Page 20 of A Baby for the BRATVA Boss
“That’s a lie,” she says lightly. “Everyone has a story.”
I sit back in the chair opposite her. The leather creaks. “Mine isn’t a kind one.”
“Maybe not. But it made you who you are.”
She studies me for a long moment, like she’s searching for the man behind the reputation. No one’s looked at me like that in years. Not even my own family.
“My mother died when I was young, giving birth to my youngest brother,” I say quietly. “My father raised me to rule, not to live. I learned fast that kindness doesn’t last in our world.”
She nods slowly. “And yet you’re being kind now.”
“This isn’t kindness,” I say. “It’s something else.”
“What, then?”
“Possession. Protection. They look the same until you touch them.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Maybe I don’t mind being protected, or possessed, by you.”
“Careful,” I murmur. “You don’t know what that costs.”
“Maybe I do. Maybe I’m willing to pay the price.”
Her gaze holds mine, steady and fearless, and I feel that dangerous pull again.
“And you?” I ask. “What did your life look like before your father’s gambling? Before his debts?”
She sighs, a sound that carries years. “Normal. Safe. Until it wasn’t. My mother used to decorate the house at Christmas, even when we couldn’t afford gifts. She said Christmas brought magic, made wishes come true.”
I glance at the tree. “She was right.”
Sophia smiles faintly, then looks into the fire. “I wonder what she would think of me now. Of what I’ve become.”
“What have you become?”
Her eyes lift to mine. “Yours.”
The words hit harder than they should. I take a breath that feels like a confession. For a long moment, neither of us moves. The crackle of the fire fills the silence, and the snow outside keeps falling.
I stand first, cross the space between us, and hold out my hand. “Come with me.”
She hesitates only a second before sliding her fingers into mine. The touch is small, simple, but it burns.
When she rises, she’s close enough that I can smell her skin, sweet and uniquely her. I trace a strand of hair away from her face.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” I say quietly.
“I think it’s similar to what you do to me.”
Her confidence startles me. The woman who once trembled in front of me now meets my gaze like an equal. I don’t know whether to be proud or afraid of what this means.
“Say it again,” I tell her.
“I’m yours,” she whispers.
I close my eyes for half a second, fighting the impulse to drag her against me and forget the world entirely. Then I nod toward the stairs.
The firelight fades behind us, replaced by the dim glow of sconces along the wall, casting long shadows that dance across her face. She follows without a word, her fingers tight in mine, and I feel the tremor in them, not fear anymore but anticipation, the same current that’s been racing in my blood since she first stepped into my room last night.
