Chapter 40
ERYX
I wake up with our legs tangled. The sun peaking through her window, bouncing off the walls and straight into my eyes.
Her head on my chest, my arms wrapped around her.
No part of me wants to move and break the spell we’re both under right now.
This feels right. She looks so peaceful, so comfortable.
We lay like that for a little while longer until she stirs awake. Her chin tilting up so she can look at me.
“Come with me.” I ask her.
Her brows pull together. “Come where?”
“To Moscow.” I wait for her reaction.
She blinks, slow, like she’s waiting for the catch. “Moscow?!”
“I’m going to see my mother. I want you to come with me.”
“You—you want me to… meet your mom?”
“Yes.” The word leaves me without hesitation. It surprises even me how certain it sounds.
She shifts, sitting up on the bed now. “Eryx… are you sure that’s a good idea, you don’t think it's too soon?”
I let a grin tug at the corner of my mouth. “I’ve never been more sure. She’ll love you.”
She shakes her head, half scoffing. “You don’t know that. What if I—”
“Nastasya.” Her name leaves me like an anchor, grounding both of us. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
The birds outside her window sing their morning song. I reach over, covering her hand with mine. She doesn’t pull away.
“I don’t bring anyone to her,” I admit quietly. “Not business partners. Not friends. No one.” I pause, letting the weight of that truth sink in.
Her eyes soften, uncertain but touched, and I feel that familiar pull in my chest. The one I don’t want to fight anymore.
She exhales, shoulders relaxing. “Okay. I’ll go.”
Relief settles in me, sharp and immediate. I don’t show it, but I feel it all the same.
“Good,” I say, lips curving into a smile I can’t hold back. “You won’t regret it.”
But as I glance out the window, sky stretching endless and pale, I know I’m the one who has the most to lose if she does.
I make sure to send the guys a quick text.
Me
Going to see mom. Be back in three days.
Skellz
Bring me back those little cookies I love
Brat
Me
Brat
Have a safe trip man
Both of you
The cabin is quiet except for the low hum of the engines.
I watch as she settles into the plush seat beside me, knees pulled up, eyes on the window where the clouds stretch like liquid silver.
She doesn’t speak at first, and I let her soak in the moment.
The sky, the jet, the way the world shrinks beneath us.
“You ever flown in a private plane before?” I ask, keeping my tone light, though every word carries a weight I can’t hide.
She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not like this, it feels… surreal.”
I nod. “It’s quieter than commercial flights. You get to think. Or not think at all.”
She glances at me, curious. “Are you thinking?”
“Always,” I catch her hand again, threading my fingers through hers.
“Oh yeah, what’s going through the great Eryx’s mind at this moment?” She playfully teases, but her cheeks flush with my next words.
“Well, for starters, you ever think about… joining the Mile High Club?” My voice is low, letting the words linger.
She looks up, eyes sharp, lips twitching. “Excuse me?”
I smirk. “You know… a little… in-flight adventure.”
Her head tilts, amusement flashing in her eyes. “That depends, do I get a cute laminated card to show off my new membership when we’re done?”
“Maybe,” I murmur, letting my gaze trace the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck. “Anything you want baby.”
She shakes her head, standing and brushing past me with the faintest smirk. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to–change, before we land.”
I watch her go, heart thudding in a way I don’t usually let anyone see.
Damn her. She knows exactly what she does to me.
And now I have a little experiment of my own to conduct…
once I catch up. I push open the door and my chest tightens.
How can someone look so deadly focused and so damn irresistible at the same time?
“I’m sorry sir, you seem to be in the wrong restroom,” her voice teasing. The scene reminiscent of her first day of classes. When her wet and naked body ran straight into me.
“No,” my voice firm and dripping in desire, “I’m exactly where I need to be.” I step closer, crowding her. She snorts and meets my gaze, that smirk of hers daring me. “Is that right? And what are you going to do?”
I step even closer, slow, deliberate, just to watch her react. She rolls her eyes, but I see it. The little twitch at the corner of her mouth that tells me she’s just as entertained, maybe even just as intrigued. I lean in a little closer, not touching her, just close enough for the heat to build.
“Go ahead,” she says, mock challenging. “Impress me.”
She’s currently asleep, her head resting on my shoulder.
