Love may have found me, but I’m not some guy working at a bank and coming home every night. I’m thepakhanof the Kucherov Bratva, and as my mother, father, and I learned, that puts everyone I love in danger. Vasya, Dmitri, the othervor, and the men of the Bratva chose this life knowingly. Willingly.
But Eva is choosingme, not that life, and I will do everything in my power to keep them, Eva and our children, from harm.
Mine.
They are mine, and I will protect them. No matter the cost.
31
EVA
“Evgeny, I’m pregnant, not sick or dying,” Eva grumbles as I reach out to steady her while she sinks into the plush chair in my home office. “I can move just fine, and I can definitely sit in a chair by myself, thank you very much.”
She glares at me, and I’m certain if one arm weren’t in a sling, Eva would be crossing her arms to add to the glare. But I’ve come to know the set of her mouth, the way her jaw takes on a stubborn edge, and I know it would take a lot of pushing to win this argument.
Stubborn woman.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. I wouldn’t have Eva any other way. Over the past months of missing her, and over the past twenty-four hours of revelations, the certainty of what I want has settled into the marrow of my bones.
It’s Eva.
And I want her as more than just the mother of my children or some kind of paramour. I want Eva by my side as my partner in life and in love for as long as she’ll have me.
When we return from the hospital, Alona has tea and sandwiches cut into triangles waiting for us at the chairs and a small table by the window overlooking the garden. The woman must have known about Eva’s pregnancy, since I saw not a shred of surprise when I told her the news. She only shrugged and returned to kneading her dough, haranguing me in rapid Russian about caring for a pregnant woman.
I’m not sure when she switched from my side to Eva’s, but here we are. And I’m not angry about it.
Eva pauses, her hand hovering over a sandwich wedge, and looks around, one corner of her mouth tipping up.
“What?” I ask, taking off my suit jacket and draping it over the back of my chair. My tie follows, then I undo a few buttons at the collar of my shirt.
“This is you,” Eva says, and she shifts in the plush chair.
As she dives into the sandwiches, ravenous, I look around the office I know so well I’ve stopped seeing it. Dark green walls, brass fixtures, teak furniture. Opulent, expensive, everything in its place.
Is that how Eva sees me?
We sit and drink our tea. Eva takes hers with a sugar cube and works through the sandwiches. After she’s eaten some, color returns to her cheeks. She doesn’t seem quite as stiff, and she looks far more at ease.
Since that moment in the hospital yesterday, my gaze keeps straying to the baby bump under her shirt. It’s still difficult to believe it’s there, to believe she’s carrying my children,ourchildren. Plural. Eva’s hand also keeps straying to the rise, though I think the gesture is unconscious.
“Are you,” Uncharacteristically, I pause, wondering if I want to know the answer to my question or if I should ask Eva. Annoyance flares at the thought, and I forge on. “Are you pleased to be back?”
Eva presses her lips together. “I am,” she finally replies, her voice soft. “It’s peaceful here.”
Peaceful.
I know the word holds a lot. We’d stopped at her family’s place so Eva could see her sister, reassure her everything was okay, and pick up a few things. I saw how her father wouldn’t look at her, felt his chilled silence and the pall over the home, and how Marco took Katie out just to get her away from it.
What had Eva dealt with those past two months in a house under a cloud of such utter devastation? Feeling her father’s cold fury and his silence, watching him unravel while she did her best to handle the early months of a twin pregnancy and keep the rest of her family together?
“Eva.”
I stand before she can lift the teacup to her lips again. Her beautiful brown eyes find mine, a quizzical crease between her brows.
“I want to show you something.”
Despite her earlier protest, Eva lets me help her up, proof she’s far more tired than she’s letting on.
