18. Kirill - Five Years Ago
Kirill - Five Years Ago
My fingers closed around the ring in my pocket as I stepped out of the car.
The late-afternoon chill bit through my coat in a way that felt deserved for how I treated Sandrine.
I crossed into the park with bare branches and gravel slick with frost. At the far end of the pathway, near the metal swings that creaked, she stood waiting.
Even from a distance, I could see the tension in her posture.
Her arms were folded protectively across her chest, bracing for impact.
The sight of her distress twisted my stomach to a raw, deep ache.
She had every right to look at me with anger after the way I’d spoken to her with cruelty in my voice last week.
Fear and pride and the shadow of my father’s threats turned my words into weapons when she’d come to me with the sobbing confession that she was carrying my child.
And I said some awful things to her.
She left me, saying she never wanted to see me again. It took a hot minute, but I came to my senses. Then call after call convinced her to hear me out. That’s what she’s expecting now. More of an explanation of why I can’t be part of this child’s life.
A small smile crept across my mouth, thinking of the surprise she’d get when I tell her I was wrong. So wrong.
I moved toward her with deliberate steps, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes.
When she turned her head and saw me approaching, her expression hardened further. Even with her lips pressed into a thin line, she was still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Even angry, even guarded, even looking at me like she hated me.
The pale green of her coat struck me with the memory of the night I met her, when she was wearing a green dress. The night that changed my life.
“Thank you for coming,” I said when I got within earshot and knew she could hear me. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“You made your position very clear last week.” She exhaled slowly, like she was so tired of my bullshit. “Say what you came to say. My position is still clear. I’m having this baby.”
“I never intended for you to—” I stopped, unable to finish that sentence.
Her gaze moved over me, searching and wary. She was trying to decide which version of me had shown up that day. The man who’d loved her and wanted to fight for her, or the man who had made her feel like a worthless burden to my crown.
“Get on with it.” Her usually sweet voice sounded edged with brittle hatred.
It was what I deserved. Then slowly, I reached into my pocket.
“I was wrong,” I said, the admission unfamiliar because I never backed down. “About everything. About you. About us.”
Then I dropped to one knee in front of her.
The movement startled her, her breath catching audibly. All her carefully constructed anger faltered for just a second. Cracked just enough to give me a chance.
“I told my father everything,” I continued, lifting my gaze to meet hers, holding it there so she could see the truth in me, stripped of ego and calculation. “About the baby. About you and me. About what I want.”
And who I didn’t want.
Papa threatened that if I didn’t walk away from Sandrine and the baby, I’d lose everything. I didn’t let anyone fucking threaten me. Not even Yuri Volkov.
Sandrine’s eyes widened, and her cheeks curled into a faint smile. A feeling of hope tightened my chest. All I cared about in that moment narrowed to just Sandrine and me.
With shaking hands, I removed the ring from my pocket. “Will you marry me, Sandrine? Be my queen when I become pakhan?”
For a heartbeat, she just stared at me as if she expected an apology. But not this. Not this one-eighty to put it all on the line for her.
“Kirill…” She said my name with a rare roll of the tongue like my father’s hardened men from Russia.
I don’t speak with an accent. There was a faint rhythm in the way I spoke that defined who I really was. And she accepted that. Accepted me.
But she didn’t say yes.
I stood and showed her the four-carat perfect clear stone in a halo setting of amethysts, her favorite color.
“I’m sorry I kept us a secret. Enough of that.
This is for you to wear. I even had the Volkov insignia engraved into the band.
This declares to everyone, you are mine. You will be a Volkov.”
“Kirill, this is gorgeous.” Her hand trembled as she gazed down at it.
“That’s also why we’re here a week later and not a day. I knew the moment you left my office that I fucked up. You are undeniable, and we are irreversible, Sandrine. You, me, and our child.”
But she turned away from the ring, her eyes focused on the water. Water calmed her down.
Perhaps I’d rushed this. “If you need time, I can—”
“No,” she choked out. “I don’t need time.”
