His thumb strokes my cheek. "Every word."
"Even the ten cats?"
He groans like I've wounded him. "God help me. Yes."
I grin, eyes still wet, but it's real. That impossible joy when life hands you a second chance you never expected.
"I love you too," I whisper.
We sit in the quiet hum of machines and hallway voices. He's here. I'm here. The world cracked open and gave me a different identity, but I still feel like me.
Maybe that's the strangest part.
"Hey," I say softly. "Whatever comes next, we'll be okay."
"Yeah." He breathes. "We will."
Even if the past was a lie. Even if the future's a mess.
We've got each other.
And I'll be damned if anything takes that away again.
31
NIKOLAI
Doctor said I can move around now, but try telling that to my wife. Elle's up my ass every five minutes like I'm made of glass.
Every time I so much as stand, she's there. Arms folded, brow cocked, ready to shove me back into bed like walking's a felony and she's the goddamn Bratva patrol. Even the staff is scared of her.
I tell her I'm healing. She tells me to heal horizontal.
But this morning I was a second away from having a conversation with the flowers she keeps bringing to my room, and so, after extensive negotiation, I'm allowed on the patio couch, staring at my own backyard like it might do something interesting.
It doesn't. Just birds, bugs, and a tomato plant Elle's been talking to like it has feelings.
I shift, wincing as the bandage pulls against my side. Bullet wounds suck.
"Someone's been misbehaving," a voice calls from the sliding door.
Elle steps out barefoot, glass of orange juice in one hand, the other rubbing her barely-there bump like it's a personal safe she's guarding with her life. She looks beautiful. Irritatingly so. Like she slept eight hours and got a spa day instead of throwing up all morning and yelling at a delivery guy for bringing the wrong brand of pretzels.
"Where's my nurse?" I arch a brow.
"She quit. Said the patient's a grumpy bastard who doesn't follow instructions. Seriously, Nikolai? The second one this week."
"Sounds like she had no backbone."
"She said you tried to bribe her with vodka."
"I thought it was a fair offer." I mutter. "She should've taken it."
She laughs, walks over, and plops down beside me like I'm not held together with stitches and stubbornness. I grunt. She kisses my cheek.
"Uncle Viktor's coming," she says, stealing a sip of my coffee like it won't destroy her acid reflux.
"Yeah?"
