Page 103 of Vendetta Crown

"Thank you," I whisper back. "For everything."

She nods once, then turns to rejoin the celebration, leaving us with both her blessing and her warning hanging in the air between us.

Just then, a commotion rises from the entrance of the sitting room. My muscles instinctively seize at the sight of Tamara standing there.

The cold beauty is still there. Her perfect blonde hair still falls in soft waves. Those piercing blue eyes still seem to see right through me.

But there's something different in her appearance today. The mask-like quality of her face seems less severe today. Maybe it's the way she's styled her hair, pulling it back loosely rather than in the severe style she wore at my wedding.

Maybe it's the subtler makeup, or perhaps it's simply the red rims around her eyes.

Tamara's eyes meet mine across the room. There's still that calculated coldness there, but something else too. Something I can't quite name.

My mind flashes back to that horrible moment at our wedding reception, when she strode in with armed men behind her, demanding her daughters. I can still feel the shock that paralyzed me when she brought Jamie Fields back to life with her words.

I fled the room in panic the last time she and I faced each other.

But not today.

I feel Ruslan's hand squeeze mine, his body tensing beside me as he prepares to step between Tamara and me if necessary.

"Mama!" Sofia's delighted shriek splits the tension as she races across the room, Stella right behind her.

Tamara kneels to embrace them, her expression softening in a way I've never seen before. She presses her face into Sofia's hair, inhaling deeply as though breathing in a piece of herself she thought lost.

I glance at Mikayla, who stands frozen beside Liliya. Her face is a battleground of emotions.

Longing, anger, uncertainty.

She wants to go to her mother, I can see it in the slight forward tilt of her body, but the knowledge of what her mother had done holds her back.

"It's okay," I whisper to her. "Whatever you're feeling is okay."

Her eyes flick to mine, searching. "What if I'm still angry?"

"Then be angry. But take it from me, Mikayla, don't let your anger with your mother take away the time that you could've had with her."

She nods once, decisively, and walks toward Tamara with measured steps. Not running like her sisters, but approaching with the dignity of someone who deserves an apology.

Tamara looks up, her perfectly sculpted face showing genuine relief.

"Mika," she says softly.

"Mama." Mikayla's voice is steady, though I catch the slight tremble in her hands.

Tamara straightens to face her oldest daughter. "I know I shouldn't be here, but I wanted to see you. All of you. Before it's too late."

"How do you know that it isn't?" Mikayla says, fighting to keep her voice even.

"I don't. But that's why I must try, right,dorogaya?"

When Tamara finally looks up at us, her ice-blue eyes are clear and direct. She straightens her spine, the picture of bratva dignity even now.

"Thank you for allowing me to be here."

Ruslan's hand tightens around mine. "Why are you here, Tamara Denisovna?"

"I missed my children, Ruslan Vitalyevich." She strokes Sofia's hair as Stella clings to her leg. "And I brought something. For your baby."

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