Page 91 of Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva
“She lied.”
“Obviously.”
A beat of silence passes, comfortable now. Kiera shifts closer. Her voice softens. “Tiago sent another message last night.”
I nod. “I read it. Short. Rude. On brand.”
“He said you’re still a bastard, but at least you’re consistent.”
“I’ll take it.”
She hesitates, then says, “He meant it, though. About staying in São Paulo. He’s not coming back.”
“That was always the deal.”
“You think he really made peace with this?”
I study her. “With us, you mean.”
She nods.
I shrug. “Peace isn’t the same as forgiveness. He doesn’t have to forgive me. I killed his father. That doesn’t go away.”
“He was my father too.”
I look at her sharply, but her voice holds no accusation. Only truth. “And yet you’re here,” I say quietly.
Her hand finds mine again, tighter this time. “You’re not the man who pulled the trigger anymore.”
“I could be. Under different circumstances.”
“But you’re not,” she says, eyes unwavering. “Not with me.”
It takes everything not to reach for her right then, but the moment is too fragile, too real, and if I touch her now, I might not say what needs to be said.
“They still talk, you know,” she murmurs. “The old guard. The new ones. Everyone in between.”
“Let them.”
“They think you’re soft.”
“Then they’ve never seen me when I think someone’s trying to take you from me.”
Her lips twitch. “They think I made you weak.”
I shake my head. “You made me smarter. And stronger. Love doesn’t weaken a man. It sharpens him. Gives him something to bleed for.”
“Bleed,” she echoes, like she’s tasting the word. “Not die?”
“No, because if I die, you’re alone again. I’m not cruel enough to leave you with that.”
She leans into me then, pressing her forehead to mine. “I used to think strength was silence. That surviving meant never letting anyone in.”
“And now?”
“Now I know better. Now I know it’s letting someone hold your bruises without asking you to explain them.”
I close my eyes. Her breath is warm against my mouth. “You’re more than they deserve, Kiera.”
