The Life (29 page)

Instead, she choked back the sorrow in her heart and asked, “Who was that?”

“Hmm?”

“That man you were talking with a little while ago. I didn’t recognize him.”

Anton’s jaw ticked, his nostrils flared.
“No one important.”

Viviana stared the lie straight in the face. Why wouldn’t he want to tell her who the man was?
“You sure?”

“Of course.
So, do you have enough diapers and whatnot to do Demyan a little while?”

“A few hours, why?”

Anton smiled faintly. “I wanted to drive.”

“Drive?”

“Yeah, drive. Think. Take my son to a lake and dip his feet into one for the first time. I don’t know, something to give me a happy memory of this day instead of just … this,” he said with a wave at himself. Viviana could see exactly what he meant by his words. Anton was wrought with tension. There was pain edging the corners of his mouth down and anguish warring in his gaze. Even his voice didn’t hold the same strong tenor it usually did. “Can we?”

Viviana trailed her fingers along his shirt beneath his jacket, feeling the rock solid muscles lining his abdomen clench under her touch. He seemed to calm by her hand, though, so she kept the same tender strokes going as she talked.

“We can do whatever you want, Anton. The dinner isn’t until six tonight, so we’ve got a while. It’s not like we need bottles and Demyan has enough pampers to do him for a little trip. Let’s go.”

“Go,” he echoed softly.

“Want me to drive?” she asked.

Anton blinked down at her, a sliver of wetness coating his bottom lashes. The sight all but broke her heart, but she didn’t acknowledge the tears. He wouldn’t want her to.
“Nah, baby. I just want to hold your hand, and drive.”

“Okay. We can do that, too.”

*

Throaty blues crawled from the speakers of their Mercedes-Benz. Viviana had opened the doors to the SUV and turned the music up to a level that wouldn’t bother the baby but was loud enough to fill the area with its heart and soul.

Resting back to the front of the SUV, she smiled as Anton supported Demyan’s head and body with his arm before dipping the baby’s bare feet into the cold water of the lake. Instantly, like a shock to his little body, Demyan jerked at the new sensation.

He didn’t cry, though.

Anton laughed, dipping his own hand into the water before bringing his wet fingers up to trace along Demyan’s cheeks. “Cold, little man? Yeah, Papa’s not even sorry. Just the look on your face was worth it.”

Viviana was going to take pictures of the moment, but Anton asked her not to. Not everything had to be captured, he said. They took enough photos on a day to day basis. Some of his best memories growing up were never photographed or videotaped.

When Viviana thought back to her own raising, she had to agree.

“Bring him to me so I can dry his little toes before they freeze,” Viviana said, still grinning at the happiness on her husband’s face.

“It’s the end of July, Vine. He’s not going to catch a cold.”

“He’s just a baby, Anton.”

“You’re being a helicopter.”

The snort Viviana released was indelicate. “You wouldn’t even know what that meant if I didn’t tell you, smartass.”

“You love it,” Anton said with a grin over his shoulder

“Whatever you say, Boss.”

Anton shot her a look as he stood, sending her insides pitching up to a fever. He’d long forgone his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows. The new ink on his flesh caught her eye. Like Anton wanted, he had his son’s name tattooed, written with script in black along his wrist. What had surprised her more was the matching design on his other wrist with her name.

You’re the only people on this earth who can bar me down and make me want to stay
, he’d said. Appropriate, then, that he tattooed them both on his wrists as if they were handcuffs to hold him barred for the rest of his life.

Anton raked his fingers through his hair, the style standing up like it’d been windswept.

And he looked happier.

That’s all Viviana wanted to see in Anton.
Just some genuine happiness.

“Come here.”

Anton rolled his eyes at her demand. “Vine, he’s fine.”

“No, I just want you to come over here for a minute. I know he’s okay.”

Slowly, Anton made his way over. Nuzzling his face down close to his son’s, the smile creeping over his cheeks was a sweet relief. Demyan’s little hands were clasping Anton’s neck like he wanted to draw him closer.

“Here, bossy pants,” Anton said when he was standing in front of Viviana. “Dry his feet up and put his socks back on.”

Instead of doing what he asked, Viviana reached out and fisted his shirt, pulling him close enough for her to kiss his mouth. Intense couldn’t adequately describe the way her body, heart, and soul reached out to need and want the man in front of her. It was like an urge that beat upwards from her middle and forced its way out with no warning.

