She was alive. The baby was alive. They were both in my arms, both safe, both mine.
Nothing else mattered.
***
I carried her out of the facility.
She could have walked—insisted she could walk—but I couldn't let her go. Couldn't stand to have her more than inches from my body. So I lifted her in my arms and carried her through the corridors, past the bodies of the men I'd killed, out into the night air.
The contractors had secured the perimeter. Pankratov's surviving men were on their knees, hands behind their heads, under guard. Some of them would face justice through official channels. Others would simply disappear.
I didn't care. Couldn't bring myself to care about any of it.
"Medical team is standing by on the boat," Marcos reported, falling into step beside me. "We can have her at a hospital in Athens within two hours."
"Do it."
"And the facility? The bodies?"
"Burn it. Leave nothing that can be traced back to us."
He nodded and peeled away, already issuing orders.
Gabrielle's head rested against my shoulder, her breathing steady, her hand pressed over her stomach. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest—strong, alive, real.
"Vasily?" she murmured.
"I'm here."
"You're covered in blood."
"Most of it isn't mine."
"That's not reassuring."
I laughed despite everything—a broken, exhausted sound. "I suppose not."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "I've never seen you like that. When you were... when Pankratov..."
I tensed, waiting for the fear. The revulsion. The moment she realized what she'd married—the violence I was capable of, the monster that lived beneath my skin.
"Is that who you really are?" she asked softly.
"Yes." There was no point lying. She'd seen it with her own eyes. "That's what I become when someone threatens what's mine."
She lifted her head, meeting my eyes. In the darkness, I couldn't read her expression.
"Good," she said.
Then she laid her head back on my shoulder and closed her eyes.
I carried her to the boat, past the men who'd fought for her, past the wreckage of the war we'd finally won. The Mediterranean stretched around us, calm and black, indifferent to the blood that had been spilled in its waters.
But I didn't care about the sea, or the men, or the empire waiting for me back in New York.
All I cared about was the woman in my arms and the child growing inside her.
My family.
