Page 107 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

I’m not sure if the story is supposed to be sweet or not. To be honest, I don’t know what good looks like anymore. What love should look like.

Dima saved me from Taras. Is that love?

Dima told me to run so he didn’t have to kill me. Isthatlove?

I don’t know. I really, really don’t. But I’m glad he’s sharing this glimpse into his past with me. It feels… important.

I lay my head on his chest and breathe in the musky scent of him. I wish I could bottle it up and spray it on myself like perfume.

We dance in silence for a while. Then Dima starts to talk while he continues to stare over my shoulder into the middle distance beyond.

“My brother and I used to play in here, too,” he murmurs. “When it was empty and our parents were busy, Ilyasov and me, we’d come in here and played with cardboard swords and fake guns. We pretended we were dons fighting over territory or pirates stealing treasure. Kid stuff.”

I love the image of Dima playing. Of him carefree and smiling.

But my heart tugs at the mention of his brother. It’s hard to square the Ilyasov I’ve met with a young, reckless boy. All I can see is the tattooed monster trying to ruin his brother’s life.

Dima has those memories in his head, though. The two versions of Ilyasov—the old and the new—are at war in his head. I can’t help wondering which one is going to win.

38

Arya

When the song ends, Dima takes me by the hand and leads me back to the bedroom. My mind is still racing with thoughts of what he was telling me. About his parents, his brother. Tiny glimpses into the life that molded the man he is today.

I want to know that man. I want to help that man transcend the shit he was born into.

Because he’s done that for me.

But I don’t think I’ve earned that right yet. He’s so guarded about his past that I fear pushing him to reveal things before he’s ready would only make him clam up that much tighter.

Maybe it’s best to let some things lie in the past. That way, we can focus on the present.

God knows I have enough I want to forget.

Besides—right now, I just want to be with him.

“Is the little one still asleep?” I ask as we tiptoe back in.

Dima crosses his fingers and pulls back the blankets. “I hope so.”

He’s in a pair of gray cotton pajama pants with a white shirt and he is gorgeous. The most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

He leans over Lukas’s crib to check on our son. As he does, I spy a dark stain on his shoulder. “Lukas left you a little present,” I laugh.

“There’s a lot more laundry with a baby than I imagined.” Dima smiles and peels the shirt off in one pull, tossing it in the corner of the room.

He’s not trying to seduce me, but he doesn’t have to try. Just the act of breathing is enough for me to want him. The fact that he looks this good and exists is enough to make my knees weak.

But throw in him being a wonderful, caring father, and I’m done for. Doomed to a cursed existence of constant arousal.

I trace my hand over his muscled back. “Who needs pajamas, anyway?”

Dima looks over his shoulder, blue eyes sparkling as he takes in my satin shorts and matching button-down top. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. I’m not sure why I even bothered buying you these pajamas. I’m sure you’d be much more comfortable out of them.”

I begin unbuttoning my shirt slowly. “You’re right. I have blankets. What do I need clothes for?”

Dima grins. “A question as old as time.”

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