Page 69 of Owned By the Russian

“Next time, try to get me faster,” she murmured, smiling.

What was left of his glare melted, and before she could blink, he was kissing her?hard, deep, unbothered by their audience.

She melted against him, fingers curling into his hair, and when he pulled back, she smirked. “I won.”

He blinked, brows furrowing. “Won what?”

Her grin widened. “The game.”

It took him a second before realization dawned?she was talking about their phone call. About who could get the other more worked up.

Ilya threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and dark and filled with fucking adoration.

“Valentina,” he muttered, cupping her jaw, “you can have every victory you want?as long as you never scare me like that again.”

She shrugged, reaching for his lips. “No promises.”

He groaned, kissed her again, and, with his arm still locked around her, turned back toward their waiting convoy.

They were going home.

Epilogue - Valentina

Two months later

Valentina stared at herself in the mirror, fingers lightly brushing over the delicate fabric of her wedding gown. She had always imagined this day?dreamed of it in so many different ways?but never had she thought it would feel like this.

Completely and utterly safe.

The Nikolais had torn through the Irish mafia responsible for her and Irina’s kidnapping, ensuring not a single one remained standing. And yet, Aleksander, that devil’s spawn, was still out there. It was like he had vanished into thin air. But for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t worried.

Her family and the Nikolais had joined forces, a powerful, unstoppable force, and in the heart of it all was Ilya. Her soon-to-be-husband.

She brushed her fingers over her stomach. At two months, she had the cutest, tiniest bump, but it was barely noticeable beneath the dress. A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. When she turned, a smile tugged at her lips.

Lorenzo stood in the doorway, looking at her like he was seeing a ghost. His usual composed expression had cracked, his eyes suspiciously glassy.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, in a rough voice, he said, “You look beautiful.”

She swallowed. “Papa?”

“You look just like her.” His voice was soft, almost reverent. “Your mother.”

Valentina felt a lump rise in her throat as her fingers instinctively reached for the pendant around her neck. Her father rarely spoke about her mother. He rarely cried. The last time he had, she had been too young to fully understand the weight of his grief.

“I wish she were here to see this,” he murmured, stepping closer. “She would be so proud of you, Valentina.” He exhaled sharply, gathering himself. “I am proud of you. So are your siblings.”

Her heart squeezed. “Papa…”

He cupped her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “My strong, beautiful girl.”

She blinked rapidly, refusing to let tears fall and ruin her makeup. Instead, she gave him a watery smile. “You’re going to make me cry before I even walk down the aisle.”

He chuckled, stepping back. “I’ll leave you to collect yourself then.”

She nodded, watching as he exited the room. Once he was gone, she exhaled, placing a hand against her chest to steady herself.

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