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He breaks the silence, voice hushed but laden with emotion. “Ya tebya lyublyu, moya koroleva.”
I pause, processing the Russian words that I’ve heard but not fully understood. “Ya tebya lyublyu” – that much I know means “I love you.” But the rest, “moya koroleva,” eludes me.
“Wait -You- you love me?” My voice wavers.
“Yes, moya koroleva,” he replies, his voice imbued with an indefinable emotion.
At that moment, the dam breaks. Tears burst forth like a geyser, refusing to be contained any longer. “What does ‘moya koroleva’ mean?” I manage to stammer out between sobs.
“My queen,” he says simply.
“Thank- thank you,” I choke out, my voice tinged with emotion.
“Ya tebya lyublyu, moya koroleva,” he says it again.
“Luka, I… I love you, too.” Saying the words out loud doesn’t just make them real; it makes them a living part of me, so intrinsic that the feeling aches deep within my bones.
In a seamless motion, I draw nearer to him, my arms encircling his strong frame tightly. I hold him as if my very embrace could transmit my emotions, my inner serenity, directly into his soul. My head finds its natural resting place on his chest, each beat of his heart echoing like the sweetest melody in my ears.
Eventually, I withdraw just enough to meet his gaze, my hands lingering on his shoulders. “I know you’re taking your time…about what happened.” My voice wavers, tears threatening to spill over again.
Fuck! If this emotional waterfall keeps up for the next six months, I’ll turn into a human raisin.
A snort escapes me – probably the most unladylike sound I could make—and surprisingly, Luka laughs. But still, there’s that layer of sadness lurking in his blue eyes.
“The truth is…I never imagined I would feel this…anguish,” he confesses, his voice replete with an undertone of disbelieving sorrow. “I was bred for vengeance, schooled for Bratva justice. I was taught that a leader, a pakhan, dispenses retribution without flinching, without remorse.” His words resonate like a haunting melody within me, piercing the core of my being. My heart splinters for him, fragmenting under the sheer weight of his admission.
“But the truth was, I killed my own uncle, my mother’s brother.”
My heart just breaks more, hearing the sadness and regret in his voice.
“Luka, you’re not just the bad things you’ve done,” I say softly, my voice shaking. “You’re more than just the rules and revenge stuff you’ve grown up with. You’re an incredible brother to Yulia; the love and protection you offer her says volumes about the kind of man you are.”
He looks at me like I’m saying things he’s wanted to hear but never thought he would.
“And now,” I continue, “seeing how you are with her, how you are with me, I just know you’re going to be the best father in the world. You’re so much more than the Bratva and its rules. You’re a good man, Luka, even if you can’t see it yet.”
He fixes his gaze on me, searching my face as if looking for something.
“Look, Sophia,” he starts, locking eyes with me. “Life with me won’t be easy. I have enemies, so many that I’ve lost count. I can’t promise that it’s always going to be sunshine and peace.”
It’s as if he’s painting a canvas of our future with a mix of dark and bright colors, but I hang on to every word.
“But I will protect you and our family with everything I have,” he continues. “I may not be able to walk away from the Bratva entirely – it’s the life I was born into, the life that made me. But I can step back. Start focusing on legitimate businesses, try to move away from that world.”
He holds my hands and guides them to his chest, right where his heart beats strong and steady.
The feel of his heartbeat against my palms is both electrifying and reassuring. As if realizing the gravity of what he’s about to say, he lifts my hands to his lips, pressing a tender kiss on each one. A silent promise that speaks louder than words.
“Will you marry me, moya koroleva?” His voice is so earnest, as if these are vows he’s making before we even reach the altar.
What? What is happening?
I lose it. I’m sobbing, wailing, laughing – emotions spilling over in a chaotic blend that leaves me breathless.
“Are you saying yes, or is this hormone overload?” he quips, grinning even as his eyes beg for confirmation.
I compose myself just long enough to choke out, “Yes, yes, yes! A million times yes. But we’ll need to get me a waterproof wedding dress at this rate.”
