We stayed like that for a long time. Me kneeling, Sophie in my arms, both crying happy tears. The ivory pawn sat on the bedside table, catching lamplight.
A baby.
Our baby.
"What are you thinking?" Sophie's voice came muffled against my chest.
"I'm thinking about what I'll teach them. Our child."
She pulled back to look at my face. "Yeah?"
"Chess. Obviously. But the right way. Not as warfare training. Just as a game. Something beautiful and complex that teaches patience and planning but doesn't consume everything else."
Sophie's expression softened. She understood—my childhood chess education had been brutal, had turned a beautiful game into a weapon.
"And how to read," I continued. "How to love books not because they're useful but because stories matter. Your love of literature—I want them to have that."
"They'll have your intelligence," Sophie whispered. "And your heart. The real one, not the one you hid behind ice."
"They'll know they're loved," I said fiercely. "From the moment they're born. They'll never question whether we want them, whether they matter. They'll just know."
"We'll make mistakes," Sophie said quietly. "We'll mess up. We'll probably be overprotective and anxious."
"Probably."
"But they'll know we love them." She placed her hand over mine on her stomach. "That's what matters. Not perfection. Just love. Constant and unconditional and absolutely certain."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Our child would grow up in a compound with armed guards and surveillance systems. Would learn about the family business eventually. Would have to navigate being part of a criminal empire while still being a kid who needed bedtime stories.
The contradiction should have worried me. Should have triggered anxiety about protection and threat assessment.
But instead I felt peace.
Not absence of concern. Just quiet certainty that whatever challenges came, Sophie and I would face them together. That love was actually the strongest protection I could offer.
I looked at the ivory pawn again. A pawn—the least powerful piece. The one that moved slowly, could only advance forward, seemed insignificant.
But pawns could become anything. Could transform when they reached the opposite side. Could turn into queens—the most powerful piece—through persistent forward motion.
That's what Sophie had given me. Not just news of our pregnancy, but understanding that beginnings mattered more than endings. That starting small and moving forward with love was more powerful than any grand strategy.
I was Nikolai Dmitrievich Besharov. Pakhan of the Besharov bratva. Strategist. Husband.
And now—father.
Each title earned not through strategic positioning but through choosing love even when it was terrifying.
"I love you," I whispered. "I love you and our baby and this life we're building. I love that you gave me this gift—not just the pregnancy but the understanding that family isn't about blood or obligation. It's about choice. Choosing each other. Every day."
"Especially when it's hard," Sophie corrected.
"Especially then."
We sat in the quiet of our bedroom, lamplight making everything soft, and I let myself feel it. All of it. The joy andterror and profound gratitude for this woman who'd walked into my life at an auction and systematically remade me.
I looked at Sophie—at my wife, at the mother of my child—and I smiled. Real and unguarded.
