“Especially those parts,” he said. “Because we didn’t. We survived. And now we have this.”
“Jack,” I said, grinning despite the emotion clogging my throat.
His jaw tightened, but his eyes danced with that familiar amusement. “We aren’t finished discussing this.”
“Oh, we’re finished,” I countered, wrapping my arms around his neck as best I could with the belly in the way. “You just don’t know it yet.”
He studied me for a long moment, his gaze searching mine like he was trying to memorize every detail. And I saw it there—the shift. The transformation from what he’d been to what he was now.
The man who would burn down half of Chicago to keep me safe. That man was still there, buried beneath the surface, ready to emerge if anyone threatened what was his.
But right now? Right now, he was just a man. My man. The father of my child.
“Dance with me,” he said, voice low and rough.
I blinked. “What?”
“Dance with me.” He gestured to the yard, the streamers swaying in the breeze, the quiet punctuated only by Illyana and Hailey’s distant laughter. “This is your celebration. Dance with me.”
“There’s no music,” I pointed out, but I was already smiling, already leaning into him.
“There is always music,” he said, pulling me closer. One hand splayed across my lower back, supporting my weight, the other holding mine in a grip that was both gentle and possessive.
We moved slowly, swaying to a rhythm only we could hear. The baby shifted between us, rolling and kicking, and I felt Kirill’s hand press against the movement, felt him smile against my hair.
This was intimacy. This was trust. This was everything we’d built from the rubble of who we’d been.
“Should I change the song to ‘In the Middle of the Night’?” I asked, unable to resist. That song had been playing the first time we’d really seen each other. The first time the masks had come off, and we’d both admitted what this was.
Kirill raised a brow, pulling back just enough to look at me. “You are incorrigible.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
Two words. Simple. But they carried the weight of everything we’d been through. Every lie. Every kill. Every moment we’d almost lost each other. Every time we’d chosen this—chosen us—over everything else.
I rested my head against his chest, let his heartbeat steady mine. Around us, Illyana and Hailey moved through the yard, setting up the last of the decorations, their voices carrying on the breeze. The sun climbed higher, warming the fields, turning everything golden and perfect.
This was it. This was the life we’d fought for. This was what survival looked like on the other side.
From blackmail and bloodshed to baby showers and blue balloons.
“I’m at peace,” Kirill said quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest. “For the first time in my life.”
I pulled back to look at him, really look at him. His face was open, unguarded, and I saw it—the truth. No masks. No games. No armor. Just Kirill. Just us. Just this moment of perfect, terrifying vulnerability.
“Me too,” I whispered, and I meant it with every fiber of my being.
The baby kicked hard, and we both felt it, both laughed at the same time. The sound was light, genuine, completely free of the darkness that had defined us for so long.
“Jack agrees,” I said.
Kirill sighed, long and dramatic, but he was smiling. Actually smiling. “Jack.”
“See? It’s growing on you.”
“It is not.”
