Page 65 of Dark Bratva Christmas
And she even smiled when she found out one was actually two. We were having twins.
She stares at our sons every day with an amount of love and wonder in her eyes that always amazes me. On top of that, I find that motherhood has only served to make her more fucking beautiful and addictive.
Ya ne mogu nasytit'sya svoyey zhenoy(I can’t get enough of my wife).
“Maybe they just want their grandma to hold them,” my mom says as she swoops in and grabs them from Catarina, already bouncing Mikhail II on her hip.
“She knows they’re going to be spoiled rotten,” my mom continues.
Catarina laughs, leaning back and taking a deep breath when our son is out of her hands.
“You can't spoil them too much or they might be poor leaders,” my dad calls after her when she walks away, patting Grigori on the back. “We need these boys to be strong men.”
“Is that why I wasn't given toys as a child?” I ask, nudging my father on the arm.
He turns to me with a weary look in his eyes. Over the past year, he's only gotten worse. Honestly, I think a part of him has just been hanging on so he could see his grandchildren. He's in a wheelchair now, and every breath he takes looks like it strains him.
“Maybe it seemed harsh at the time, but look where that got you,” he says, gesturing to the beautiful house around me, my gorgeous wife sitting next to me.
“Fair point.”
Catarina laughs and gets up to change now that she's free.
It's Christmas Eve, and the house is decorated to the nines. This year, Catarina and I went shopping for decorations together, and she's come up with a theme for every room. She told me it was inspired by the light display we went to last year.
It’s a lot. She’s a lot. But it’s fine.
That's going to be our tradition now. We'll go to that display every year and decorate the entire house after being inspired by the themes. That and Christmas Eve dinners with family.
Leonidas made an incredible meal for all of us, and my parents are spending the night, mostly to spend more time with their grandsons. Plus, I asked my mom for a little extra help because of something special I have planned for Catarina.
The past year has been difficult. With Boris gone and Catarina being the de facto heir to the Petrov family, there has been a lot of retaliation. Some people don't want a woman leading them, and some of them don’t want to be a part of the new Volkov-Petrov family. Many of them fell in line and have slowly begun to ingratiate themselves with my family.
We’ve made a hell of a reconciliation with Mauricio though.
And Nikolai has become my second-in-command.
Despite it all, it worked out for the best. We’re more fucking powerful than ever. And I intend to keep it that way.
Catarina comes back out in a fresh blouse, her hair tied back in a loose braid she likes to wear. Through the unbuttoned top of the blouse, I can see the locket with Mikhail's picture. It’s a reminder of what we’ve been through to get here.
My mom dotes on Grigori and Mikhail II, both of them staring up at her in wonder.
She volunteers to put them both to bed because she hasn't been able to put a baby to sleep for over thirty years. Catarina agrees to let her, and snuggles up against me as we watchMiracle on 34thStreetwith my dad.
Do I have any interest in a bunch of fucking Christmas movies? Absolutely not. But I’ve found that there’s a lot of give and take in a marriage. And because I love her, I’ll give her whatever the hell she wants—even if it’s shitty Christmas movie marathons.
My eyes drift to the window as I hold my wife in my arms. Snow falls outside and the world is quiet and peaceful. It's warm inside, and the smell of the Christmas tree and good food lingers in the air.
I’ve never cared for the holidays, but this is something I could get used to.
After about an hour, my father nods off and I help my mom get him into bed. I say good night to them both before heading back out to the living room where Catarina is waiting, her eyes also heavy with sleep.
“Come with me,” I say, turning off the TV and holding my hand out for her to grab. She eyes me suspiciously and grabs hold of my hand. I stand behind her, covering her eyes as I lead her outside.
“It’s cold,” she says, chattering her teeth.
“Keep your eyes closed,” I command, guiding her to the exact spot I need her to be in before I grab a blanket to wrap around her shoulders.
