Page 110 of Gilded Shackles
To my surprise, he smiles. "That's great, Pasha. We'd love to have her." He reaches across the table, voice softer than I've heard it all day. "Do you want that?"
Pasha nods. "She said she's proud of me." He whispers it like he can't quite believe it.
My heart cracks in half and sews itself back together.
"She should be," I say. "You're the smartest person I know."
Natalia and I had the conversation three months after we moved to Montana. She flew in for one day. We sat on this same porch, two cups of coffee between us, and she told me everything. Why she did it. What Gayle threatened. How she'd thought about warning me but was too scared of what the Italians would do if Gayle's protection disappeared.
I wanted to hate her. Part of me still does, on the bad days. But she put a bullet in the head of the woman who was about to kill me and my husband and my unborn child. That's not something you can erase with anger, no matter how justified.
So I forgave her. Not all at once. Not neatly. But enough.
Healing doesn't look like what I expected. It's not a grand moment or a dramatic reconciliation. It's quiet texts, slow rebuilding, and space made at the table for someone who hurt you but is trying to be better. It's imperfect and messy and human.
Like most things worth having.
After the boys are in bed, I collapse onto ours, tugging off my jeans. "I'm pretty sure I have tomato seeds in my hair."
Nikolai sits beside me, hand on the small of my back. "Want me to check?"
I turn to look at him. His hair's longer now, the silver gone soft, natural waves resting over his temple instead of the severe swept-back look he kept in the city. Like even his hair decided to relax when we left.
"Only if you're volunteering to wash it too."
He smirks. That half-smile that still makes my stomach flip.
"Have I mentioned lately that I love you?" I push myself up, leaning into his warmth. "Like embarrassingly, stupidly, completely love you?"
"Not since this morning." He presses a kiss to my temple. "Never get tired of hearing it."
He goes quiet for a moment. Then: "I bought the tower."
I blink. "You what?"
"Gayle's building."
"That's a weird flex, but go on."
"I had it demolished."
I sit up. Heart racing but not from fear. "Like... demolished?"
He nods. "Gone. Blown to dust. One less monument to that life on the skyline."
And just like that, I'm crying. Not pretty crying. Full snot, instant flood, can't breathe crying. Nikolai opens his arms like he expected exactly this, and I crawl into his lap and bury my face in his chest.
"It's just a building," he murmurs into my hair. "It didn't deserve the power you gave it."
"I know." I hiccup. "But now it's really over. She's gone. The tower's gone. That life is gone."
"And this one is real." He holds me tighter. "This is your life now, Elle. Ours."
I kiss him. Hard. Wet. Honest. Grateful.
"I love you," I say against his mouth.
"I know," he replies. Smug bastard.
We fall asleep tangled in sheets and limbs, baby monitor on the nightstand, Capone snoring outside the door, cat probably plotting revenge.
And for once, there are no nightmares.
Just dreams that already came true.
