The Hacker (Chicago Bratva 5) - Page 67

Natasha extends a hand to my mother and tells her it’s wonderful to meet her in Russian.

“I’m sorry, Mama. So sorry you suffered.”

My mother draws herself up. “I knew you couldn’t be dead,” she tells us with conviction. “They never found the bodies—why were there no bodies? I said. Nobody listened to me, but a mother knows if her sons are dead, and I never believed you were dead.”

Natasha gives my mother a secret smile. “You knew,” she affirms.

“Da. And I always felt like someone was watching out for me. All these prizes I won—that was you, wasn’t it?”

I draw my mom in for another hug. “Of course we looked out for you.”

“I knew it!” our mother says triumphantly. “So,” she spreads her hands. “Where have you been?”

“America,” Nikolai tells her. “And we have to go back. But we can move you into our building if you like. Everyone speaks Russian—you would fit in just fine.”

I can tell by my mother’s face she doesn’t love the idea.

“Or you can stay here, and we can call and visit.”

She bobs her head, then gives Natasha a smile. “I will come to America for your wedding. Are you going to marry this beautiful girl?”

“Yes,” I say immediately, even though I haven’t asked her yet.

Natasha tips her face up to mine.

“If she’ll have me,” I murmur to her.

She accepted the scholarship to the Illinois School of Naturopathy, and Ravil’s given me leave to move with her. I found us a nice apartment close to campus, and it’s only a three hour drive from Chicago, so I can come back to get my orders from Ravil, and she can visit her mom.

“Tell me that wasn’t your proposal,” Natasha teases.

“Definitely not. I’m working on something far sweeter.” I wink, and she flushes with obvious pleasure. It’s so easy to make her happy. Dark chocolate bars and a few orgasms a night seem to keep the smile on her face, but I’m working overtime to keep proving she’s not my fallback.

“Are you receptive to such a proposal?” My pulse quickens even though I’m almost certain of her answer.

She gives me one of those adoring looks I don’t deserve and nods.

I beam at my mother. “Looks like you’ll be coming to visit us soon, then.”

My mother throws her arms open and pulls Natasha into a warm embrace. “You’ve made me so happy. I’m so happy right now.” She starts crying her tears of joy again, and this time Natasha joins her.

My mom ushers us into her newly remodeled kitchen—thanks to another prize I arranged for her to win—and opens a bottle of wine. We catch up with her for an hour and let her feed us. When she brings out another bottle of wine, I fish a bar of chocolate out of my travel bag and place it in the middle of the table in front of Natasha.

She opens it, breaking off a piece, then offering it to my mother.

When my mom breaks off a piece, the ring I had embedded drops to the table.

“What is this?” my mother exclaims.

Natasha gasps. “Something sweeter!” She puts it together immediately and reaches for the ring. It’s caked with chocolate—maybe not my smartest move—but that doesn’t seem to bother her. She puts it in her mouth to lick it clean, then slides the three-diamond band on her finger.

Nikolai nudges the chocolate bar in her direction and she peels back the wrapper to reveal the question I had printed on the inside.

Marry me, Natasha.

She laughs. “Is that a question or an order?”

I pick up her hand. “Please say yes.”

“Yes!” she exclaims, eyes watering.

My mother bursts into tears once more, and there’s a round of congratulations while I kiss my sweet Natasha.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“You’re mine,” I tell her, planting a soft kiss on her lips. “And I’m yours.” I may have held myself back in the beginning, but I will never do it again.

I’m not sure I ever had a purpose in life before, but I have one now—it’s making Natasha happy. I almost lost my place in her heart, and I won’t make that mistake again.

“To love and to having my sons back,” my mom says, raising her glass.

We all repeat the toast and clink glasses, the joy of the moment making up for the years of sorrow, bringing light to our darkness, healing all the places we were broken.

Tags: Renee Rose Chicago Bratva Romance
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