Page 55 of Blood Oath Christmas
"It's complicated?—"
"Complicated?" Her voice cracks, and I can see the tears she's fighting back. "You've been watching me for eleven years. Eleven years, Konstantin! While I thought I was just some nobody serving drinks at a club, you knew exactly who I was. You knew about my father, about his connections to your world, and you said nothing."
She starts pacing again, her hands shaking as she runs them through her blonde hair. "All those times Viktor would check on me at work, making sure I got to my car safely. All those coincidences when you'd show up at the same coffee shop I frequented. The way the owner of Otrava always seemed to look out for me."
I remain silent, letting her work through it. She needs this, needs to rage against the deception, even if it tears something inside me apart to watch her pain.
"And my mother." Her voice drops to a whisper, and the betrayal in it cuts deeper than any blade. "She knew, didn't she? She knew my father was… Bratva?”
I nod slowly. "She knew. Your mother wanted you to have a normal life. She thought if you knew the truth about your father's world, about the danger that could follow you, it would destroy the innocence she was trying to preserve."
Ivy laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Innocence? I've been living in a fantasy, Konstantin. A carefully constructed lie designed to keep me docile and unaware." She stops pacing and fixes me with a stare that could melt steel. "What else don't I know? What other secrets are you keeping from me?"
"Your father saved my life," I say, keeping my voice steady. "He could have run, could have saved himself, but he stayed to help me. I owed him a debt."
"A debt." She repeats the words like they taste bitter. "So that's all I am to you? Payment on a debt?"
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "It started that way. But it's not that simple anymore."
"Then explain it to me. Make me understand why you thought lying to me for over a decade was acceptable. Make me understand why you married me under false pretenses."
I move closer, but she holds up a hand, stopping me in my tracks.
"You want to know why I didn't tell you?" I ask, my own frustration finally bleeding through. "Because I knew this would happen. I knew you'd look at me exactly the way you're looking at me now—like I'm a monster who's stolen your life."
She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly looking smaller, more vulnerable. "Do you have any idea what it's like to discover that everything you believed about yourself, about your family, about your place in the world, is wrong?"
I do know, actually. I know exactly what it's like to have your world shattered in an instant, to realize that the people you trusted most have been keeping secrets that change everything. But I can't tell her that. Not yet.
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her trying to process everything, trying to fit the pieces of her shattered worldview back together in some way that makes sense.
"The night I witnessed the murder," she says slowly. "You were there, weren't you? Not just coincidentally. You were watching."
I nod.
"And when the FBI took me into protection, you already had a plan to take me."
"Yes."
She's spiraling now, her voice rising with each word, and I know that if I don't do something to stop her, she's going to work herself into a full panic attack. So I do the only thing I can think of to stop her words, to silence the pain and anger pouring out of her like blood from a wound.
I kiss her.
29
IVY
The kiss catches me completely off guard. One moment I'm standing here, overwhelmed by everything Konstantin has just told me about my father, and the next, his lips are on mine, warm and demanding. My mind goes blank—all the questions, all the confusion, everything just… disappears.
I should pull away. I should demand more answers. But instead, I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as he deepens the kiss. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest, and I can feel his heart beating as rapidly as mine.
"Ivy," he murmurs against my lips, and there's something desperate in his voice that makes my chest tighten.
I don't want to think anymore. I don't want to process what he's told me about my father being involved with the Bratva, about blood oaths and protection. I just want to feel something other than this crushing weight of revelation.
When he lifts me onto his desk, scattering papers to the floor, I don't protest. The Christmas lights from the tree in the corner cast a warm glow across his office, and outside the window, snow continues to fall in the darkness. It feels surreal, like we're in our own private world where nothing else exists.
His hands are gentle but urgent as they roam over my body, and I arch into his touch. Every kiss, every caress drives away the chaos in my mind. This is what I need—this connection, this feeling of being completely present in the moment instead of drowning in questions I'm not ready to face.
