Page 72 of Tattooed Heart

I don’t ask for details. Some things are better left unknown.

Dimitri places his hand over mine. “We'll have you examined as soon as we get home. Talia already called the doctor.”

The mention of my sister brings fresh tears to my eyes. “She must have been worried sick.”

“She never lost faith,” Dimitri says. “She knew we would find you.” A small smile touches his lips. “She's as stubborn as you are.”

As we near the estate, familiar landmarks come into view. The old church perched on the corner, the long stretch of forest flanking the private road to the mansion. Each one is a reminder of a home I feared I’d never see again.

When the estate gates open and the mansion rises before us, I see Talia waiting on the steps. She runs before the car even comes to a stop. As soon as the door opens, she is there, arms around me, tears streaking her cheeks, her voice shaking as she whispers my name repeatedly.

I let her hold me.

But my eyes never leave Dimitri. Because he is the reason I’m still breathing. The reason our baby will be born. The reason the nightmare ended.

And I know at this moment that I’m his no matter what else comes. And he is mine.

24

DIMITRI

It has been a week since I put a bullet between Morozov’s eyes. Seven days since I watched Sandy held at gunpoint by that madman. One agonizing week since I nearly lost everything I didn’t realize I couldn’t live without.

Now, as the morning sun spills through the tall windows of the Avilov estate, I stand in the kitchen with a tray in my hands and a tremor in my chest.

Breakfast in bed. It sounds simple enough. But beneath the folded napkin, beside the sliced fruit and fresh-squeezed juice, isn’t just a dish of strawberry jam. There is a small velvet box. It holds everything I don’t know how to say unless I’m on one knee in front of her.

Alone in the quiet hush of morning, a thread of doubt creeps in.Am I doing the right thing?

Sandy deserves more than a man whose past put a gun to her head. She deserves peace, not the constant shadow of war. Someone who can offer safety instead of bloodstained promises. Someone whose love doesn’t come wrapped in danger.

But I’m too selfish to let her go. Too far gone to pretend I can live without her smile and laughter.

I adjust the items on the tray one more time. Fresh blueberries and strawberries arranged just so. Raspberry jam she’s developed a craving for during her pregnancy. Coffee with extra cream, the way she’s started taking it lately. Two warm croissants and a side of crispy bacon.

Sandy has been healing slowly but surely. The bruises on her ribs have faded into yellow ghosts. The split lip has smoothed over, the color returning to her face daily. But she isn’t just healing physically. There is a light in her again. A steadiness in the way she moves, the way she laughs with Talia, the way she presses her hand to her round belly when she doesn’t think anyone is looking.

I see it. I see all of her.

The way she talks to our unborn child when she thinks she is alone, her voice soft and musical as she tells stories about the world waiting outside. The way she looks at me across the dinner table each night, love and trust shining in those blue eyes that first captured my attention in Aleksandr’s office what felt like a lifetime ago. And I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life protecting every inch of that light. Even when the darkness came calling. Especially then.

I carry the tray upstairs, the scent of bacon and coffee wafting with every step. I reach the guest suite and nudge the door open with my shoulder.

She is curled beneath the blankets, her hair like fire across the pillow, one hand resting lightly on her belly. The sight damn near undoes me. She is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.Her skin has regained its healthy glow, and her breathing is deep and even. Peaceful.

“Room service,” I say softly.

Her eyes flutter open, and when they meet mine, they warm instantly. A smile curves her lips, sleepy and content.

“Are you trying to spoil me?”

“Maybe.” I set the tray down over her lap and lean in to kiss her forehead, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “You deserve it.”

She smiles sleepily and peeks under the napkin. “Ooh, is that the raspberry jam I like?”

“Only the best.”

Her laughter is soft, but it wraps around my ribs and squeezes. She picks up the juice and takes a sip, then reaches for the croissant, spreading it thick with the jam she's been craving.

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