He clears his throat and pulls back. In the dim light his eyes are dark and unguarded. “I should have told you sooner.”
“Told me what?”
He takes a deep breath. “I’ve been a coward where it matters and a tyrant where it didn’t. I told myself discipline would keep you safe and silence would keep me sane.” He winces. “It did neither.”
“Vlad—”
“No. Let me finish.” He cups my jaw, thumb sweeping softly against my cheekbone. “I love you, Teresa. I love you in ways I didn’t think were possible, in ways that scare the hell out of me.” His laugh is small, self-mocking. “I should have said it long before this happened. I should have said it so many times already. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“You’re not saying this because you got shot?” I smile, teasing.
“I’m saying it because getting shot made knowing what I needed to do very simple.” His hand slides to the back of my neck, warm and certain. “I love you. I intend to protect you. I intend to be worthy of being the father to our child.”
I lean closer until our noses brush. “I love you too,” I whisper, the truth of it clicking into place like a lock I’ve been carrying around finally found its key.
He exhales sharply, relieved. The kiss he gives is neither possessive nor desperate; it’s careful, reverent. When we part, I press my fingertips to his mouth, pointing to the bandage on his shoulder. “And if you ever let me get kidnapped again, I’ll hire someone to shoot you in the other shoulder.” I laugh at the absurdity of it all.
“Fair,” he murmurs against my finger, kissing it. “More than fair.”
A soft tap at the door breaks the spell. Dmitri leans in. “Volkov’s asking for you both,” he says. “He’s awake. And… different.”
Different. Interesting.
I take Vlad’s good hand and we move slowly down the hall together. The ICU bay holding Aleksander Volkov is guarded by our men and his—it’s a strange sight, seeing the silver ties alongside his twin wolves. It’s a sign of a different world already forming.
Aleksander looks smaller. He’s pale, the hard planes of his face softened by pain and morphine. He turns his head as we enter, eyes finding me first.
“Devushka,” he says, voice rough and raspy. No spite. “Come.”
I glance at Vlad and he nods. I step to the bedside, fingers worrying the edge of the blanket. Vlad hovers a pace behind, a much-needed wall at my back.
“The baby?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say. “All good.”
He nods, a tinge of relief washing over him. The man who not too long ago was ready to kill me and my child is now relieved. The irony.
“I have been a fool,” Aleksander says, every word measured. “I loved my son. That love rotted into a thing that needed a villain, and I chose you because it was easier than looking into the mirror. I was wrong.”
My heart clenches. “Maxim—” My voice breaks. “Maxim didn’t deserve what happened.”
“No.” He blinks slowly. “And I made certain you suffered as if you had pulled the trigger. I won’t ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. But I… regret. Do you understand? I regret.”
My eyes sting. Regret is not a cure; it’s not even a bandage. But it’s something.
“What happens now?”
“My nephew, Nikolai, arrives from Moscow tomorrow,” Aleksander says. “Not a boy with ideas, a man with brains. He will keep the house upright while I try to learn how to be old without being cruel.” He closes his eyes for a heartbeat, then opens them again, finding mine. “There will be no war, no revenge, none of it.”
Vlad steps forward, the two of them measuring each other without the need for raised voices.
“You live,” he says. “And together we can end this war before it starts.”
Aleksander’s attention returns to me. “I almost feel unworthy of wishing you happiness, considering how much pain I’ve caused,” he admits. “But I can try. For you. For the child.” His gaze cuts to Vlad again. “Keep them safe.”
“I will,” Vlad says simply.
“Go,” Aleksander murmurs, closing his eyes again.
