Then, he picks me up in his arms. Carries me over the red river staining the concrete floor. Takes me away from danger and violence into the cold crisp morning, bright with the future of our new life.
Together.
Somewhere, trees are lit and twinkling. People hide gifts as they count down to the holiday. But we’ve secured the greatest gift of all…
Love.
Epilogue: Aria
Theworldoutsideiswaking up.
Three months ago, everything was buried under ice, dead and grey. Now, the March sun struggles through the clouds, melting the last stubborn drifts of snow into mud. It’s not beautiful yet—it’s messy and wet—but the air smells different. It smells like earth. It smells like life.
I sit at the massive mahogany desk in our study. My nursing textbooks sprawl across the corner, a chaotic invasion of bright highlighters and anatomy diagrams encroaching on Igor’s perfectly aligned ledgers.
My hand drifts to my abdomen. It’s flat. No bump, no flutter, nothing to the outside eye. But the knowledge blooms in my chest, warm and terrifying and wonderful.
The door clicks open.
Igor walks in. He’s shed his suit jacket, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to reveal the thick cords of muscle in his forearms. Helooks tired—the good kind of tired that comes from building something legitimate, not from dodging bullets.
He doesn't speak. He rounds the desk, his presence immediately wrapping around me like a shield. He leans down, pressing a kiss to my temple, inhaling the scent of my hair.
"They are here," he murmurs against my skin. "Both of them. Galina is terrorizing the cook, demanding borscht."
I laugh, leaning back into him. "And Ivan?"
"Cornering the new maid by the linen closet. I believe he is trying to charm her out of her apron."
Igor’s hand slides down from my shoulder, resting large and warm over my stomach. His thumb strokes the fabric of his own t-shirt that I’m wearing. The gesture is possessive, reverent.
"We tell them tonight," he says, his voice dropping to that low rumble that vibrates through my bones.
"You think they’re ready to be uncles?"
"I think Ivan will try to teach the baby to play poker before it can walk," he corrects, a smirk touching his lips. "But they will be loyal."
He pulls me up from the chair. I turn in his arms, resting my cheek against his chest. The steadythump-thumpof his heart is my favorite sound. It’s the rhythm of a life we fought for, a life we stole from the jaws of death.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love—"
SCREEEEECH.
CRUNCH.
The sound is sickening—metal shearing against metal, glass shattering, a chaotic symphony of destruction right outside the front gates.
Igor stiffens, his body instantly shifting into combat mode. He pushes me behind him, moving toward the window.
"Stay here," he commands.
"Not a chance."
I follow him out of the study, down the grand staircase, and out the front door.
On the porch, Ivan is leaning against the railing, a stunned expression on his face. The pretty brunette maid, Oksana, peeks out from behind him, her eyes wide.
