Chapter 68

Chapter 65

Luka

"MALYSKA… SOPHIA…"

Fuck.

Fuck! This is all my fault.

My voice barely escapes my lips, a hoarse whisper shredded by fear. The kind of fear that grabs your guts and twists, the sort that comes when you realize you might lose the only goddamn people you love in this world, the only ones who mean a fucking thing to you.

Love.

I fucking love them.

I love Sophia.

My heart twists into a lump.

Ollie's voice crashes back into my ear. "S-sorry, guys, the frequency got messed up. We're back on. Aleks… Uh, he's on the run. He knows about the trap."

But I'm not listening. Couldn't care less about Aleks right now. I stride into the center of the barn, eyes on the body on the ground.

It's Katerina.

Thank fuck!

Her eyes are wide open, a horrific stare fixed on nothing. Blood oozes out of a bullet hole between her eyes, as clean and precise as a surgeon's cut. A mess beneath the back of her head tells me it's probably blown out. She won't be missing it, I'm sure.

I look up. Sophia's there, maybe ten feet away. Her hands snap to her mouth like she's holding back a scream or maybe a sob. Either way, she's pulling Yulia into her, like she can make the kid blind to this nightmare with just her body.

"Luka," she breathes out, voice quivering. Her eyes are big and wet, but goddamn it, she's shielding Yulia.

"Shh!" I stride in front of both of them against whatever hell might come next.

A shadow moves closer from the corner of the barn. My finger hovers over the trigger of my gun, itching to pull, to end whatever threat still lurks in this godforsaken place.

"It's me, sir." I recognize that ironclad voice instantly. It's Svetlana. "Everything is under control here," she announces, her posture stiff as a board. She strides over to Katerina, looking down on her with a smirk. Yeah, she's still got it, that cold-blooded efficiency.

And that makes one of us.

My heart's still pounding like a drum as I step away, making room for Svetlana to work her grim magic. "Sophia, Yulia," I grunt, trying to soften the edge in my voice. "You're with her now. Go."

I drop to one knee, leveling my gaze with Yulia's tear-streaked face. She's sobbing, her little body shaking. It's like a knife to my chest.

"You've been brave, Maly?ka. Very brave," I tell her, keeping my voice steady. "Stay with Sophia and Svetlana, got it?"

Yulia grabs my shirt, her fists clenched. "Promise you'll come back?"

"I promise. I'll be back soon. You wait here." I pull her into a quick but firm hug. She clings to me for a heartbeat, her arms gripping tight before she lets go and runs off to join Sophia.

As they're hustled away, my earpiece buzzes to life. "Luka, it's Erik.

"Status?" I can picture the scene outside these walls: Erik and Dimitri tearing through Aleks's goons like a hot knife through butter. No doubt the floors are a mess of spent shell casings and bodies.

"Cleanup's almost done," Erik's voice crackles back. "They had no time to attack; they're scrambling like roaches in the light."

My earpiece buzzes again as I step outside. "Luka, how're Yulia and Sophia?" Dimitri's voice cuts through the chatter in my ear.

"They're safe, but Aleks – that fucker's on the run," I growl, gritting my teeth.

From the other end, I hear the sound of a fist meeting flesh, followed by a pained cry.

"Kill him," Dimitri snarls.

"Ollie, where the hell did he go?" I bark into the earpiece.

"Uh, satellite's picking up movement, boss. East wing. Your private library," Ollie stammers.

"Pizda!"

Boots pounding on gravel, I haul ass toward the east wing. Aleks has dug his own grave; now he's going to lie in it.

I kick open the door to my mansion, and I'm hit by a sudden wave of wrongness. What was once a lavish fairy tale for Yulia's party is now a ghost town, the golden balloons sagging, chandeliers dimmed. All the guests have scattered – thank fuck they're safe, but the high-class décor now looks like a sick joke.

I stomp through the marble-floored hallway, my boots thumping loudly in the emptiness. Making a beeline for the east wing, I ride the elevator up to the third floor. My private library's up here, a fortress of knowledge and my personal sanctuary.

"He is still there," Ollie's voice calls out.

The elevator dings, doors slide open, and I step into a darkness that shouldn't be. The library is a cathedral of literature, usually warmly lit, but now it's more like a damn cave. High bookshelves stretch toward the ceiling like monoliths in a moonless night.

