I take the phone from her fingers, and the moment my eyes land on the image, something warm settles in my chest. Erik—Roman and Elara’s first son—stands grinning at the camera, tall and handsome, a perfect copy of Roman despite Elara’s endless insistence that he looks like her.
A rare, quiet smile pulls at my lips.
This—this right here—is another source of my happiness. Watching my nephews and nieces flourish. Seeing Roman, Lukin, Adrian, Kaz, Lev, and Niko with children of their own…watching these men who were forged in violence become fathers. It softens something in me I once believed was ossified forever.
I hand the phone back to Vivian, my thumb brushing her knuckles, and the truth lands in my chest with steady weight: I can’t wait for my turn.
It’s one of the reasons I left the Bratva life behind.
One of the reasons I became a ghost.
One of the reasons I chose a life that would finally give me a future instead of an ending.
And with her—laughing, barefoot, radiant in the morning sun—
I know that future is close.
“I miss them so much,” Vivian murmurs, staring at the picture once more before letting her phone slip onto the table.
“Let’s go visit this Christmas,” I say, the words lighter than anything I’ve spoken in years. Her eyes immediately brighten, sparkling with excitement.
“Yes! That’d be awesome.” She leans up and presses a quick kiss to my cheek, warm and teasing.
She steps back, teasing me with that familiar spark in her gaze. “I can’t believe you’ve fallen so far—from the feared heir of the Rusnak empire to…a vineyard owner.” Her grin is mischievous, almost wicked.
I pretend to frown, letting the feral grin I’ve worn for years soften. “And yet, somehow, I’ve never been happier,” I reply, tightening my arm around her waist and pulling her close. She leans against me, fitting perfectly, as if she’s been my anchor all along.
“You gave me a better empire,” I murmur, my voice low, meant only for her. “One I get to share with you.”
Her laugh rings out, free and bright, as she rests her head against my shoulder. “I think this empire suits you more than the one you were born into,” she teases softly.
I glance out over the rolling vines, sunlight gilding over the gardens, and feel a quiet satisfaction, a kind of peace I never thought I’d know. This empire—the one we’ve built together—is ours. No ghosts, no betrayals, no blood debts. Just us, the vineyard, the sea, and a future waiting to be claimed.
“Mom is coming over to see us next week,” Vivian breaks the silence, a grin tugging at her lips. “I told her to bring some bagels.”
I laugh heartily. Lately, Vivian has been whining about bagels because they never have them in stores here. “Next week might be far. Sylvester is dropping off some files for me in two days; I could tell him to bring some bagels.”
“Yes!” she says, practically bouncing with excitement.
I smile at her. “Why are you craving bagels all of a sudden? There are so many other snacks you can eat.”
“I want bagels specifically,” she insists, eyes glinting with mischief. “Guess why?”
“Because you miss New York?” I offer.
“Idomiss New York. But this is our life now, and I’ve never been happier,” she replies, shaking her head. “Take another guess.”
I hum. “I’m bad at guesses.”
She grins, leaning closer, her eyes sparkling. Then she takes my hand and places it on her flat stomach. I frown.
“What?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m pregnant. I went grocery shopping this morning, and I stopped at the clinic. Four weeks pregnant.”
I freeze, my hand stiff on hers, heart hammering in my chest.
“You…what?” My voice comes out rough, uncertain.
