Page 64 of Tattooed Vow

“Honestly? I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, and no matter which way I move, I'm going to fall.”

Talia nods, understanding in her eyes. “When I found out I was pregnant with Angelina, I felt the same way. I loved Aleksandr, but I also knew exactly what marrying thepakhanwould mean for my life. For our child's life.”

I look at her in surprise. “You considered not keeping her?”

“For about five minutes,” she admits, her cheeks reddening slightly. “Then I realized that whatever challenges came with bringing a child into this world, I wanted to face them. But that was my choice. You have to make yours.”

“How did you know you'd be a good mother?” I ask the question that has been haunting me. “Especially to Sasha and Maxim, who weren't even yours biologically?”

Talia laughs softly. “I didn't. I still don't know most days. But I love them fiercely, and I do my best, and somehow that seems to be enough.” She takes my hand. “We had a difficult childhood.That doesn't mean you're destined to repeat it with your own child.”

“But what if?—”

“No 'what ifs,'” she interrupts gently. “Do you want this baby? Not for Dimitri's sake, not for the Bratva's sake, but for your own.”

The question stings like a slap.Do I want this baby?The tiny spark of life growing inside me, part me and part the man I've come to love against all odds?

“I don't know,” I whisper honestly. “Part of me is terrified at the idea of being responsible for another human being. But another part...” I place my hand on my stomach. “Another part wonders what they'll look like. If they'll have Dimitri's eyes or my smile.”

Talia's expression softens. “That's a start. Give yourself permission to feel whatever you're feeling. The fear, the uncertainty, maybe even a touch of wonder.”

“And Dimitri?”

“You'll have to tell him eventually,” she replies. “But you don't have to do it today. Take some time to sort through your own feelings first.”

I nod suddenly exhausted by the emotional roller coaster of the day. “Thank you. For everything.”

“That's what sisters do,” she says simply, rising from the bed. “Try to rest. I'll check on you later.”

As the door closes behind her, I lie back against the pillows, one hand still resting protectively over my abdomen.Family.The word echoes in my mind.

Maybe that is the crux of my fear. Aside from Talia, I've never truly had a family. I've been a perpetual outsider, witnessing what others take for granted. And now, unexpectedly, I have the chance to create one.

Will I take that chance? I don’t know yet. But for the first time since suspecting I’m pregnant, I allow myself to imagine what it might be like to hold my child in my arms. To have something that is truly, undeniably mine.

It is a dangerous thought but a hopeful one. As I drift off to sleep, hope, more than fear, follows me into my dreams.

23

DIMITRI

The basement of the Avilov mansion is a relic from another era, crafted by men who knew that true power often thrived in the shadows. The walls are solid stone, three feet thick. There are no windows, just a hidden staircase, which is the only way in or out. And at its core is the room no outsider has ever been told about.

Ilya's muffled groans echo off the ancient stones as Yuri and Pavel drag him down the narrow staircase. Blood trickles from a gash above his eye where Aleksandr had struck him with his signet ring when we'd cornered him an hour earlier. His hands are bound behind his back, his feet barely supporting his weight as my men haul him toward his reckoning.

I walk ahead, my footsteps measured and deliberate. The iron key feels heavy in my palm, but it has nothing to do with its physical mass. Behind me, Aleksandr follows silently, his fury a palpable force in the close confines of the passageway.

“Here,” I say, stopping before a reinforced steel door set into the ancient stonework. I turn the key in the lock, and the door swings open on well-oiled hinges. The smell hits me first. Dampstone and old despair. We call it the dungeon, though it has been modernized with certain amenities that suit our purposes.

Yuri and Pavel drag Ilya inside and secure him to the chair bolted to the center of the room. Overhead, a single bright light illuminates every detail of his face. The swelling beginning around his eye, the defiant curl of his lip, and the sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill of the basement.

“Leave us,” Aleksandr orders. Yuri and Pavel nod, backing out of the room without a word. The heavy door closes behind them with finality.

For a long moment, no one speaks. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching Ilya's face for any flicker of remorse. There is none. There is only calculation in those pale blue eyes that have watched my back for the past four years. Eyes I trusted to keep watch while I slept.

“Ilya Sokolov,” Aleksandr finally breaks the silence, circling the chair like a predator. His voice is unnervingly calm, all the more terrifying for its softness. “Our trustedvor. The man who has dined at my table. Who held my newborn daughter in his arms and swore to protect her with his life.”

Ilya says nothing, but his jaw tightens.

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