"Healing. Stronger every day."
"And the baby?"
"Fine. The doctors confirmed it yesterday. No complications."
"Good." A rare warmth crept into my brother's tone. "That's good, Vasily. You deserve this. Both of you."
I wasn't sure I agreed. Wasn't sure I deserved any of the gifts I'd been given—her love, our child, the future unfolding before us. But I was learning to accept them anyway.
"We're coming back to New York," I said. "Within the week. She needs to—there are things she needs to face. People she needs to see."
"The friend? The father?"
"Yes."
"I'll make the arrangements. Security detail, safe transport, the penthouse prepared." He paused. "Vasily... are you sure about this? Bringing her back to where it started?"
"She needs closure. I won't deny her that."
"Even if it changes things? Even if being back there, seeing her old life—"
"Even then." I cut him off, not wanting to hear the fears I'd already wrestled with voiced aloud. "I trust her, Semyon. Whatever she decides, however she feels—I trust her."
Silence on the line. Then: "You've changed."
"She changed me."
"I know." Something that might have been approval colored his voice. "I'll have everything ready. Just let me know when you want to fly."
I found her in the bedroom when I finished with Semyon's call.
She was standing at the window, looking out at the city, her hand resting on the small swell of her stomach. The pose had become familiar over the past few days—she touched the baby constantly now, as if reassuring herself it was still there. Still safe.
"News?" she asked without turning.
"Kirill survived. He's recovering."
Her shoulders relaxed. She'd met Kirill only a handful of times, but he'd fought to protect her. Had nearly died for her. That meant something.
"And Yelena?"
"Bruised but unbroken. Already demanding to return to work."
A small laugh escaped her. "That sounds like her."
I crossed the room and stood behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She leaned back into me, her head resting against my shoulder.
"What else?" she asked. "I can tell there's more."
I considered lying. Considered shielding her from the news about Tigran, about the threat that might be gathering on the horizon. But we'd moved past lies. Past the secrets and manipulations that had defined the beginning of our relationship.
"Pankratov had a brother. Younger and supposedly retired from the business. He's resurfacing. Making noise."
She tensed in my arms. "Is he coming after us?"
"Not immediately. He doesn't have the resources—not yet. But Semyon thinks he might try eventually."
"Because you killed Aram."
