"And he escaped." Alexei's voice is grim. "Knowing your wife is pregnant."
"Not my wife yet," Maksim corrects. "But soon."
Mila appears on screen beside Alexei. "Congratulations. Both of you. And I'm sorry it happened this way—that monster shouldn't have been the first to know."
"Thank you," I manage. "We're—processing."
"Federal manhunt is active," Alexei says. "Every resource we have is looking. He won't get far, wounded as he is."
But we all know Anton has evaded capture for fifteen years. That might slow him down but it won't stop him.
At night, we order food—neither of us has eaten since before the operation. Irina brings soup, bread, things that are gentle and warm.
By the time we finish, we go watch the sunset from the bedroom window. Maksim's hand on my stomach, my head on his shoulder.
"We're going to be amazing parents," I say.
"Absolutely." He traces the B on my stomach again. "But Anton out there knowing about the baby? That scares me most of all."
His honesty helps. We're both terrified. Both determined.
We start to plan.
Wedding—small, soon, before I show. Foundation launch—someone else teaches initially, I consult remotely. Recovery timeline—ankle six weeks, pregnancy monitoring ongoing. Public announcement—after the wedding, on our terms. Names—too early but we talk about it anyway, laughing. Balancing Bratva life with raising a child while hunting the man who escaped.
It's the first time we've planned a pure future. Not just surviving, but building.
But it's shadowed, with Anton still out there.
The threat continues.
At 10:00 PM, exhausted again, we return to bed.
We fall asleep wrapped around each other, protective and protected, planning life while preparing for war.
Because Anton Kozlov is still out there.
And this time, he knows I'm carrying Maksim's child.
Chapter sixteen
Midnight Vows
Maksim
Sunday, November 14th, 11:30 PM.
The private Orthodox chapel is small, tucked away in a historic building in Old City Philadelphia. Father Dimitri has known my family for forty years—baptized me, married Elena and me, buried Elena and our daughter. Now he'll marry me again.
The chapel is candlelit, intimate. Icons on the walls, incense burning, everything steeped in tradition and reverence.
Sergei stands beside me in a dark suit. Natasha waits near the front pew, recovered from her ordeal, still staying at the mansion while she heals. Alexei and Mila sit in the second row—they flew in from Chicago yesterday afternoon specifically for this.
At 11:45 PM, the door opens.
Sonya enters alone—no father to give her away, no procession, just her walking down the short aisle toward me.
And she's wearing Elena's wedding dress.
