บททั้งหมดของ A Taste of the Bratva King: บทที่ 151 - บทที่ 158

SergeiTamara and I step into the building of Beacon Hills Orphanage, and even though we've been here countless times during this whole fucked up process, it feels different now.My heart pounds in my throat, just like it did the night I first held my son. But this time, the pounding isn't from grief or shock— it's from anticipation. From the knowledge that I'm walking toward the moment I've dreamed of for months. The moment I finally get to take my boy home.As always, the institutional smell hits me first— that blend of chemicals and tears that clings to places where broken things get put back together. My free hand clenches into a fist at my side while my other hand holds tight to Tamara's fingers, anchoring me to the present. She's here. My wife. The woman who made this possible in ways that go far beyond legal paperwork.Cameron Simpson greets us with the kind of professional warmth that comes from years of facilitating family unions."Right this way," he says, guiding us down a

TamaraI wake to the sensation of Sergei's fingers tracing lazy circles on my bare shoulder, his breath warm against my neck as he whispers, "Today, malen'kiy, you become my wife. Again."Again.Because the hospital chapel ceremony, beautiful as it was, belonged to necessity and grief. Today belongs to joy.I roll over to face him, drinking in the sight of my husband— my husband— in the soft dawn light. His hair is disheveled from sleep, his usual careful composure abandoned in these quiet moments before the world intrudes. There's something boyish about him like this, vulnerable in ways he'd never allow anyone else to see."Any second thoughts?" I ask, though I'm teasing. We're past the point of doubt, past the place where uncertainty could live between us.His answer comes in the form of his mouth against mine, a kiss that tastes like forever and promises kept. When we break apart, his eyes hold that storm-cloud intensity that still makes my pulse race."The only thought I have," he

TamaraWhen I finish, the garden is completely silent except for the whisper of wind through roses and the distant sound of Budapest traffic. Even Slava has gone still, his small face serious as if he understands that something important is happening.Sergei's vows, when they come, are delivered in that beautiful, gravelly voice that I love so much."Tamara," he says, and just my name in his accent sounds like a declaration of love, "I spent years believing I was finished with beautiful things. That I didn't deserve them, couldn't protect them, would only destroy whatever I touched."He lifts our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that feels like a blessing."Then you walked into my life with your stubborn independence and your fierce loyalty and your way of seeing goodness in places where everyone else sees only danger. You made me want to be better than I was, cleaner than my past, worthy of the trust you placed in me even when you didn't fully understand what

SergeiI lean back, letting the moment stretch until anticipation builds in her eyes. "Because I wanted to show you your new place."She jolts like I just told her the building's on fire. "My new place?"The words barely make it past her lips, like speaking too loud might break whatever's happening here."If you want it." I keep my voice steady even though my heart feels like it's bracing to explode. "We can hire someone else to manage it, but you're the best choice for the job."Her mouth opens and closes without sound. I can see her mind racing, trying to process what I'm offering and what it means for everything we've built."Plus," I continue, reaching across to cover her hand with mine, "it's where we first met. I know the original was in Boston and this one's in Budapest, but..." I shrug because some things don't need explaining. "You understand."Laughter bursts out of her— startled, delighted, slightly hysterical. "You're serious?""Dead fucking serious." I squeeze her fingers