Page 107 of Gilded Shackles
"And Natalia's here with Pasha. They're in the garden. She taught him how to sayprivetthis morning. In a Russian accent."
I blink. "He already has a Russian accent."
"Well, now it's Russian-Russian."
She bumps her shoulder against mine. I wrap an arm around her waist, careful not to squish the bump or the woman growing more terrifying by the trimester.
We don't say it out loud, but I think we're both relieved things are boring today. Boring is good. Boring means no one's bleeding, kidnapped, or committing light homicide.
Viktor shows up exactly when he says he will. Wearing that ridiculous flat cap he thinks makes him look less dangerous. All it does is make him look like a Russian fisherman with excellent taste in leather jackets.
"Look at you," he says, striding in. "Alive. Disappointing. I had the funeral playlist picked."
"Tell me you weren't planning to sing," I mutter as we half-hug. I wince. He pretends not to notice. That's Viktor.
He nods toward the garden where Natalia is crouched beside Pasha, building a fort out of rocks.
"She's good with him," Viktor says.
"She saved Elle's life."
He looks at me sideways. "You're sure? About paying off her debt with the Italians?"
"She made her bed. And yeah, I hated her. But she came through. If not for her, Gayle might've killed Elle. Or worse."
He sighs. "And the fact that Elle was in danger in the first place because of her?"
"I know. But Gayle was always going to make a move. Natalia just rushed the timeline."
He watches me. Then nods. "Alright. Took care of it. They won't come for her."
"Thank you." My voice catches. When I think about what I almost did, going to this man's house with a gun to his head, the shame fills my chest like concrete. "I don't deserve you, Uncle."
"Yeah, yeah. I'd have ditched your ass if it weren't for that wife of yours. I like her more than you, by the way." He teases. "She said I have to be nice to you if we're to be friends."
"Now you know why I picked her."
Elle comes back to the patio, a maid following with a tray. Viktor's face transforms. The cold, calculating Pakhan vanishes, replaced by the uncle I grew up with.
"There she is!"
Elle smiles at him like she didn't insult him to his face last week during a board game. He opens his arms. She steps into them. The bond they've built these past weeks still surprises me.
"How's my great-niece or nephew?" Viktor asks, pulling back.
Elle rests a hand on her stomach. "Determined to make sure I never sleep again. And hungry. Always hungry."
"That's an Ivanov for sure," he says proudly, like he had anything to do with it.
Elle's smile fades slightly. She looks at Viktor, then at me, taking a breath.
"We need to talk about something," she says. "About the future."
Viktor gestures for her to sit. She perches on the arm of my chair, her hand finding mine automatically.
"Nikolai's out," she says to Viktor. "We're out. We're done with the Bratva."
I tense. We've discussed this, Elle and I. She wants peace, and I'm willing to lose everything to give her that. But I pray my uncle isn't on the list of losses.
