I swallow hard, touched by his honesty. "Do you have pictures of your dad?"
"I have some I can show you right here on my phone," he says, pulling it from his pocket. He scrolls through, then hands it to me.
The man in the picture has Anton's jawline and intense eyes, standing tall beside a petite woman with a warm smile. Theylook happy, normal—nothing like the life their son would eventually lead.
"You have his eyes," I murmur, swiping through more photos of Anton as a child, skinny and serious, playing chess with his mother, and of Anton as a teenager, already tall and solemn.
As I swipe through the photos on Anton's phone, the warmth of an unexpected lightness washes over me. It's as if these pieces of his past offer glimpses into corners of himself he usually keeps hidden, the child behind the assassin, the humanity behind the lethal exterior.
"Your parents were beautiful," I whisper, tracing the edge of the screen. "You must have been happy with them." Anton nods. "Thank you for sharing this with me," I say.
Anton takes my hand again, his gaze never wavering. "I want to share everything with you, Fee."
His grip tightens around my fingers, grounding me. "I love you, Fee."
My breath stops. The world narrows to just his storm-gray eyes holding mine.
"I love you, too," I whisper, my voice breaking. "So much it terrifies me to lose you."
His expression softens, relief washing over his features. He pulls me into him then, cradling me against his chest. His heart pounds against my ear, a reassuring drumbeat amidst a world that knows only chaos. In his embrace, I feel safe, loved.
"Wherever you go, whatever you choose," he murmurs against my hair, "you have my heart."
I press my palm against his chest, feeling that steady heartbeat. "And you have mine. Always."
Chapter 25
Always Yes
Anton:
I wake before she does, watching morning light paint gold across her skin. The January snow outside turns Manhattan into something almost innocent, pure white against the skyline of our territory.
I don't move. Don't want to disturb her. Instead, I take the moment to just...look at her, to be here, present.
She sleeps peacefully beside me, her brown hair spilled across the pillow, those red tips catching fire in the January sunlight.
Eight months together, I treasure these quiet moments like a man starving. The sheet has slipped down to her waist, and my gaze traces the curve of her spine, the dip of her lower back, the rise of her hip.
Every morning that I wake up next to her is a gift I'll never stop fighting to keep. I never expected to find love again, let alone find...peace, and it's all her.
She's integrated seamlessly into the business, challenging Yuri's security systems and improving them, earning respect from men who respect nothing.
"You're the balance in an unbalanced world. The angel of necessary violence," Fee told me yesterday, and I told her that angels don't have blood-soaked hands like mine; she said some do.
Her heart humbles me. She researched developmental toys for Moira's baby months before he was born. Called Shane's wife and visited weekly during his recovery. Made an anonymous tuition payment for Emma, after discovering she was working full-time at the boutique to afford college.
My Solnishko saw someone struggling and quietly fixed it. No fanfare. No credit. Just helped because she could.
Fee shifts and seeks my warmth. I draw her closer, breathing in the sweet floral scent of her hair.
How did I get so fucking lucky? I check the time: 9:47 AM. We don't need to leave for Providence until two. Hours of just us, uninterrupted.
I trail my fingers along Fee's back, watching her skin prickle with goosebumps. She stirs, eyes fluttering open to find me already watching her.
"Good morning." Her voice is a warm, sandpaper whisper that catches in her throat.
"Morning, Solnishko." I brush my lips against her forehead.