Where is he?

Then, a shadow moves, quick and low to the ground. I lunge toward it, but before I can even take a step, an earsplitting crash rings out. Books and whole damn shelves topple over like dominos.

I sidestep just in time, and there he is.

Aleks.

Our eyes lock, hate burning in them.

Simultaneously, we both draw guns and pull the triggers.

Click.

Click.

Empty chambers.

"Suka," Aleks spits, echoing the curses in my own mind. Aleks sneers, his face contorted with malice. "You think you're fit to lead the Bratva? You're just as weak as your father."

The venom in his voice pushes me over the edge. "You done?"

Fuck talking. We're past that. Both of us draw knives – nasty pieces of work, serrated, designed to not just kill but mangle. My blade curves with the presence of a fucking machete. Pull this baby out, and it'll drag your guts with it.

Our knives meet with a grating clash of metal on metal. Sparks fly, mirroring the ferocious energy between us. He lunges, aiming straight for my heart. I sidestep and swing, my blade singing as it slices through the air and cleanly severs three of Aleks' fingers.

He screams, clutching his mangled hand to his chest. But I'm far from done. Before he can recover, I swing my knife again, slashing the blade across his legs, tearing through the fabric and flesh. He crumples to his knees, but I lift him by the collar, holding him up like a limp doll.

My knife is now at his throat, and I press just enough to let a trickle of blood stain his collar. Our eyes meet – his wide with terror, mine narrow with finality.

"Do it then, you sniveling coward!" Aleks laughs with false bravado, each chuckle filled with a malice that only amplifies his pain. "Prove you're as worthless as your father!"

His words are like splinters under my skin. Every fiber of my being screams to end this – to slice through the thin skin of his neck and put an end to the years of torment. And yet…it's the blood we share that gives me pause, the same blood that courses through my veins and flowed through my mother's.

I hesitate. Blyat! I can't do it.

He's my uncle, my family – twisted as it is.

His own blood, my mother's blood.

Reluctantly, I lower my knife and release him, stepping back to put distance between us, between what we were and what we've become.

"You're not worth the dirt you'll be buried in," I growl, almost a whisper.

I turn to walk away.

"Yob tvoyu mat! You don't walk away from me, stupid, useless boy! You are just as useless as both your mother and your father. Finish what you're supposed to do!" Aleks screams. With the ferocity of a wounded animal, I can sense him lunging at me, aiming his own knife at my back.

Yob tvoyu mat? Nobody…nobody gets to insult my mother.

In one smooth motion, the same knife that spared him now becomes his doom. Before he can react, my blade swings through the air, quick and precise.

His head rolls.

Chapter 66

Sophia

Three months later

I'M COCOONED in warmth, draped in a sensation that feels both novel and intimate. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting soft beams across the room. As my eyes flutter open, I remember – this is what waking up with Luka feels like.

Safe and secure.

I am not used to it yet, not really.

The past three months have been a whirlwind. We moved out of the mansion and into this secluded lake house right after that day.

That day was meant to be a celebration of Yulia's birthday, a day of pure happiness.

But instead, that day, Luka had severed his uncle's head from its body.

And now he's remained silent about it.

But I've overheard Dimitri and Erik discussing matters. The Bratva businesses have been shifted to their control, slowly winding down Luka's direct involvement. I know they're cleaning up, trying to make things right in their own way.

I press my naked body even closer to Luka's, savoring the touch of his skin against mine.

Luka 2.0 seems calmer, more attentive, protective in a way that suggests he's guarding something invaluable. This new Luka brings a sense of peace that even the tranquil environment surrounding our secluded lake house cannot rival.

However, despite the sense of security and newfound calm, I can't help but question what lingers in the silent recesses of his soul. Is he genuinely alright, or is this tranquility merely a fa?ade?

Yulia is doing better; she's in therapy. Her art shows she's coping; it's brighter, less chaotic. She didn't see what happened that day, but she knows enough to be scarred by it.

He moves beside me, his arms closing more tightly around my waist. His hand slips lower, resting on my stomach with a gentleness that holds unspoken weight.

Is he thinking about our baby?

Our baby.The future, our future together – each silent moment stretches the tension a little more. The conversation is inevitable, I know, but I know he may need time.

Does he feel what I feel?

I feel loved.

Oh, God.

Yes, I truly love this man.