Viviana didn’t have to think about it. She knew it would always be like that between them.

“Hey,” he said, his tone turning deeper. “That was unexpected. Nice, but unexpected.”

“Love you.”

“God, do I ever love you,” Anton replied, smirking.

The squirming baby boy resting against Anton’s chest in his arm stilled momentarily. Glancing down at her son, Viviana beamed at the child.
Something amazing, indeed. He brightened up just about everything he came I contact with. She thought of what it would be like to see him older, growing, and loving.

How would
Demyan grow? Would he be like his father, only sharing his love carefully and privately? Would he be strong and handsome, chasing girls until one finally settled him down? Would he be Bratva, or just a boy?

Viviana couldn’t wait to find out.

“Are you always going to be here, Vine?” Anton asked quietly.

“Huh?” Viviana didn’t know what to say to that. Anton’s hand cupped her face, his thumb rolling along her cheekbone as she stared into his eyes. “Of course I’m going to be here. Why ask that?”

“What if …” Anton’s gaze darted down to Demyan. “What if I mess something up someday with this life of ours? Would you be still be here, then?”

Viviana didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

“You know, you never did tell me what Nicoli wrote to you in that letter.”

“I don’t think he meant for you to know.”

Anton shrugged. “Maybe. Would you tell me if I asked, though?”

She ticked two of her fingers under his chin to make him look up again.
“Maybe.”

“Was there anything important for me?” Anton asked.

Viviana’s grin grew, matching the one taking over his features as Anton watched their son. “He hoped you made me live.”

“Do I?”

Yeah, he really did. No one could do it better.

“Every single day of our life, Anton.”

About the Author

Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother of two very young sons, two cats, and two dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her two boys under her feet, a spouse calling over his shoulder, and animals sitting by her side, she is nearly always writing something … when she can find the time.

Find her on F
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Coming Soon from Bethany-Kris

The Score

The Russian Guns, Book Three

Anton flinched, disgust filling him to the brim. This whole situation was horrible and he felt dirty with ten grimy fingers pointing straight at his guilty chest.

“Well, aside from firing her, there’s not much I can—”

Anton didn’t get to finish his sentence. A loud bang and shouted orders rang out in the dow
nstairs of the club. The tinkling sounds of canisters popping along the empty floor echoed up to their spot. There was no denying what was happening downstairs.

“Fuck,” Ivan muttered.

Instantly, Anton was off his office chair, ignoring the gun he knew was in the desk, and the information of a shipment, never mind the laptop he should have tried to somehow destroy. No, instead, the only thing he could think of was the little boy on the floor with wide blue eyes and a terrified gaze, reaching for his father.

“Papa?”
Demyan cried.

“
Shhh, little man,” Anton whispered.

In his arms, he held his son tighter and turned his back to the door of the office. It seemed like only milliseconds, but his mind was running a million miles a minute. Anton couldn’t begin to understand why the officials would be raiding his club. His guys certainly hadn’t been given any indication and they’d all been pretty quiet.

Demyan’s shaking increased as the shouts down below became louder. “It’s okay, Demyan, it’s okay. Papa’s here.”

The sounds of a dozen or more pairs of boots pounding up the metal staircase ratcheted up Anton’s nerves.

“Anton …” Ivan started. “Anton, give me your son!”

The hardest thing Anton ever had to do, next to walking out of his house that morning kno
wing his wife’s heart was breaking, was hand his trembling, scared, and crying son off to another man. It was safer for Demyan, though.

No doubt, they weren’t there for Ivan.

Anton watched Ivan curl a fighting Demyan into his chest as he got to his knees on the floor and automatically put his hands behind his head. The less threatening he seemed at their entrance, the less likely they were to cause him harm, never mind his son seeing it.

“
Demyan, it’s okay,” Anton repeated when the first kick to the door landed with a solid thump. The second and third only followed louder, harder. “Hide his face, Ivan!”

When the door finally broke, it wasn’t a second before Anton found himself face down on the floor, his son’s cries overtaking all other sounds. Cuffs tightened around his wrists to an almost painful point, but Anton refused to show it. A boot landed hard between his shoulder blades, keeping him pinned to the floor even though he wasn’t fighting.

“
Papa
!”

“Anton
Daniil Avdonin, you’re under arrest for the murder of Sonny Carducci, Tatiana Belov, Sergei Belov …”