"It's not that simple,” I argue, meeting his eyes. "You're Bratva. You have a life; a world I know nothing about. I have this bakery, this legacy from my aunt. I can't just abandon everything because—"
"Your aunt wouldn't want you to be struggling like you are," he counters before sliding more eggs into his mouth. His lips close around the fork and I watch as he draws it from between them. Those lips were on me a couple of hours ago, making me break apart.
"You don't know what she'd want. You didn’t know her," I don’t say it to be argumentative, but they do come from a place of pain. Pain I feel like an infected wound that I can’t close up no matter what I do.
"I know she left you this place because she loved you. Because she wanted you to be happy. Are you happy, Lily?"
The question hangs in the air. I want to say yes. Want to defend my choices, my business, my life, but I can't.
"I'm trying," I whisper.
"Trying isn't the same as succeeding." He leans forward. "Your aunt wouldn't think less of you for giving this up. For choosing something different."
"You don't know that." I push the container of food away from me, unable to cope with the sight or smell of it while I handle these feelings swirling inside me.
"Maybe not. But I know she wouldn't want you drowning. Breaking yourself for a business that's failing, not because of anything you did wrong, but because the system is broken."
Tears prick my eyes. "This was her dream."
"Precisely,” he says with what looks like a gentle smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen his eyes soften and it breaks something open inside of me. “It was her dream. Not yours."
"I don't want to fail her."
"You haven't. You tried. You gave it everything. That's not failure, Lily. That's courage."
A tear escapes, trailing down my cheek. He reaches across the table, wiping it away with his thumb.
"What if I want to keep it?" I ask. "The bakery. What if I'm not ready to give up?"
"Then I’ll help you. We make it work together. Turn it profitable, sustainable. Whatever you need."
"Just like that?" I ask with a wet pop of laughter.
"Just like that."
I search his face for the lie, the catch. Find nothing but certainty.
"Why?" I whisper. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you're mine. And I take care of what's mine."
The possessiveness settles something deep in my chest. A weight I've been carrying alone for so long, suddenly shared, suddenly so much more manageable.
"I need to think about it," I say. "The bakery. What I actually want versus what I think I should want."
"That's fair."
We finish eating in silence. He clears the containers away, moving around my kitchen like he belongs here.
"Zakhar?" I ask, heat flooding my cheeks.
"Yeah?"
"Last night. The things you said. About..." I can't quite make myself say it.
"About breeding you?"
I swallow. "Yes. That."
