Page 71 of Brutal Vows

33

LUCA

My whole body has grown cold, even though we’re propped against the pillows with the duvet pulled around us, Milana cradled in my arms.

If this is all true, Milana is the mother of the only grandchild Chertnikov will ever have. Fuck my life. This knowledge is power—so much fucking power, it makes me sick.

And she trusted me with it. It might be a table for two, but I’ve been invited to it. I hold her closer, not sure how else to show her I appreciate her opening up to me.

She looks exhausted where she’s resting against my shoulder, her confession having drained her completely.

“Is there more, Milana?”

I dread being sucked deeper into this whirlpool, not knowing where it’s going to spit me out.

“No, that’s the worst of it,” she says, and the defeated tone of her voice echoes this truth. “Now you understand why I need to go to Russia?”

“Yes. I get it now.”

I get everything. Her sleepless nights. The desperation in her being. The reason why she’s permanently tense and jumps at everything. I thought it was because she was forced into this arranged marriage, in love with someone else. But that fucker betrayed her, left her pregnant, used her for his own goals. Love dies pretty quickly with that type of nurturing. No, she isn’t mourning for Dimitri. She’s separated from her baby, and no mother should be.

I need a strong drink and a long think, but my wife hasn’t had dinner. She’s been fighting for so long, nobody in her court.

This is the problem with secrets. They isolate you.

“Does anybody else know? Anybody you could think of? About Annushka?”

“Just Gabi,” she murmurs. “She was there when they drone-dropped the photos of Masha and Annushka. She guessed the bare bones, but you’re the only one I’ve told everything.”

And that’s trust summed up, princess. I can’t break it.

“Okay, given how she was a secret herself, I know she’ll be able to keep yours.” I’m going to have to figure this out but have no idea where to start. “Are you okay?”

“I’m better now. I needed to talk. To finally unburden myself of everything.” She cups my cheek as she nuzzles into my neck, the gesture so sweet and trusting. “Thank you for listening and not judging. For being here. And for being you.”

Ah, fuck. Every emotion I’ve battled to suppress surges up. She thanked me for being me, something I’m so not used to, with everyone usually thinking I’m Stephano. The change in me is tectonic, continents of beliefs and paradigms shifting as her trust in me seems to coax me out into the light—for me to see who I am, maybe for the first time. Not a twin, a body double, a prop, but a man who is needed for who he is at his core, not for this family he was born in, not for his money, just for him. Me.

I bite down on my jaw, forcing myself to not show how much her words affected me. I want to kiss her so deeply, show her how I feel—how she makes me feel—but I contain myself and press a quiet kiss to her hair, to her temple, treasuring her. This woman. She might only have been an image before, but now she’s warm, real, and in my arms. I was infatuated with photos of her, but I’ve been falling in love with the real human in my arms.

“Are you okay, Milana?” I ask softly. “After the baby? You haven’t talked about the birth. It can wreck a woman.”

“I’m okay. I had Varya. She checked on me often, preparing me as best she could. I didn’t tear much, but she stitched me up afterwards. I haven’t seen a doctor.” She leans back and looks at me. “There’s modern medicine, which is great when you need it, but we women can do it by ourselves if everything goes right. I did luck out. I know I lucked out. So many things could have gone wrong, but they didn’t.”

“Many an angel was looking after you,” I murmur. Like Mom. I sometimes feel her, a quiet presence, guiding me. Especially lately, with this marriage. She’s been my compass, guiding me to put myself in my wife’s shoes and assess how she’d feel before I make a decision.

“Yes. Varya. Masha. My mom. It felt as if she was there in the room with me.”

This feeling is one thing we have in common, something we just get that not everyone else would understand. I smile as she snuggles deeper into my arms, and we just sit for a while.

“One last thing, princess,” I say, needing to cross this bridge now. I slide a hand down her inner thigh, and a quiver runs through her as she widens her legs to let me in. It’s the hottest fucking four inches that legs have ever moved, but we’re not going beyond this tonight. “What am I going to find when I look here?” I murmur softly as my fingers caress her sex, not seeking out her piercing, but touching it all the same.

She tenses. “I hate it. But I love the way it makes me feel. I hate it because it was his, and I haven’t been able to remove it.”

My heart sinks. I bet it’s a match with the one I had to cut from Mara’s body. Skulls. Death. Chertnikov. Soldered—as if there’s no way out. Fuck knows how they did it, but I’ll still remove it.

“Can you—” she breaks off, holding my hand in place as I make to retract it. “Can you check? I was drugged when he…when he—” She buries her face in her hand, shy. “When Dimitri did this to me.”

“Ah, fuck, princess.” If I could kill him ten times over, I would. I gently pry her hand away. “He marked you as his, didn’t he? As Chertnikov’s.”