Page 120 of Auctioned to My Bratva Boss

Looking at the two wrinkled little bundles the nurse carried over, I couldn't force out a single word.

They were mine and Riley's children.

I carefully, carefully took the two tiny bundles from the nurse's arms.

Holding these two small lives that felt like they might break if I squeezed too hard, my palms broke out in sweat. I barely dared breathe. They were so small, so fragile.

But these two little things had effortlessly seized my entire heart before they'd even opened their eyes to see the world.

"Look..." Riley was nearly exhausted but smiled with utter contentment. She lifted her hand and gently touched both babies' faces. "Matvey, look how much they look like you."

I bent down and kissed her sweat-soaked forehead.

"No." My voice broke. "They should look like you."

"Like you—kind, strong, never willing to bow to fate."

That night, we stayed with our newborns and gave them names.

The boy was Niko, the girl Lillian.

Niko meant "victory." I hoped this boy would overcome any obstacle he faced, just like his mother, with courage.

For Lillian, I hoped she could be like her name—a lily blooming in sunlight without a care in the world. I would use everything I had to shield her from every storm in this world. I would never let her taste the bitterness her mother had endured.

I used to think my life was destined to be a lonely road paved in blood. I thought I'd die alone like my father.

Riley pulled me back from that path. She gave me a place called home.

Epilogue

Riley

"Mommy! Mommy! Wake up! Daddy made so much food, but he won't let us eat!"

That earth-shattering accusation jolted me awake.

I forced my eyes open. Sunlight already filtered through the curtain gaps, spilling gold across the floor. Weekends without work—pure bliss.

Then a mouthwatering smell hit me. My stomach growled in response.

I shuffled out of the bedroom in my robe and slippers, following that irresistible scent in a daze.

"Mommy!"

Two little missiles charged straight at me from the living room.

Niko latched onto my left leg, Lillian wrapped around my right, both pairs of gray-green eyes—carbon copies of Matvey's—pleading as they tattled in their sweet voices.

"Mommy, Daddy won't let us in the kitchen!"

"He said we have to wait for you!"

I stifled a laugh, ruffling both heads, and looked toward the kitchen.

I'd probably remember that sight for the rest of my life.

My husband—the man whose name made every Eastern European gang tremble—stood there shirtless, his muscular frame looking like a sculpture. But around his waist? A pink apron printed with cartoon bears.