Page 65 of Scarred (Russian Sinners 2)

Those simple words bloomed in my chest and warmth spread through my body. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t want him. I wanted him very much, but I was scared of losing him, this fragile bond. All my life I lost everything I’d ever wanted.

I lost my mother’s affection because she was too consumed in her own loss and the humiliation my father put her through. I lost my battle for independence that my grandfather’s inheritance could have afforded me because my dad had high connections. I lost my argument with my father when he told me I had to marry Malcome Schmidt. When I was home around my parents or Malcome, I swore I lost my will to live too.

The only constant in my life were my brother, Anastasia, and Scarlett.

“I want you,” I told him simply. “More than anything else I’ve wanted before. I’m just scared of reality hitting me in the face.”

He strode over to me, his chest still bare from the shower. “I won’t let Malcome get close to you. Ever again.”

Maybe I was a fool but I believed him. I buried my face into his chest, inhaling deeply. God, I loved his smell. My fingers lightly roamed his hard chest, relishing in the comfortable silence and his promise.

“What’s this tattoo?” I asked him. It caught my eye yesterday too. It was right over his chest, where his heart beat.

“It is a sacred heart enveloped in roses,” his voice was a gentle grumble. “Dimitry, Sergei, and I got them as a reminder.”

I raised my eyes to his towering frame. “Reminder of what?”

He put both his hands on my face, and bent his head. “We did some bad stuff growing up. I told you we were part of the mafia. We joined organized crime so we could have food, heat, and a roof over our heads. It required ruthlessness from us to survive. This tattoo was our reminder never to hurt innocents, no matter what. We swore if an innocent crossed our path, we saved them.”

I believed him. There was harshness to him although there was also this safety feeling he portrayed. Since he took me under his protection, I felt safer than ever in my whole life.

“Roof over your head and food?” I asked him. Didn’t the orphanage provide that?

"In the orphanage," he began, "sometimes we didn't get fed as we should have."

My heart ached for little boys who were so neglected they didn’t even get fed. I placed my palm against his scarred cheek, his warmth seeping into me.

One day I’d ask him about his scar. Not today though.

“I think you are a good man,” I spoke softly and I firmly believed those words. “I’m sorry you had to experience that when you were a boy.”

He leaned his cheek into my palm, and I couldn’t resist but lift up on my toes to place a fleeting kiss onto his soft lips.

“I’ll sleep here, but when I need my own space,” I murmured against his lips, “I’ll go to my room. And when you need your space, you have to tell me too.”

“Deal,” he replied without an ounce of hesitation. “Although I can tell you, I won’t be needing my space.”

I shook my head at his assurance and rushed into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

* * *

The day flew by fairly quickly. We went to visit the school that Tasha would possibly attend. It was a private all-girls school. We toured it together, like we were a family and the headmistress treated us as such. She kept calling me Mrs. Smirnov. When I went to correct her, Nikolai just squeezed my hand and shook his head. Taking his cue, I left her in the belief we were husband and wife. Maybe he had a reason for it.

The headmistress was considerate and spoke in English for my benefit although I kept assuring her not to worry about it. She just waved her hand and said it gave her the opportunity to practice it. Three hours later, we were back in the car and I was overloaded with information.

“What did you think?” Tasha asked me excitedly. She loved the prospect of socializing and going to school where she’d meet a lot of friends.

I smiled. “It seems like a very nice school.”

“But?” Of course, Nikolai would pick up on what I wasn’t saying.

I shrugged my shoulder. “Honestly, it was information overload. It is your decision.”

He frowned as if I displeased him and my body slightly tensed.

“I’m asking you for your opinion,” he retorted wryly. “If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have asked for it.”

Although he sounded slightly agitated, he had a point. He didn’t play games with me and was always direct. It might be one of the big reasons why I liked him so much. The safety and directness about him were unlike what I was used to from men in my life.

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