“We saved each other,” she corrects, threading our fingers together over her belly. “That’s what partners do.”
Partners. Equals.
“Yeah,” I agree softly, dropping a kiss to her nose. “We did.”
We fall asleep with my hand on her belly where our baby is growing, both of us safe and loved and free from the darkness that almost consumed us.
And for the first time in my entire life, I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Because this—this peace, this love, this family—is real.
And it’s ours.
Forever.
EPILOGUE: VERA
One year later
I stand in the nursery doorway watching my husband pace back and forth with our ten-month-old daughter in his arms. Dimitri Volkov—feared head of one of the most powerful families in the country, a man who once executed traitors without blinking—is currently making airplane noises and completely failing to get baby Mila to take her afternoon nap.
“Come on, little one,” he murmurs, bouncing her gently. “Just close your eyes. Sleep is good. Sleep is your friend.”
Mila babbles what sounds like a protest and yanks on his hair with her tiny fist.
“Ow! That’s Papa’s hair, Mila. We don’t pull Papa’s hair,” he winces as he gently unwraps his hair from her chubby fist
She giggles a bright, delighted sound and does it again.
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Mila Dmitrivena Volkov. We named her after Dimitri’s grandmother, a strong woman who held the family together during the hardest times, and I chose Dmitrivena as her patronymic because Dimitri is her father in every way that matters.
She has blond hair that curls at the ends and blue eyes that came from Alexei’s genetics, but when she laughs, it’s Dimitri’s laugh—deep and genuine and rare. When she’s stubborn (which is often) it's Dimitri’s determination in miniature form. And when she looks at Dimitri, her whole face lights up with pure adoration.
I’ve watched my husband fall completely, hopelessly in love with this tiny human who has him wrapped around her little finger.
“Mila, it’s nap time,” he says, trying to sound stern but there’s no authority in his voice. Just endless patience and love. “You need your rest. Growing babies need sleep.”
She responds by blowing a raspberry at him.
He sighs. “Your mother thinks you get your stubbornness from me but if I’m being honest, I think you get it from her.”
“I heard that,” I say from the doorway.
He looks up in surprise, and his expression softens when he sees me. “How long have you been standing there?”
I lean against the door, arms crossed, smiling. “Long enough to see you lose an argument with a ten-month-old.”
He glances down at the baby. “She’s very persuasive,” he argues.
“She’s very stubborn,” I tease him, laughing softly when the tips of his ears pinken.
“Like I said, she gets it from you,” he retorts.
I cross the room and stroke Mila’s soft blond curls. Her eyes are already starting to droop despite her best efforts to stay awake. “She’s fighting it today,” I whisper, not daring to ruin her sleepiness.
“She fights it every day.” But his voice is full of affection. “I think she’s afraid she’ll miss something.”
