in its own bubble of intimacy.
“No. It doesn't end. It changes.” I look back at the reliquary, then meet his eyes again. “We built this together. Every scar, every choice, every moment of doubt and determination. You gave me the chance to fight for what I love.”
His thumb brushes across my knuckles in a gesture so subtle that anyone watching might miss it, but the tenderness in that small movement ends a flutter through my chest. For a man who built his life on emotional control, these tiny displays of affection feel monumental.
“And what did I give you?” he asks, his voice lower now, meant for me alone.
Daniil gave me protection when I needed it most. He gave me resources to build something lasting, and a partnership that challenges and supports me in equal measure. He gave me a child growing inside me who will inherit the best of both our strengths. But beneath all of that, the answer is simpler and more profound than any of those gifts.
“Hope,” I breathe.
His gaze sharpens, something vulnerable breaking through the steel of his usual composure. The admission affects him more than I expected. I can see it in the subtle change of his expression, and the way his free hand flexes at his side.
He leans closer, bringing his mouth near my ear so that his words reach me alone amid the crowd.
“And we're not finished yet.”
The promise in those words sends warmth spreading through my limbs, a certainty that extends beyond this moment, this day, and any single achievement. The foundation is launched, but it's just the beginning. Our daughter will be born into a world where her parents fight for truth and preservation. Our marriage will grow stronger as we learn to navigate the complexities of our very different backgrounds. Our love will deepen as we face whatever challenges emerge from the shadows of the life we've chosen together.
My lips curve upward in a smile that feels as natural as breathing, my chest rising with the absolute certainty of it all. The war with Viktor and Lucien may be over, but other enemies may still linger in the dark corners of Daniil's world. Politicians may threaten the foundation's funding. Criminals may target our family. But none of that frightens me anymore. Not when we face it together.
I hold his gaze, steady and sure, letting him see the truth. “We're not finished yet.”
22
DANIIL
The storm begins just after midnight, slow at first, a bruise of clouds looming over the city while the air grows heavy with the scent of rain. A low growl rolls through the sky, gathers force, and then the first hard drops strike the glass like pebbles. Within minutes, the windows are streaked and the world outside becomes a pale wash of water and light.
Naomi had been sitting beside me in the study when she gasped, her hand pressing to her belly. At first, I thought it was another false cramp, one of those fleeting pains the doctor said were normal. But then she whispered my name, her voice thin and strained, and when I looked down, I saw the faint smear of blood.
Early. It’s too early.
I have stood in the middle of gunfire and measured the distance between breath and bullet. I have walked into rooms where the floor held the memory of men who never walked out again. I have given orders that reshaped territories and ended names that once frightened children into obedience. None of thatprepares me for this moment when the woman I love begins a battle I cannot fight for her.
We drive faster than the storm. Lex takes us through near-empty streets to the private clinic that has guarded the secrets of my world for years. I know every inch of this building, every entrance, camera angle, and hallway. Familiarity does nothing to calm me tonight.
At the clinic, they move fast, with clipped instructions, and steady hands. The sight of that blood lingers in my mind, more terrifying than any bullet or blade I have ever faced.
Now I pace the sterile corridor, fists clenching and unclenching, my chest tight with a fear I cannot master. Even when Naomi was shot, I had fury to hold on to, and vengeance to keep me standing. But here there is nothing. Only helplessness.
Lex sits, elbows on his knees, his head tilted so he can study me without being obvious about it. Timur stands at the end of the hall with his arms folded. He looks like a statue placed there to remind the world that I am not alone. An orderly passes by with a cart that squeaks on one wheel. The smell of antiseptic swirls and then settles.
Another cry. Naomi.
The same questions circle my mind, relentless and sharp as knives.What if something goes wrong?What if I lose her?
Every scream that breaks from behind that door cuts through me like shrapnel, and I can’t silence the truth that terrifies me most: I would not survive it.
The storm outside intensifies. Naomi’s next scream slices through the door. I stop pacing, my chest heaving, every muscle in me straining toward that room.