The only sound is the occasional creak of the plane or her soft exhale.
I watch the sunlight hit her hair, in streaks of red peaking through her dark locks, and I realize just how protective I feel in this moment.
How much I want this. Want her. Safe and next to me through every high and low that may come our way.
Through every secret I’m holding from her.
I feel her shift beside me. “I’m nervous,” her voice comes in low.
“For meeting my mother?” I raise an eyebrow, though my tone is teasing. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Yes. And… everything else. I don’t know what to expect.”
I squeeze her hand, reassuring her without needing words. “She’ll see what I see. But even so, I don’t care what anyone else thinks or expects. I want you and thats all that matters. Just you.”
She laughs softly, the sound a balm to the tension I feel in my chest. “I think I like that answer.”
I lean back, letting my thumb brush her knuckles. The hum of the plane feels like a heartbeat, steady, grounding. I steal a glance at her and catch the way she’s staring at me, soft and vulnerable, and for a moment I imagine we’re the only two people in the world.
“Just… stay close,” I murmur.
“I will,” she whispers.
And I know she means it.
The sun dips lower, painting the horizon in streaks of orange and violet, and we sit like that, until the pilots voice comes over the speaker letting us know we’ll be landing soon.
The plane touches down with a soft hiss, tires gripping the tarmac, and I feel a knot in my stomach tighten.
Her hand is still in mine, warm and grounding, but even that can’t completely calm me.
“Ready?” I murmur, more to myself than to her.
She nods, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
We step off the jet into the crisp Moscow air. A car’s already waiting for us when we get off. Vanya opens the door for me and I let her get in first, then I follow behind.
“Mr. Ivanov I hope you and the missus had good flight.”
“My mother know we’re here?”
“It’s been kept a surprise per your request sir.”
I wanted to surprise her. I didn’t come for Christmas like she wanted me to, so I wanted to come by and see her, plus bring the woman I love to meet her.
“And my father?” I ask already knowing the answer.
“Not home, sir.”
It’s a quick ride to my family home. The estate rises before us, stone and ivy and history wrapped around it like a fortress.
I haven’t been home since the school year started.
My mother’s been asking, pressing in that way only she can—half guilt, half love.
I’m still her baby. It doesn’t matter that I’m twenty-three, that I’ve been taller than her since I was fifteen, that I’ve carved out a reputation that makes men twice my age step aside.
To her, I will always be her baby boy. She’s formidable, brilliant, and utterly incapable of hiding what she thinks.
One of the strongest women I know. And she knows everything, the weight of the Bratva at her back, the kind of man my father is, the blood on my own hands.
She knows what I did to Anastasia. But she doesn’t. Not yet.
I take a deep breath and guide her beside me.
“Stay close,” I murmur, low so only she can hear.
We climb the steps, and I ring the bell.
The door bursts open in seconds, and my mother’s voice fills the air.
“Eryx!” she exclaims, pulling me into her arms before I can blink.
She smells of jasmine, vanilla, and flour, warmth I didn’t know I missed until now.
Then her eyes land on the girl at my side.
They soften instantly, her entire face lighting up. “You must be Anastasia.”
“Yeah, mom,” I say, throat tight. “This is her.”
“This is my ma, Iris,” I tell her.
My mom presses her hand to her chest as if I’ve given her something priceless. “Oh, come inside, both of you.” She doesn’t wait for permission, already drawing Anastasia in by the hand, fussing over her as though she’s been waiting years to meet her.
The questions start immediately, tumbling over one another: “What’s your favorite food? Do you like to cook? Coffee or tea? What do you think of school? How do you handle my son, he’s stubborn, isn’t he?”
Her cheeks flush, but she answers each one with that gentle grace that disarms even my mother.
And my mother beams, like the hole she’s carried for so long is finally healing.
We end up in the kitchen, the three of us cooking together.
My mother orchestrating, Anastasia helping with careful hands, me mostly watching.
The smell of garlic and fresh bread fills the air.
She laughs when flour dusts her nose, and my mom brushes it off with the tenderness of someone who’s already claimed her.
“You’re far too lovely to be with my son,” she teases, glancing at me with that sharp, knowing pride. “But I’m glad you are.”
For a while, it feels like another life. The three of us at the table, eating, talking, laughter weaving through the walls that usually hold nothing but silence.