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My hand rests protectively over my abdomen as I think about the tiny life growing there. This child is a gift - proof that we can find joy even amidst the dangers of our world.
Chapter 37
Philippe
Exhaustion seeps into my bones as I sink into the plush leather chair in my office. Running a hand over my face, I let out a weary sigh, the events of the last 48 hours flashing through my mind. The hit went off without a hitch, but covering our tracks was no easy feat.
Endless calls, bribes, favors cashed in, evidence destroyed - it was a marathon of precision coordination and split-second decisions. But we did it. No loose ends to tie us to the Bratva boss' untimely demise.
I take a long swig of Scotch, savoring the slow burn down my throat. We're in the clear, and now it's time to celebrate. I grab my phone to make arrangements for a private dinner on the balcony tonight. Candlelight, Tatiana's favorite dishes, our best bottle of Barolo - an intimate moment for just the two of us.
My pulse quickens thinking about her. My fierce, beautiful queen, standing by my side through it all. After the darkness of the last two days, I crave the light she brings me. Her smile, her laugh, the fire in her eyes - my anchor in the chaos. Tonight will be a reminder of what we're fighting for - each other.
Even though she doesn't yet know, I’ve avenged her parents’ murder. The Bratva sign was at her doorstep.
But for her peace of mind, I shall keep it from her just until the time is right. Until I am certain, it is the mastermind in that grave. For there is only one thing worse in this world than breaking a promise: believing you kept one when you didn't.
The sun sinks below the horizon as I stand on the balcony, surveying my work. The table is set with Tatiana's favorites - oysters on the half shell, figs wrapped in prosciutto, and homemade pappardelle with wild boarragu. A bottle of 1997 Barolo stands at attention.
Votive candles bathe the scene in a warm, romantic glow. I straighten my jacket and smooth back my hair. I feel like a boy on a first date, eager to see her reaction.
At the sound of the balcony doors opening, I turn. Tatiana steps outside, a vision in a curve-hugging black dress. My breath catches, as it always does, at the sight of her beauty. She wearsa beautiful pair of emerald earrings, which dangle halfway down her cheeks.
Her hair is swept up in a half-up, half-down do, tied in a little bun at the nape of her neck while the rest falls down her shoulders.
She looks every bit like the queen of this mansion like she belongs here. I walk towards her, taking her into my embrace. She smells like vanilla and lavender, and I don't want to let go of her. But we do have so much to catch up on together, and I reluctantly pull back.
"Welcome, my love," I say, pulling out her chair. She rewards me with a radiant smile as she takes her seat. I pour myself a glass of Barolo and then pour her one.
"So," she asks, looking around herself nervously. "How are you?"
"Well, I don't know how much you know," I begin, but she interrupts me.
"L'ho letto sui giornali,"– I read it in the papers – she explains.
For some reason, I don't seem to like that. It makes me worry, knowing that I won't always be the harbinger of factual news. That she could read things, hear things through the grapevine and formulate half-truths and fears in her head.
"Tatiana," I explain, reaching over and gently caressing her hand. "You know, the thing with papers is it's not always true. Sometimes, believing everything you read about our world could cause more harm than good."
She tilts her head at me, a small, wondrous smile playing on her lips. "Well, were the papers true this morning? Is the entire world unaware of your role in the Bratva murder?"
"For once, yes. It is accurate."
"Then, for today,il mio amore, let us not fret about the what-ifs. I'm just glad there won't be retaliation."
"For now," I pinpoint.
"Then, for now, let's treasure the peace we do have," she grounds me.
I nod and smile. Why am I fighting a good thing? It's her and I, on this beautiful night, alone. I believe I avenged the attacks against her parents and my organization. Why can't I just let my mind rest and enjoy the moment?
"You're right," I proclaim, reaching out for my glass and raising it. Tatiana raises hers, too. We clink it together, and I sip it. To my surprise, she puts hers down.
"Is everything alright, Songbird?" I ask curiously. It’s unlike her, not having a sip of her favorite. Now that I think of it, I haven't seen her take a sip of that Barolo all night.
I watch her as she blushes and notice her hands flutter to her stomach.
A wave of realization washes over me as I connect the dots. Tatiana's behavior, the way she's been avoiding eye contact, and now this subtle gesture towards her stomach. Could it be? Is it possible that I am going to be a father? The thought sends a surge of joy through my veins, overpowering any lingering doubts and fears.