"Good morning." His lips find the back of my head, a simple touch that starts a chain reaction deep within me. He clasps me closer still, lips lingering for another moment on my hair.

I smile, and it comes from deep within my heart.

"It tickles," I shoot back, half-laughing, and grip his hand tighter.

His breath on my neck gets me emotional. His scent and mine, mingled, bring back memories – good and bad. I'm close to tears.

Darn pregnancy hormones messing with me.

I sniff quietly.

"What's wrong?" he asks, noticing I've tensed up

I shake my head. "Nothing, just…remembering some stuff."

God, he feels like home.

"Good stuff, I hope?" he asks, his lips brushing against the nape of my neck. I can practically hear the smile in his voice.

I roll over to face him. "The best stuff. You."

His eyes soften, and I'm not sure how, but I fall a little more in love with him right now.

He moves closer to me, laying a sequence of soft kisses on my forehead that make me tingle all over.

"You make it so easy to fall asleep and so difficult to leave this bed," he whispers into my ear.

My whole body responds, every cell ignited, as if he's struck a match and set me ablaze. I'm flooded with the need to feel even closer to him, to close the gap between us until there's no space left for anything but the electric energy we generate together.

Emboldened, I reach up and capture his lips. The kiss is heated, passionate, our mouths moving in a synchronized dance as if they were meant to do just this.

He groans softly, "Fuck," as my fingers trail down his abdomen, feeling every tense muscle along the way.

As if on cue, his hand reaches for my breast, which swells more now. His thumb and forefinger teasing my sensitive nipple.

"Luka…"I can't hold back the moan that slips out. The pleasure ripples through me, a warm wave that starts where his fingers touch me and flows all the way down.

I wrap around his cock, already so hard. His eyes meet mine, glowing with a mix of desire and something deeper, something eternal.

"You are so beautiful," he breathes, and the words feel like a caress, reaching parts of me that his hands haven't touched yet.

The depth of emotion is almost too much, so I channel it into action. I shift to straddle him, guiding him as I sink down onto him.

"Oh, God, you feel good," I husk, relishing the completeness, the oneness that comes from being filled by him. "Riding you never gets old," I say, making eye contact as a blush colors my cheeks.

"Feel free to take the reins anytime, krasotka," he smirks, his thumb sweeping along my jawline. The touch is straightforward but resonant, as if he's getting to the core of me. When he thrusts upwards, hitting just the right angle, I can't hold back.

"Oh, God! Fuck yes."

He holds my hips, keeping me there, as if he's claiming every part of me with his gaze, his touch, his body. And I feel it, the delicious tension, the mounting climax.

"Now! I'm coming now!" My body shakes, my vision blurs, but all I can feel, all I can know in that moment, is him.

Lying side by side on the bed, our faces nearly touching, a silence envelops us. It's a silence that's not empty but full – full of a comfort and understanding that words often fail to capture.

Our breaths sync up as if our bodies inherently know how to fall in rhythm with each other.

His eyes bore into mine, and the emotion I glimpse there almost shatters me. There's a deep-rooted sorrow, a concealed agony that even his captivating blue eyes can't fully hide.

A lump forms in my throat as I softly hum the lyrics to a song that feels almost too fitting.

"No one knows what it's like…

to be a bad man…

to be a sad man…behind blue eyes."

My eyes well up, betraying my attempts to keep emotions at bay.

Pregnancy hormones again, amplifying every freaking feeling.

Summoning the courage to touch his face, my fingers trace the contours of his skin with a gentle reverence.

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."

He starts laughing.

Real laughter.

It fills the room, warming it with a sound that I've rarely heard but have come to treasure. It's a sound that hints at a future, at a life beyond the reach of past demons and old sins.

Chapter 67

Luka

"WHAT DID you say?" Dimitri leaps to his feet, his eyes wide, his face flushed.

"I said I'm getting married tomorrow, and I'm stepping back from the Bratva business," I declare, locking eyes with him, daring him to challenge me.

The room, usually a pristine space reserved for calculated strategy and icy deliberations, feels like a live wire, every surface charged with tension. Dimitri and Erik had converted this meeting room into something resembling a war room over the past few months – maps on the walls, high-tech screens showing live feeds from our operations, stacks of untraceable burner phones, and, of course, a top-notch liquor cabinet.

