My mouth follows the path of my hands, tasting, exploring, worshiping.
When I finally enter her, it’s slow and deliberate. Something that feels like a promise.
She moves with me, her hands gripping my shoulders, her nails leaving crescents in my skin that I’ll wear like badges of honor.
“I love you,” I tell her as we move together, as our breathing synchronizes, as the world narrows to just this moment. “I love you, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it.”
“I love you too,” she gasps, her body arching beneath mine. “I love you, Mikhail. I love you.”
We shatter together, and in that moment of perfect unity, I feel something I haven’t felt in years. Hope.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder.
“Tell me about the businesses,” Sophia says softly. “The legitimate ones you’re planning.”
I smile against her hair. “I have investments in real estate, tech startups, import-export companies that actually import and export legal goods. With some restructuring, some careful management, we can build something substantial. Something that doesn’t require looking over our shoulders constantly.”
“I can help with that.” She props herself up on one elbow, her blue eyes bright with interest.
Pride swells in my chest. “Then we’ll do it together. Partners in every sense of the word.”
She leans down and kisses me, soft and sweet. “Partners.”
The next few weeks pass in a blur of activity.
I meet with lawyers, accountants, and business consultants.
I liquidate the Bratva assets that can’t be legitimized and invest the proceeds in ventures that can withstand scrutiny.
Sophia is brilliant, her mind sharp and strategic as she helps me navigate the complex world of legitimate business.
We work side by side in my office.
I even bring in an extra desk for her, where she sits looking over spreadsheets and projections, while I’m usually on calls with potential partners and investors.
Sometimes I catch her touching her stomach, a small smile playing at her lips, and my heart clenches with love so fierce it takes my breath away.
At night, we make love slowly, carefully, mindful of the life growing inside her.
I worship her body, marveling at the subtle changes already beginning—the slight fullness of her breasts, the way her skin seems to glow.
She’s creating life, and I’m in awe of her.
“What do you want?” she asks me one evening as we lie in bed, her head on my chest. “For the baby, I mean. Boy or girl?”
“Healthy,” I answer immediately. “That’s all that matters. Healthy and safe and loved.”
She tilts her head to look at me, and I see tears gathering in her eyes. “You’re going to be an amazing father.”
“I hope so.” I stroke her hair, feeling the silky strands slip through my fingers. “I want to give our child everything I never had. Stability. Safety. A father who’s present, who’s sober, who doesn’t solve every problem with his fists.”
“You will.” Her hand finds mine, threading our fingers together. “We both will.”
The trauma of what we’ve been through still haunts us. Sophia wakes sometimes in the night, gasping from nightmares about Lorenzo.
I hold her until the shaking stops, until she remembers she’s safe.
And sometimes I wake in a cold sweat, seeing his face, hearing his voice promising to destroy everything I love.
