Page 120 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
“I love you,” I say, emotion thick in my throat.
“I love you too. Both of you.” He leans down, presses a kiss to my stomach.
We sit like that as afternoon fades to evening, Dimitri’s hand on my stomach, the baby restless between us, Manhattan glittering through windows that have witnessed the entire arc of our story.
From enemies to allies to partners to this—family in ways neither of us knew how to want until we had it.
It’s not soft. Our life will never be soft.
But it’s real. Built on trust earned through fire, love proven through survival, commitment deeper than any contract.
When our daughter arrives two months later—screaming and perfect and absolutely her father’s child—I watch Dimitri hold her with such careful reverence that tears stream unchecked down my face.
“She’s beautiful,” he whispers.
In that moment, watching the most dangerous man I know cradle our newborn daughter like she’s made of starlight, I know we’re going to be okay.
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THE END