Erik, standing off to the side, takes a deep breath, like he's preparing to dive into treacherous waters. "Okay."

"Okay? Okay?!" Dimitri nearly explodes, pacing the room like a caged animal. "How the fuck is this okay? What's gonna happen to the Bratva, huh? You think these vultures won't rip us apart the moment they sense weakness? What, you gonna start a bakery or something, Luka?"

"I'm not saying I'm stepping down immediately, D. Don't be an idiot," I snap, my patience thinning. "You and Erik are more than capable. You'll be taking over most of the business."

"Blyat, you think it's that easy? Just pass the torch and ride into the sunset?" Dimitri seethes, his fists clenched.

"It's time for a new chapter, D. You two have been in this life long enough to know what it takes. Besides, I'm not completely out. I'll still have a say, but I need to focus on building legal enterprises, growing a family. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Dimitri scowls, pausing to weigh my words. "Tak, I get it. But right now—"

Before he can finish his sentence, I cut in. "Right now, Aleks is gone, his men are scattered like rats from a sinking ship, and the whole damned underworld is scrambling to fill that void. I know all of that. But I won't be the main guy pulling the strings anymore. I can't."

Erik nods, finally breaking his monk-like silence. "I understand," he mutters, his eyes meeting mine. "We'll handle the Bratva business. You focus on what's important to you now."

Dimitri looks like he's been slapped. He runs his fingers through his hair, yanking a little harder than necessary.

"Suka, you're really doing this, aren't you? You're really walking away from what we've built?"

I lock eyes with him, my gaze steady. "I'm not walking away, D. I'm expanding – expanding into a life where Yulia and my kid don't have to look over their shoulders every damn minute. Isn't that what we've been fighting for all along? A better life?"

Dimitri's eyes soften for a split second, but he recovers quickly, masking it with a harsh scoff.

"A better life, built on blood money and gunpowder."

"Exactly why I need to make it right," I shoot back. "Or at least try."

Dimitri inhales deeply, his eyes clouded, his shoulders sagging as if carrying the weight of our collective sins.

"Fine," he finally says, his voice low, laced with defeat but also, curiously, a hint of relief.

"We'll hold down the fort. Just don't expect any fucking ‘Father of the Year' mugs from me."

"I wouldn't dare," I reply, my wry smile dissolving into a smirk. "Now, we need to talk about dividing the empire, how to pull it off without making everyone think we've gone soft. Suggestions?"

Dimitri cracks his knuckles, leaning forward on the table, the tension oozing from his pores. "Chicago's ripe for the taking. Aleks is gone, and with that old fuck Armando out of the way, we could just steamroll through their turf. Grab the Italians by the balls before they even know what hit them."

I nod, feeling the cruel twist of opportunity sharpening my thoughts. "Their world isn't that different from ours, and right now, they could use our help as much as we could use theirs. Plus, their connections in the legal business are solid. We can start blending our clean and dirty money better. Set ourselves up for the long run."

Before Dimitri can offer another snide remark, Erik interjects. "Actually," he says, pausing for theatrical effect, "I was thinking of making Lucia di Fuoco my wife. She's the only heir left of the Angeli di Fuoco crime family."

Everyone freezes. Dimitri's jaw practically hits the floor. "Ty chto?! Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

Dimitri's outburst rings in the air like a gunshot, but I can't help but admire the audacity of Erik's plan. I turn my gaze toward him, looking for any sign that he's joking. There's none. The bastard is as serious as a heart attack.

"If you can make that happen, Erik," I say, ignoring Dimitri's tangible shock, "that would be a fucking coup. We'd have an inside track on both the Italian and Russian underworlds. But you're going to need more than a wedding ring to get that ice queen to thaw."

Erik just gives us a mirthless smile. "Oh, I have my ways. And once we're tied by blood, not even a goddamn nuclear bomb will be able to break us apart."

A long pause.

Dimitri's scowl gradually transforms into a reluctant nod. "Alright. Erik, you're playing with fire here."

"I'll manage," Erik says, smirking.

"Alright," I say, clapping my hands together. "We've got a lot to do. But first, Yulia has been asking to spend time with us. The wedding is tomorrow, and today, we should give her a little attention."

Dimitri exhales, the smoke from his ever-present cigarette curling into the charged air. "From war rooms to wedding bells and daddy-daughter dates. What a fucked-up life we lead."