She straightened her back and turned to face me again. Chin lifted, she parted her lips to speak, her eyes sad. And I lost the feeling in my legs, thinking she was going to turn me down.
“Kirill,” she said, her face expressionless, only to pop a smile on her lips seconds later. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”
Relief crashed into me, sparking hope and joy in my chest. Feelings, according to my father, I’m not allowed to entertain. Just because he didn’t have a heart.
Fuck that.
I put the ring on Sandrine’s finger and threaded ours together, loving how we connected. I leaned down to kiss her, and I would never forget how her lips tasted after a week apart.
To anchor that moment, I reached into my coat again and pulled out my phone.
“What are you doing?” she asked, a hint of amusement threading through her voice now.
“Creating the first of many permanent memories,” I said as I angled the camera toward us. “And show anyone who doesn’t believe we’re happy—”
“They can all go to hell.” All her fear is gone.
“Damn right, baby.” I hit record, capturing the way she looked at me with happiness and not fear.
“We’re engaged,” I cheered into the camera, my arm wrapping around her waist. “Show them your ring, baby.”
Sandrine laughed and waved her hand, her fingers dancing so the diamond sparkled in the sunlight.
“Are you happy, baby?”
“I’m so happy.”
Still recording, I kissed her, slow and chaste. I hoped for more later. Claim her fully. Her and my child. They were mine.
When I lowered the phone, she tilted her head, her expression turning thoughtful.
“Can we go to the swings?” she asked, already pulling me.
“The swings?” I turned the camera toward her, her long golden hair bouncing off her back.
The frame caught her hand still holding mine. The joyful laugh that escaped her softly through tears registered. And fuck, that sound hit me straight in the chest.
“My mom used to take Lourdes and me to the park before she died. It’s… I don’t know. It feels like something I want to do right now.”
Mentioning Lourdes tickled something complicated in my gut.
“Have you spoken to your sister?” I asked carefully.
Her head shook, the movement tight. “You told me not to.”
The weight of her sadness at not being able to share something special with her sister settled heavily on my shoulders.
“That will change,” I said, my thumb brushing over the ring. “I need to handle your father and mine first.” I exhaled slowly, wondering if De la Vega would try to hurt me somehow. “You’ll have everything, Sandrine. Protection. Power. No one will ever be able to touch you or tell you no again.”
She studied me for a moment, weighing the promise with skeptical eyes. Then she smiled softly in a way that made me believe we would make it.
“All I want is you, Kirill,” she said, rubbing her belly. “And our baby. That’s all I ever wanted.”
And that was all I needed to hear.
I set the phone on a nearby bench, angling it toward us, then led her to the swings. “You sit. I’ll push you.”
The cold metal chains stung my hands as I steadied the seat for her. She sat, gathering her coat around her as I stepped behind her and began to push. I would always remember how my heart danced in my chest when her familiar laughter returned.
“Not too high, baby. You’re carrying the future of my brotherhood.” I don’t tell her that I hope it’s a boy.
That will soften my father, seeing the next pakhan in my arms.
I stepped back, loving how the wind caught her hair. Remembering the phone, I jogged back to check the recording. I watched in the viewfinder and smiled at how Sandrine looked suspended in time. Free and happy.
Then she slowed, her nose turning red. Her pale white fingers meant she was cold. I needed to fix that. With some well-deserved heat. In my bed.
Back at the swings, I caught her, my hands sliding to her waist. Sandrine leaned forward, and she kissed me.
“I’m cold,” she murmured, her breath brushing against my lips.
“Let’s go home,” I said, helping her off the swing.
I kept my arm around her as we walked toward the bench. I picked up the phone and ended the recording. The final frame was her smile.
With her head on my shoulder, I stared at the thumbnail. My thumb hovered over the screen as instinct warred with my duties. This was for my survival. I just knew I’d need this someday.
Smiling, I uploaded the video to a secure drive. As perfect as that moment had felt, I knew the world I lived in too well to trust that we’d be accepted at face value.
I’m going to need this because no one will believe this delicate artist with anxiety issues just agreed to marry a brutal Bratva heir.
But now, I had proof.