Chapter 26
HANNAH
The shower water runs pink with blood that isn't mine. I stare down, watching it swirl down the drain. The violence of the afternoon slowly washes away. Except it doesn't really wash away. It clings to me, settles into my bones, changes me in ways I'm only beginning to understand.
Blood.
There had been so much blood.
I killed someone today. Or at least tried to. Shot at human beings with the intent to harm them before they could harm me.
And I don't feel guilty about it.
That should terrify me more than it does.
They wanted to kill me. My unborn child.
Fuck them.
They got what they deserved. I can’t feel guilt. It will destroy me if I allow it.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, my skin scrubbed raw, I feel marginally better. I’m in Dante’s suite. He was not about to let me go anywhere else, which I love. It’s what I needed whether I wanted to admit it or not.
Yes, I was leaving him, but my heart wasn’t.
Couldn’t.
I’m stuck with the insufferable man and that’s that. There’s no point in fighting the inevitable.
I’m his.
It’s a strange feeling to belong to someone. Especially somebody like Dante. In all my little girl fantasies, he was never the man of my dreams.
But I didn’t know love back then. I didn’t know about the real world and the many monsters that lived in it. I didn’t need a prince or a knight in shining armor; I needed a man like him.
Fierce. Dominant. Dangerous.
I see one of his shirts tossed on the bed and immediately pull it on. I need him. I need that connection. Need that comfort more than I need my independence right now.
The bedroom door opens and Dante enters carrying a tray. Tea, I realize. Ginger tea, because of course he's noticed what I've been drinking every morning. There's also toast and honey, simple foods that won't upset my rebellious stomach.
"You didn't have to," I start, but he shakes his head.
"Sit."
I obey, settling onto the bed while he places the tray on the nightstand. He doesn't ask if I'm okay, doesn't interrogate me about what happened or how I'm feeling. Just hands me the tea and sits beside me. His thick, strong thigh pushes against mine. The touch calms me. Grounds me.
I’m alive.
He’s alive.
I sip my tea and let the warm liquid calm me.
"The baby?" he finally asks, his voice careful.
"Fine. I think." I place a hand on my stomach, feeling the slight swell that's becoming harder to hide. "Nothing hurts. No cramping, no bleeding."
"We should get you checked anyway. I'll have a doctor come in the morning."
"Okay."
More silence. His hand covers mine on my stomach.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly.
"For what?"
"For not being there. For letting you leave. For—" He stops, jaw tightening. "For almost losing you because I was too afraid to hold on properly."
I set down my tea and turn to face him fully. "You saved me. You showed up exactly when I needed you."
"I shouldn't have had to save you. You should have been safe from the start."
"Dante." I cup his face, forcing him to look at me. "Your cousin tried to have us killed. Your uncle sanctioned it. That's not your fault."
I know the man is dealing with a lot of shit right now. I’m not going to make it harder on him. I don’t know what we are, but I know we’re together. That means I support him—not make things more difficult.
"Isn't it? This is my world, Hannah. My family. The violence you faced today—that's the price of being with me."
"Then I'll pay it." The words surprise me as much as they seem to surprise him. "I'm not leaving again. Not running away because things got hard."
"You should run. You should take our child and disappear somewhere I can never find you."
"But I won't." I lean forward until our foreheads touch. "Because I love you. And I'm tired of pretending I don't."
His breath catches. "Hannah—"
"I love you," I repeat, stronger this time. "Even though you're controlling and overprotective and sometimes completely infuriating. Even though your world is violent and dangerous. Even though staying with you probably makes me crazy."
"It definitely makes you crazy," he says, but there's something broken in his voice. Relief, maybe. Or wonder.
"Then I'm crazy." I kiss him softly. "But I'm yours."
I pull back just enough to look into his eyes. Those impossible blue eyes that saw through me from the very first night. "Make love to me," I whisper.
His hands slide into my hair, gentle despite the intensity in his gaze. "Hannah, are you sure? After everything today—"
"I'm sure." I kiss him again, deeper this time. "I need you. Need to feel alive with you."
He lifts me carefully, settling me back against the pillows with a tenderness that makes my throat tight. His shirt—the one I'm wearing—gets pushed up slowly, his palms warm against my ribs.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my throat. "So fucking beautiful and brave and mine."
His mouth trails lower, down between my breasts. When his lips find my nipple, I arch into him with a gasp. Everything feels more sensitive now, pregnancy hormones making each touch electric.
He notices immediately, his eyes darkening. "Does that hurt?"
"No. Feels good. Really good."
He takes his time after that, learning my changing body with patient attention. His hands map every curve while his mouth follows, kissing and tasting like he's memorizing me. When he reaches my stomach, he pauses, pressing his lips to the slight swell where our child grows.
"I love you," he says against my skin. "Both of you."
Tears prick my eyes. "Say it again."
"I love you, Hannah Quinn." He looks up at me. I see everything he usually hides laid bare. "I love you so much it terrifies me."
I pull him up to me, needing his mouth on mine. The kiss is different now—slower, deeper, more honest. We're not hiding anymore. Not from each other, not from what this is.
His shirt comes off. I run my hands over the hard planes of his chest, tracing the tattoos I've memorized in secret. He's so beautiful it hurts to look at him sometimes.
"Your turn," he says, helping me out of his shirt until I'm bare beneath him.
His gaze is reverent. I feel desired. Cherished.
He takes his time undressing, letting me watch. When he's finally naked, he settles between my thighs with careful intent.
