Page 79 of Tattooed Vow

“Yes.” Dimitri downed his vodka in one swift motion. “He’s still alive.”

Silence settles over the room, heavy with implications. Finally, Aleksandr sets down his glass with a decisive click.

“We've dealt him a significant blow today,” he says firmly. “His organization is crippling, his allies will smell blood in the water, and we have his enforcers to provide us with details of his remaining operations. Morozov is wounded prey now. Dangerous still but ultimately doomed.”

Talia moves to her husband's side, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “How long until you find him?”

“Days. Perhaps weeks,” Aleksandr admits. “But he will surface. Men like Morozov always do. Their pride demands it.”

“And until then?” I ask, looking between the brothers.

Dimitri's hand finds mine, his fingers warm and strong as they intertwine with mine. “Until then, you’ll remain here with me. The estate's security has been reinforced. No one gets in or out without our knowledge.”

“I'd like a moment alone with Sandy,” Dimitri requests. “Will you give us a few minutes?”

Aleksandr nods, exchanging a glance with Talia. “We'll speak more at dinner. Viktor is overseeing the interrogation of the prisoners. I expect his report within the hour.”

As they close the heavy door behind them, Dimitri's carefully maintained composure seems to fracture. He scrubs a hand down his face, his frustration palpable in the tense line of his shoulders.

“I failed,” he says, his back to me as he stares out the window into the estate's gardens. “I promised you this would end today. That you would be safe.”

I move to him, sliding my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against his broad back. “You came back,” I say simply. “That's what matters most.”

He turns in my embrace, his hands coming up to frame my face. “You deserve more than a life spent looking over your shoulder,malyshka. You and our child.”

The tenderness in his touch and the raw emotion in his voice undoes me. I spent the morning terrified I would lose him, that our child would never know its father. And here he is, blaming himself for circumstances beyond his control.

“Listen to me,” I say firmly, covering his hands with my own. “The Butcher is dead. Morozov is wounded and running. His organization is in chaos. Those aren't failures, Dimitri. That's progress.”

A small smile touches his lips. “When did you become so pragmatic about Bratva warfare?”

“Around the time I realized I was carrying the child of Dimitri Popov and needed to adjust my expectations accordingly,” I respond, adding a hint of wry humor to my tone.

His expression sobers, one hand dropping to rest against my abdomen. “I should have anticipated the helicopter. Should have had air assets in place. If I had been more thorough?—”

I silence him with a soft but insistent kiss. After a moment's surprise, he responds, his arms encircling me, drawing me against the solid warmth of his body. The kiss deepens, carrying all the fear, relief, and longing of the morning's separation.

When we finally pull apart, breathing heavily, I look up into his coffee-colored eyes. “You came back to me,” I repeat. “That's what I asked of you, and you kept that promise. The rest we'll handle together.”

Something shifts in his expression. A softening, a surrender of sorts. “Together,” he echoes. His thumb traces the curve of my cheek. “I don't deserve you, Sandy Davis.”

“Probably not,” I agree with a small smile. “But you're stuck with me now.”

He laughs a short, surprised sound that transforms his face, erasing years of hardened caution. It is a side of him few ever see. The man beneath the feared enforcer of the Avilov Bratva. The man who has, against all odds, become essential to my existence.

Dimitri pulls me close again, his chin resting on my head. I close my eyes, breathing in his scent—gunpowder, cologne, and something uniquely him. For this moment, in the circle of his arms, I can pretend that Morozov isn’t still out there, that danger doesn’t lurk beyond the estate's walls.

“I've been thinking,” Dimitri says after a long silence, his voice a rumble I can feel against my cheek. “About what you asked…about leaving.”

I pull back slightly to see his face, surprised. “You said it wasn't possible.”

“Perhaps...it's necessary.” His eyes search mine. “If we can't eliminate Morozov quickly, there may be another way to ensure your safety. Our child's safety.”

Hope flutters in my chest, delicate as a bird's wing. “You'd really consider it? Walking away from all this? From the Bratva? From Aleksandr?”

Dimitri's expression grows solemn. “Three months ago, I would have said never. The Bratva is my blood, my heritage. But now...” His hand slides to my stomach again, a protective gesture that has become increasingly familiar. “Now there are things more important than heritage or obligation. Things worth sacrificing everything for.”

I let his words settle over me. I know what the Bratva means to him, his bond with his brother, and his loyalty to his men. To contemplate leaving it all behind for me and our child is nothing short of revolutionary.

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