Page 1 of Tattooed Vow

1

SANDY

“Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday to you...”

The melody of laughter and cheerful singing fills the east wing of the Avilov estate as we sing to my niece, Angelina. The massive courtyard has been transformed into a sun-drenched lavish wonderland. The tables are a vision of soft elegance and playful charm, placed around the sparkling pool and draped in fine ivory linen with a delicate shimmer. Over the linens, blush pink chiffon runners flow like silk rivers, pinned with sparkling crystal brooches shaped like tiny crowns—an ode to the day’s little princess.

Every table is centered with whimsical balloon clusters in soft pink, pearl white, and translucent clear filled with gold confetti that shimmers with each air shift. The balloons float above golden bases wrapped in sheer tulle bows.

Fine china plates trimmed in gold are neatly stacked at each place setting, layered with blush cloth napkins folded into elegant rose shapes and tied with miniature pink satin bows. Next to them, gold-plated cutlery gleams beneath the sunlightand crystal glasses sparkle beside personalized name cards written in graceful cursive on pale pink cardstock.

Small floral arrangements sit between the balloon clusters—bouquets of soft peonies, baby’s breath, and white roses, accented with delicate sprigs of eucalyptus and arranged in clear crystal vases filled with pink-tinted water and iridescent beads. Some tables also hold framed photos of Angelina from her first year, smiling in Talia’s arms, giggling with Maxim and Sasha, bundled in soft blankets, and even one with Aleksandr, where his stoic face carries the faintest smile only fatherhood can bring.

Gold confetti is scattered across the tables like stardust. At each place setting, tiny gold favor boxes shaped like carriages filled with candies are tied with translucent pink ribbons.

A few tables feature storybook-themed centerpieces of fairy-tale castles delicately crafted from paper and mounted on rotating bases. Each castle glows with warm fairy lights that create a magical, enchanted ambiance.

The cake table at the center is the grand focal point, an extravagant multi-tiered masterpiece of pale pink fondant, white lace-like piping, and tiny edible sugar roses. At the top, a fondant replica of Angelina in a princess dress stands beneath a delicate sugar archway, holding a balloon and smiling. Surrounding the cake are glittery cupcakes, cookies shaped like crowns and hearts, and glass jars filled with pastel candies. A sign behind the table reads, in golden cursive, Our Little Princess Turns One.

It is a party fit for royalty but with the unmistakable warmth of family at its core.

Angelina sits in a highchair decorated with glittering ribbons, a tiny pink crown sliding off her soft chocolate-brown curls.

“Happy birthday, dear Angeliiiiiina…” we sing louder, drawing out her name in playful harmony. “Happy birthday to you!”

When the song ends, Talia leans in with a wide smile and helps Angelina blow out the single golden candle on her cake. My sweet niece claps enthusiastically, her ice-blue eyes shimmering with excitement like her father’s.

A round of applause follows, and Sasha squeals as a handful of confetti pops into the air from one of the party poppers. “Again!” she giggles, tugging on her older brother Maxim’s sleeve.

Maxim, always the protective big brother, grins and hands her another popper. “One more, then we save the rest for later.”

I chuckle softly, arms crossed, as I lean against the outdoor bar, soaking in the chaos of pure happiness. The kids are beautiful. Maxim, with his serious blue eyes and messy raven-black hair; Sasha, the little ray of golden sunshine; and Angelina, the heart of the family, even at just one year old.

It should be perfect. And it is, in a way. But as I watch the people I love celebrating something as sweet and simple as a baby’s first birthday, I can’t stop my mind from drifting. Because a year ago…this family almost doesn’t make it.

I swallow hard as my gaze drifts to the towering cake, then to the man standing near it—Dimitri.

He looks impossibly sharp in a black button-up that fits his frame a little too perfectly. His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with ink. He crouches beside Sasha, her green eyes sparkling with excitement as he listensto her ramble with his usual calm intensity, nodding as if her six-year-old logic is gospel. When Maxim asks him something, Dimitri ruffles his hair and smiles genuinely.

That smile always does something to me. I tear my gaze away.

One year. One year since everything changed.

Talia witnessed Aleksandr and Dimitri’s brother being gunned down in a club—wrong place, wrong time. It put a target on her back. Vic, the monster who pulled the trigger, wanted her dead. And then she and the kids disappeared. No warning. No trace.

The fear I felt during those days was paralyzing. She is my little sister, although I act like her mother most days. I glance at the small black bird tattoo that matches Talia’s tattoo on my wrist. Since we met in foster care, she’s been my only real family. And I thought I’d lost her.

I’ll never forget the panic. The helplessness. Pacing for hours with no news, my phone was gripped in my palm so tightly that it left bruises. Talia had been kidnapped by Vic, and it felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.

And then came the rescue. When my phone rang and I heard Talia’s voice, it felt like I could finally breathe again. Dimitri was a storm in human form, coordinating the rescue with Aleksandr and bringing Talia and the children home safely.

That should’ve been the end of it. But then Danny happened. Talia’s past clawed its way back in.

Her psychotic ex-boyfriend had appeared in my apartment, trying to take Talia. When I stepped in to protect her, he lunged at me. I can still feel his fingers wrapped around my throat, squeezing… My fingertips brush over the scar on my neck.

“Thinking too hard again?”

I turn, startled out of my memories by the familiar voice. Talia stands beside me, two champagne flutes in her hands and that knowing sisterly look on her face.

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