"Tell me if anything hurts," he says. "Tell me if you need me to stop."
"I will. But I won't."
He enters me slowly, so slowly, giving my body time to adjust. The stretch is exquisite, familiar and new all at once. When he's fully seated inside me, we both go still, just breathing together.
"Okay?" he asks.
"Perfect."
He starts to move, long slow strokes that build heat gradually. Nothing frantic or desperate this time. Just us, connected, learning each other all over again.
I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper. His forehead drops to mine, our breath mingling as we find a rhythm together.
"I love you," I whisper. "I love you so much."
"Ya tebya lyublyu," he responds in Russian, the words rough with emotion. "My Hannah. Mine."
His hand slides between us, finding the bundle of nerves that makes me gasp. He works me with practiced skill, knowing exactly how I like to be touched.
"That's it," he encourages when I start to tighten around him. "Let go for me, zayka. I've got you."
The orgasm builds slowly, pleasure spiraling higher with each thrust. When I finally fall over the edge it’s with his eyes locked on mine.
He follows moments later, burying his face in my neck as he comes with a satisfied groan.
We stay like that for a long time afterward, still connected, neither of us willing to break the intimacy. His hand rests on my stomach, protective and possessive.
"I'm going to keep you safe," he promises. "Both of you. Whatever it takes."
"I know."
"And I'm going to destroy anyone who tries to hurt you."
"I know that too."
He pulls back to look at me. "Does that scare you?"
I think about it honestly. "It should. But it doesn't."
"What does that make you?"
"Yours," I say simply. "Completely, irrevocably yours."
He kisses me again, tender and claiming all at once. When he finally pulls out and settles beside me, I curl into his warmth.
"What happens now?" I ask.
His arms tighten around me. "Now we deal with Bogdan and Radimir. Now we end this threat permanently."
"And my father?"
"I believe you. I believe he's innocent." He strokes my hair. "I'll prove it. And then I'll make sure everyone knows he was framed."
Relief floods through me so intensely I have to blink back tears. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I should have listened from the start."
We fall into comfortable silence, his hand tracing lazy patterns on my skin.
"I'm scared," I admit quietly.
"Of what?"
"Of losing you. Of losing this." I gesture between us. "Of bringing a child into a world where people try to kill us in broad daylight."
"I'm scared too," he says. "Every day. But I'm more scared of living without you."
I tilt my head up to kiss him. "Then I guess we're both crazy."
"Crazy together."
"The best kind of crazy."
He smiles against my lips, and I feel it all the way to my toes. This man who terrified me, who held me captive, who somehow became my everything.
"Stay with me," he whispers. "Not because you have to. Because you want to."
"I want to," I promise. "For as long as you'll have me."
"Forever, then."
"Forever."
We seal the promise with another kiss. I let myself believe it. Let myself believe that somehow, despite everything, we can make this work.
Because loving Dante Sokolov might be dangerous.
But living without him would be impossible.
"I'm scared," he admits so quietly I almost don’t hear. "Of failing again. Of losing you both the way I lost Katya."
"You're not going to lose us."
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you." I lift my head to look at him. "We can't live in fear of what might happen, Dante. We have to focus on what we can control."
"And what can we control?"
"Each other. This moment. The choice to keep fighting for this family we're building."
His hand slides through my hair. "When I saw you today, with that gun pointed at your head, I understood something."
"What?"
"That there's no version of my life worth living if you're not in it. That I'd rather burn down everything I've built than exist in a world where you don't."
The rawness of the confession makes my throat hurt. "That's a lot of pressure to put on one person."
"I know. And I'm sorry for that too. But it's the truth." He tilts my face up to his. "You and this baby—you're my whole world now. Everything else is just details."
"Even your position as pakhan?"
"Especially that." His smile is grim. "Bogdan can have it, for all I care. As long as I have you."
"You're not giving up your position." The certainty in my voice surprises us both. "You're going to fight for it. You will not let that piece of shit win."
He grins. “Feisty.”
“I’m serious.”
"Hannah—"
"No. Listen to me." I sit up, facing him fully, not caring that I’m naked and his eyes are on my breasts.
"I've spent weeks watching you with Mila. I’ve watched how you balance being a father with being who you are.
You think those two things are incompatible, but they're not.
You're a good father because of who you are, not despite it. "
"I'm a killer."
"You're a protector." I correct. "There's a difference."
He pulls me back down against his chest, his arms tight around me. "How did I get this lucky?"
"You didn't. You got a terrible family and saddled with a stubborn woman carrying your accidental baby. And that woman isn’t going anywhere. If you think the last week was bad, just imagine how much worse it will be when I’m nine months pregnant and miserable. I’m going to be unbearable."
His chest rumbles with quiet laughter. "When you put it that way..."
We fall silent again, but it's comfortable now. Peaceful in a way I didn't think was possible after today's violence. My eyes are starting to drift closed, exhaustion finally catching up with me.
"Ya budu lyubit' tebya do kontsa moikh dney," Dante whispers against my hair.
The Russian words wash over me like a benediction. I don't ask what they mean—some things are better felt than understood. Because although I don’t know the meaning of the words, I feel them. He loves me. He’s going to protect me. That’s enough.
"Sleep, zaika," he murmurs.
I do, falling into darkness with his heartbeat as my lullaby and his arms as my shelter.
For the first time since this all began, I feel safe.
Not because I'm locked away from the world, but because I'm exactly where I belong.