Page 115 of Scarlet Thorns
Now those walls are going to hear children’s voices.
Footsteps running up stairs.
The house feels charged when I walk through the front door— like the air before a lightning strike. Ilona stands in the living room, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and uncertain.
She’s changed clothes since this morning— traded the jeans and sweater for a soft dress that flows around her like water. The afternoon light catches the honey tones in her hair, and for a moment I forget about wheel nuts and death threats and the weight of secrets between us.
She’s here.
And she’s carrying my child.
“So you know the news,” she says quietly. My face must give everything away.
Her voice carries that particular tremor of someone delivering information that changes everything.
Instead of words, I cross the room and lift her off her feet, careful as handling nitroglycerine. She melts against me, arms sliding around my neck, and everything becomes about this—her warmth, her scent, the impossible miracle growing between us.
Her body fits against mine like we were designed for each other. I can feel her heartbeat against my chest, rapid but steady, keeping time with the life we’ve created together.
“Ilona.” I inhale as I speak, drawing her scent deeper into my lungs, storing it somewhere permanent.
The name carries more weight now. She’s the mother of my child. The second chance I never expected to receive.
Heat builds between us despite everything. Despite the doctor’s warnings, despite the danger circling outside, despite the secrets that could tear us apart. My body wants what it wants, and what it wants is to claim her so thoroughly that the rest of the world disappears.
But that hunger carries new complexity now. It’s not just about possession anymore— it’s about protection.
I force my grip to gentle, taking in the room around us with fresh eyes.
The living room suddenly feels too exposed. Too many entry points, too many sight lines from the street. Anyone with a rifle and decent training could take her out from the tree line.
“We need to talk about security,” I murmur against her temple, hating how practical concerns intrude on this moment.
Her body goes rigid in my arms. “The car…”
“It was a professional job.” I pull back enough to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to scare you, but you need to know what we’re dealing with.”
“Osip… who would do that?” Her voice stays steady, but I can feel the tremor in her hands as they grip my shoulders. “Why would someone want to hurt me?”
Blyad.
Because you’re mine. Because hurting you hurts me. Because in the world I come from, everything you love becomes a weapon someone else can use against you.
What the fuck do I say to that? How much of what I am can I share with her?
“I’m not sure yet,” I lie. “Could be related to the club, to business competitors. Could be someone… from my past looking for leverage.”
The half-truth sits uneasily between us. She deserves better— honesty about who I really am, about what I’ve done, about the blood on my hands that reaches all the way to her father’s murder. But not today. Not when she’s just learned she’s pregnant with a child medical science said was practically impossible.
“We’re going to be fine,” I murmur against her temple, already planning how to eliminate whoever thinks they can touch my family. “All three of us. I promise you that.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Ilona
I’m curled into the plush armchair by the window, my hands instinctively resting on my stomach where new life grows.
The revelation still feels surreal— I’m going to be a mother.
