Page 71 of Tattooed Vow

“I thought about it,” he admits with a wry smile. “For about five seconds. Then I looked into your blue eyes and knew I could never harm you.”

His hands move to my waist, drawing me gently closer until I’m perched on the edge of the bed with him kneeling between my legs. It’s intimate, but his touch remains respectful, almost reverent.

His hand returns to my stomach, splaying protectively over where our child is growing. “How far along?”

“Five weeks,” I tell him. “It's still very early.”

He nods, a muscle working in his jaw. “You'll need to see a doctor. The Bratva doctor is discreet. We'll arrange it tomorrow.”

I smile at his immediate shift to practical matters. It’s typical of Dimitri to identify a need and immediately create a plan to address it. “I already have a doctor,” I say with a smile.

“No,” he says, his voice cutting through the air. Then his expression softens. “This is our child. And it will only be cared for by the people I trust the most. This child changes everything.”

“How?” I ask.

Dimitri is quiet, considering his words carefully. “It gives me something I haven't had in a very long time,” he smiles. “Hope.”

The vulnerability in that single word breaks something deep inside me. Maybe the last fragile piece of my resistance. Before I can think, I lean in and capture his lips with mine. He kisses me back, deep and consuming.

When we break apart, his eyes are dark with emotion. “We will build something good from all this chaos,malyshka. I promise you.”

For the first time in weeks, surrounded by danger and uncertainty, I believe a future is possible. Not just survival but a life, a family, and love.

“I'm going to hold you to that promise,” I whisper against his lips.

His answering smile, rare and genuine, is like the spring sunshine breaking through after a long, dark winter. “I'm counting on it.”

Outside these walls, Morozov is still plotting, and danger still lurks. But here, at this moment, with Dimitri's arms around me and the knowledge of our child growing inside me, I find a peace I didn’t think possible in this violent world.

25

DIMITRI

Three a.m. and sleep evades me like a skilled opponent.

I stare at the bedroom ceiling, mentally reviewing every detail of tomorrow's operation. Outside the window, the rain taps against the glass. A relentless whisper that matches the rhythm of my thoughts. The mansion is quiet, but I know better than most that silence can be deceptive. Danger rarely announces itself.

With a sigh, I carefully extricate myself from Sandy's sleeping form beside me. She stirs slightly, her face peaceful in slumber, one arm draped across where my chest had been. The sight of her vulnerable and trusting strengthens my resolve. Tomorrow, I will put an end to the threat to her once and for all.

I move to the window, gazing out at the expansive grounds of the Avilov estate. Security lights illuminate the perimeter in measured intervals, and I can see the shadowy figures of our guards making their rounds. Good men. Loyal men. Tomorrow, I'll be asking more of them than ever before.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand. Only one person would message at this hour.

Preparations complete. All teams in position by dawn. -V

Viktor, my most trusted enforcer. He's been by my side for ten years and will understand the simple message I send back.

Confirmed.

I set the phone down and turn to the small table where the blueprints of the old distillery are spread out. We'd spent weeks crafting this plan. A deliberate leak of information suggests I will be meeting a potential ally at the abandoned facility on the city's outskirts. The type of information Morozov can’t resist acting on. The kind of opportunity that will draw him out personally.

The trap was set. And I’m the bait.

Behind me, the soft rustle of bed sheets catches my attention. Sandy has awakened, rising to a sitting position, her hair disheveled from sleep, eyes still heavy with dreams. Even in the dim light, I can see the worry etched across her features as she registers my absence from bed.

“You should be sleeping,” I say softly.

She pushes the covers back, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, the thin fabric of her tank top clinging to her form as she stands. “So should you.”

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