Page 77 of Tattooed Vow

“A contingency we should have anticipated,” Aleksandr growls, anger directed at himself as much as me.

“The Butcher is dead.”

Aleksandr's expression softens marginally. “Not an insignificant victory. His death weakens Morozov considerably.” He clasps my shoulder.

As we prepare to depart, I find myself dreading returning to the estate, where I will have to face Sandy with the news that, despite all our planning and resources, Morozov still remains a threat. That the promise I made to end this once and for all remains unfulfilled.

The thought burdens me more heavily than the physical exhaustion of battle. In the weeks since I learned of her pregnancy, something fundamental has shifted within me. Thechild she carries isn’t just an obligation or a responsibility. It’s hope made flesh, a future I never imagined possible.

Sandy has become essential to me in ways I’m only beginning to understand. Her courage, compassion, and stubborn determination have worked their way beneath my defenses, transforming me in the process.

As we drive through the morning, the adrenaline of battle slowly fading, I find myself dwelling on Sandy's question from the night before about leaving this life behind. For the first time, the prospect doesn’t seem like a fantasy but a necessity.

If we can eliminate Morozov quickly, perhaps there is another way to ensure Sandy's safety and our child's future. A way that will require sacrifices I never imagined making, leaving behind everything I have ever known.

But looking toward the future that awaits me at home—Sandy, our child, a life beyond the boundaries of violence and retribution that has defined my existence—I know with sudden clarity that no sacrifice will be too great.

27

SANDY

The ticking of the grandfather clock in the library has become my personal tormentor. Each click of its mechanism seems to stretch the seconds into minutes, the minutes into hours. I try reading and even sketching, but nothing holds my focus.

All I can think about is Dimitri. Out there, putting himself in danger. For me. For our child.

Now cold and untouched, I set down my third cup of tea and move to the window overlooking the estate's south gardens. Guards patrol in their regular patterns, the morning mist giving their movements an otherworldly quality.

“You'll wear a path in the carpet if you keep pacing,” Talia's gentle voice, tinged with knowing humor, flows from the doorway.

I see my sister leaning against the doorframe, her long, chocolate-brown hair pulled back loosely. Unlike me, Talia projects calm, but I can see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tightness around her eyes.

She’s worried, too.

“I'm not sure how you do it,” I admit as she crosses the room to join me at the window. “This...waiting. Knowing they're out there in the face of danger.”

Talia sighs, her gaze following mine to the grounds beyond the glass. “Practice,” she says simply. “And necessity. The first time Aleksandr went into a situation like this after we were married, I made myself sick with worry. I literally spent the entire day throwing up. It helped nothing and made me useless when he returned.”

I manage a small smile. “And you're determined never to be useless.”

“Precisely.” She tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “They are who they are. We knew that when we chose them.”

Did I choose this?The question surfaces unbidden. Fate and circumstance have thrown me into Dimitri’s path. But everything since then—trusting him, opening up to him, gradually allowing myself to feel something for this complex, dangerous man—those have been my choices.

“They should have been back by now,” I murmur, glancing at the clock for perhaps the hundredth time.

“These types of operations rarely adhere to a timetable,” Talia informs, though I note her checking her watch.

I nod, knowing she’s right but finding little comfort in it. My hand drifts unconsciously to my abdomen, a gesture that has become a habit since discovering my pregnancy. The knowledge that I carry Dimitri's child has been shocking, terrifying, and somehow right all at once. It has shifted something fundamental between us, transforming physical attraction and grudging respect into something deeper with roots.

Talia notices the gesture and smiles softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, actually. The morning sickness seems to be easing.”

“Good. You'll need your strength for what comes next.” She squeezes my hand.

Before I can respond, the sharp trill of her phone cuts through the room's quiet. Talia snatches it, her composure cracking slightly as she answers.

“Aleksandr?” A pause. “Thank God. Any casualties?” Another pause, during which her face betrays nothing. “I’m sorry to hear that. Okay, see you soon.”

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