"No." I lift my head to look at him. "I don't regret a single thing. Not giving up Sergei. Not leaving with you. Not marrying you. Not this."
"Good." He pulls me up for a kiss. "Because I'm never letting you go."
"I know." I relax fully against his chest, feeling his cum leak out of me as he slides out. "I'm counting on it."
We lie in silence for a moment, our breathing gradually slowing. The clock now reads 3:15 AM. Barely more than a day, and my entire world has been remade.
But this time, I'm the one doing the remaking.
"Gennady?"
"Mm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For seeing me." I close my eyes, exhaustion finally pulling me under. "For choosing me when no one else ever did."
His arms tighten around me. "Always," he murmurs into my hair. "I'll always choose you."
Epilogue
Matilda
The knock on the door comes at exactly 2 PM.
I know who it is before Marie appears in the doorway of the sitting room, her face tight with disapproval.
"Your father is here," she says, the words clipped. "He's demanding to see you."
I set down the book I've been pretending to read and place both hands on my swollen belly. Eight months pregnant, and the baby has been active all morning, kicking and rolling like they're already impatient to join the world.
Gennady's child. Our child.
The thought steadies me.
"Show him in," I say calmly.
Marie's eyebrows rise. "Are you sure? The Pakhan—"
"Is in a meeting that I'm not going to interrupt." I stand slowly, my center of gravity shifted by the pregnancy. "And I can handle my father."
She hesitates, then nods and disappears. I hear low voices in the hallway, then footsteps approaching.
My father appears in the doorway, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.
He looks older. Grayer. The lines around his mouth are deeper, carved by bitterness and grief. His suit is expensive but slightly wrinkled, and I realize with a start that my mother probably isn't taking care of him the way she used to.
Good.
His eyes go immediately to my stomach, and something ugly crosses his face. Rage, maybe. Or disgust.
"So it's true," he says. "You're pregnant with the bastard's child."
I lift my chin. "I'm pregnant with my husband's child. And you'll refer to the Pakhan with respect, or you'll leave."
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Respect? You want me to respect the man who murdered my son, your brother?"
