In love with his words and his thoughts and his warped sense of humor. With his violence and darkness that he wore like an impenetrable armor. An armor only I got to peek under. I was in love with his veiny hands, broad back, neck kisses, Latin tattoos, hugs from behind, and that one green eye with the golden flecks that missed nothing and rarely blinked. And I’d never been closer to losing him. To the Bratva. To our secret. To this baby in my womb.
