Drago nods again, and this time the words come out like a vow he carved into his bones. “I’ll give her everything,” he whispers. “I swear it.”
Dad’s eyes drift to the scan photo in my hand like it’s sacred. “A grandad,” he murmurs again, his voice cracking.
“Yes, dedushka.” I sob, leaning in and kissing his cheek carefully. His eyes close, and a single tear slips down the side of his face.
I catch it with my thumb like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
Drago takes another step forward, close enough now that Dad could reach him if he had the strength.
His voice goes rough again, half joke, half broken sincerity. “And when the kid grows up,” Drago murmurs, blinking hard, “I’m teaching them to call you ‘old man’ too. Or shall I teach them to call you it in Russian?Ded.”
Lev’s mouth twitches. A real smile this time. “You better teach them Russian,” he rasps. “Start them young. I’ll be chasing them round in no time.”
Drago lets out something between a laugh and a sob, and he lowers his head for a second like he’s trying to keep himself together. Then he looks up again, eyes bright and shining and full of love that he doesn’t know how to hide.
“You hear that?” Drago tells him, his voice shaking. “You’re not going anywhere. Not now. Not when she needs you. Not when we need you.”
Lev’s gaze softens, and for the first time… he looks peaceful. Not because the pain is gone. But because he knows he made it back. Back to me. Back to Drago. Back to something that feels like a future.
And for a moment… It’s just us.
Just the fragile miracle of making it out the other side. It’s been years since I’ve felt safe. Years since I’ve felt real love.
And now, I have everything I could possibly need right in this room. And I refuse to ever let go of that.
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
Drago
Song- The Apparition, Sleep Token.
Two weeks later…
I lean on the doorframe, watching the concentration on her face in the mirror as she pliés in front of it. And damn… that black bodysuit is making it impossible to look anywhere but her perfect ass.
She must catch me staring, because her next move is intended to rile me up.
One hand to the barre. And then she bends right over like she’s offering herself to my attention on purpose.
I tighten my grip on the door, my jaw ticking as she rises again with that effortless control, settling into a new position on her toes. One arm lifted above her head, wrist soft, fingers elegant.
Grace in motion. Power in silence.
In the past, I’ve seen her dance on various occasions, hidden at the back of venues, tucked in shadows, watching her shine onstage like she was always meant to.
But this…
This is different.
Now I get to experience her like this, within touching distance. No hiding. No pretending I’m not obsessed. No pretending she doesn’t own pieces of me I didn’t even know could belong to someone else.
It’s her third day down here in the gym practicing.
Her third day choosing herself again.
And I’m so damn proud of her.
“Beautiful,” I say quietly as I step into the room.
