Page 96 of Jewel of the Assassin
Only now, her teacup rests on her knee instead of a silenced pistol.
She speaks first, voice low but steady. “Tell me,devushka,what do you think of my son?”
Valentina laughs softly. She’s nervous. My chest tightens as she presses her lips together, eyes flicking down as she gathersher words.
“When I woke up with no memory and first got to know him…I thought he was intense.” She glances up with a quick flash of a grin. “Then I thought he was insane.”
Mamma doesn’t react. Just tips her head slightly, brows lifted, measuring my wife. Her finger taps once, rhythmically, against the porcelain, appraising. Valentina notices, blushing. A sweet smile tugs at her mouth.
“He’s still intense. Still insane. But…” She tilts her head, eyes distant, softening. “But like you said—he’s a storm with honor. One you want on your side.” Her voice falters for a beat. “And I’m lucky. Because he’s not just on my side. Heismy side.”
My heart leaps in my chest. Across the screen, Mamma finally leans back, her lips curling, not in approval. In victory. I lean back in my seat, stroking my jaw, warring between emotions of pride, of awe, of the unholy relief that she sees me for what I am.
Not just the blade my mother forged.
Not just the son my father tried to leash.
But the man who burned down kingdoms and rewrote alliances in blood and smoke—just to build an empire in the Bering Strait, where no one could touch her.
I made this island. This future. I paid for it with oceans of blood so I could crown her without opposition. Valentina Makarova.
Mamma’s gaze sharpens, but sadder and wiser. She studies Valentina as someone who once made men confess their sins just by pouring their tea. She’s still testing.
“So,” she begins, “you know what Roman is?”
Valentina nods once. Calm. Certain.
I see the twitch in Mamma’s fingers. A small tell—curiosity, maybe concern—but Valentina lifts a hand before she can press further. “I know,” my wife says firmly. “And not only do I accept it, I think it’s brought us closer.”
Mamma stills, the air between them tightening. She wasn’t expecting that.
Valentina shifts in her seat, her voice softer now. “A monthago, we had an intruder on the island. He came for me. I didn’t freeze. I didn’t run.” She pauses, lifting her chin with quiet pride. “I killed him. I stabbed him. More than once. I remember the blood. It was hot. It ran down my arms, my face. Roman got there just as it was dripping from my jaw.”
I remember it too. I remember the look in her eyes. Not broken. Not traumatized. Lit with something wild, awake, and alive.
Mamma sets down her cup slowly, regarding Valentina with respect. Maybe even awe.
“I trained Roman,” she says at last, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “Everything he knows, he learned first from me.”
Valentina’s eyes widen. She leans forward with elated eagerness. I grin and sip my vodka. She’s hungry for this, for everything.
“Can you tell me more?” Valentina asks, almost breathless.
Mamma’s smile is small, amused. But there’s pride. She lifts a brow, not at Valentina, but at the nearest security camera. “I will. But…Roman, you can come in now.”
Valentina releases a little moan as I rise, her face falling into her hands.
As I cross the short hallway to them, I smirk, overhearing my mother assuring her, “Ochen’ horoshaya, milaya moya.”
When I enter, Mamma is patting the back of my wife’s hand. “You should see the way he watches you when you’re not looking.”
Valentina groans again, dragging her hands down her face. I linger outside the salon to watch.
Mamma chuckles softly and adds, “He listens when you speak, even when you whisper. He guards you with his whole body. And when he left the room, milaya moya, he took your heart with him. So, my sweet girl, don’t feel shame for loving someone who’s already undone by you.”
She leans in closer and says in a lower voice, “A man likeRoman doesn’t need soft declarations—he needs truth. And you gave him just that.”
Once Valentina straightens, returning to her sovereign identity, my mother pushes her chair back slightly. “To give you the history you desire, I believe we’ll need something a little stronger than wine.”
