"Come upstairs." I take her hand. "I need you."
She follows without question.
In my room, I undress her slowly. Map every bruise I've left, every mark that proves she's mine despite the betrayal.
Then I take her to bed. Slower than the past few nights. Still claiming, still possessive, but with something underneath that might be tenderness if I was willing to name it.
Afterward, we lie tangled together. Her head on my chest. My arms around her like I can keep her safe through proximity alone.
She presses closer. "I love you. I know you don't want to hear it. I know it doesn't change anything. But I need you to know."
"I'm trying to forgive you. Trying to trust you. It's just—"
"Hard. I know." She kisses my chest. "But I’ll win your trust back, or die trying."
We fall asleep like that. Together against whatever's coming.
And for the first time since her confession, I let myself hope that maybe we can survive this.
That maybe the betrayal doesn't have to be the end.
That maybe two broken people can build something from the wreckage.
Just maybe.
Chapter twenty-one
Valerie
The nightmare hits Mila three days later.
I hear her screaming from down the hall—not the usual whimpers, but full-blown terror. I'm out of bed and running before conscious thought catches up.
She's thrashing in bed, covers tangled around her legs, sobbing for her mama.
"Mila, sweetheart, wake up." I kneel beside her, careful not to grab her suddenly. "You're safe. You're home. Wake up, baby."
Her eyes fly open. Unfocused. Still trapped in the nightmare.
"Mama's bleeding, they won't stop, she won't wake up…"
"Shh, I know. But it's not real. It's just a dream. Your mama's at peace now. She's not hurting." I stroke her hair. "And you're safe. I'm here. Papa's here. You're safe."
Lev appears in the doorway. Shirtless, gun in hand, instantly alert.
I shake my head slightly. Just a nightmare. Stand down.
He holsters the weapon but doesn't leave. Just watches as I calm his daughter.
"Can you sing the song?" Mila's voice is small. Broken.
"Of course." I pull her into my lap and start the lullaby. Russian words I learned from my father, probably the same ones Katya sang to this child before she died.
Mila's breathing evens out. The tears slow. She burrows against me like she can crawl inside my ribcage and hide there.
Lev sits on the edge of the bed. One hand on Mila's back. The other covering mine where it rests on her hair.
A family moment. Broken and rebuilt wrong, but still a family.