Chapter 31
NIKOLAI
Doctor said I can move around now, but try telling that to my wife. Elle's up my ass every five minutes like I'm made of glass.
Every time I so much as stand, she's there. Arms folded, brow cocked, ready to shove me back into bed like walking's a felony and she's the goddamn Bratva patrol. Even the staff is scared of her.
I tell her I'm healing. She tells me to heal horizontal.
But this morning I was a second away from having a conversation with the flowers she keeps bringing to my room, and so, after extensive negotiation, I'm allowed on the patio couch, staring at my own backyard like it might do something interesting.
It doesn't. Just birds, bugs, and a tomato plant Elle's been talking to like it has feelings.
I shift, wincing as the bandage pulls against my side. Bullet wounds suck.
"Someone's been misbehaving," a voice calls from the sliding door.
Elle steps out barefoot, glass of orange juice in one hand, the other rubbing her barely-there bump like it's a personal safe she's guarding with her life.
She looks beautiful. Irritatingly so. Like she slept eight hours and got a spa day instead of throwing up all morning and yelling at a delivery guy for bringing the wrong brand of pretzels.
"Where's my nurse?" I arch a brow.
"She quit. Said the patient's a grumpy bastard who doesn't follow instructions. Seriously, Nikolai? The second one this week."
"Sounds like she had no backbone."
"She said you tried to bribe her with vodka."
"I thought it was a fair offer." I mutter. "She should've taken it."
She laughs, walks over, and plops down beside me like I'm not held together with stitches and stubbornness. I grunt. She kisses my cheek.
"Uncle Viktor's coming," she says, stealing a sip of my coffee like it won't destroy her acid reflux.
"Yeah?"
"And Natalia's here with Pasha. They're in the garden. She taught him how to say privet this morning. In a Russian accent."
I blink. "He already has a Russian accent."
"Well, now it's Russian-Russian."
She bumps her shoulder against mine. I wrap an arm around her waist, careful not to squish the bump or the woman growing more terrifying by the trimester.
We don't say it out loud, but I think we're both relieved things are boring today. Boring is good. Boring means no one's bleeding, kidnapped, or committing light homicide.
Viktor shows up exactly when he says he will. Wearing that ridiculous flat cap he thinks makes him look less dangerous. All it does is make him look like a Russian fisherman with excellent taste in leather jackets.
"Look at you," he says, striding in. "Alive. Disappointing. I had the funeral playlist picked."
"Tell me you weren't planning to sing," I mutter as we half-hug. I wince. He pretends not to notice. That's Viktor.
He nods toward the garden where Natalia is crouched beside Pasha, building a fort out of rocks.
"She's good with him," Viktor says.
"She saved Elle's life."
He looks at me sideways. "You're sure? About paying off her debt with the Italians?"
"She made her bed. And yeah, I hated her. But she came through. If not for her, Gayle might've killed Elle. Or worse."
He sighs. "And the fact that Elle was in danger in the first place because of her?"
"I know. But Gayle was always going to make a move. Natalia just rushed the timeline."
He watches me. Then nods. "Alright. Took care of it. They won't come for her."
"Thank you." My voice catches. When I think about what I almost did, going to this man's house with a gun to his head, the shame fills my chest like concrete. "I don't deserve you, Uncle."
"Yeah, yeah. I'd have ditched your ass if it weren't for that wife of yours. I like her more than you, by the way." He teases. "She said I have to be nice to you if we're to be friends."
"Now you know why I picked her."
Elle comes back to the patio, a maid following with a tray. Viktor's face transforms. The cold, calculating Pakhan vanishes, replaced by the uncle I grew up with.
"There she is!"
Elle smiles at him like she didn't insult him to his face last week during a board game. He opens his arms. She steps into them. The bond they've built these past weeks still surprises me.
"How's my great-niece or nephew?" Viktor asks, pulling back.
Elle rests a hand on her stomach. "Determined to make sure I never sleep again. And hungry. Always hungry."
"That's an Ivanov for sure," he says proudly, like he had anything to do with it.
Elle's smile fades slightly. She looks at Viktor, then at me, taking a breath.
"We need to talk about something," she says. "About the future."
Viktor gestures for her to sit. She perches on the arm of my chair, her hand finding mine automatically.
"Nikolai's out," she says to Viktor. "We're out. We're done with the Bratva."
I tense. We've discussed this, Elle and I. She wants peace, and I'm willing to lose everything to give her that. But I pray my uncle isn't on the list of losses.
Viktor goes quiet.
"We just want peace," Elle says softly. "I want to grow tomatoes. Maybe a whole army of Nikolais. But no more guns. No more blood. I know it sounds ridiculous, and I'm not judging anyone who stays. But we're done."
Long beat of silence.
Then Viktor laughs. "You always were trouble, Elle. The only woman wild enough to make my nephew walk away."
"You're not mad?" She looks almost afraid. "We want you in our lives. Even more than now. You're family. I want that for our children. But I never want to see another gun in our house."
I squeeze her thigh.
Viktor's smile softens. "After everything you've been through, you deserve the lives you want. Your father would have wanted that for you."
Elle's hand trembles in mine. "You think so?"
"I have to tell you something," he says quietly.
"I didn't just know of your father. I knew him.
Personally. Stephan and I came up together, years ago, before everything fell apart.
His sister was Galina back then — a different name, a different face.
By the time she resurfaced as Gayle Donovan, I'd buried Stephan's memory along with everyone connected to him.
I never saw the woman standing in front of me for who she really was. That's something I'll carry."
"You what?" Elle's voice is faraway.
Viktor's face turns anguished. "He was a good man, Elle. Better than most of us ever were."
"You're serious?" Her voice hitches.
"He was Bratva, yes, but the good kind. The kind who got in for family and tried to leave before it ruined him. Smart. Honest. As honest as a man in this life can be."
Elle breathes out something like a laugh. "Sounds like a unicorn."
"I didn't know who you were until Nikolai came to me that night. When he told me Gayle had you, I thought, what kind of mother does that? So I dug. And found the truth." He pauses. "Too late to save them. But not too late to save you."
Elle looks at the floor. Her hand finds her stomach again.
"I never knew," she says quietly. "She never had photographs. I used to ask about my dad all the time. She never gave me a straight answer."
Viktor reaches into his jacket and pulls out a thin wooden box.
"These are yours." He holds it out. "Some pictures I managed to find. So you can see where you come from."
Elle opens the box. And for the first time in a long time, I see her cry without fear. Not pain. Just grief. For the little girl who never got to know the truth.
She hugs Viktor like he's family. Because he is.
"Thank you," she says, voice thick. "I needed this."
Viktor looks at me over her shoulder. I nod. Throat too tight to speak.
"You did good," I tell him.
"I always do."
Elle kisses my cheek, clutches the box, and heads inside, staring at it like it's absolution.
Viktor turns to me. "You're really done?"
"Yeah." A rueful smile. Happiness for what's ahead. Sadness for what I'm leaving behind.
He nods. "I'll hold the line. And when Pasha's ready..."
"Pasha wants to build robots. He's a total nerd."
Viktor shrugs. "Not if I've got anything to do with it."
I shake my head. "God save us all, Uncle."
He pats my shoulder. "You're one whipped bastard, son. But a happy one."
Truer words have never been spoken.