"Almost there," the doctor says. "One more push, Lily. Give me one more big push."
Lily bears down, her whole body straining, a scream tearing from her throat—
And then another sound.
A cry. Thin and high andfurious.
"It's a girl," the doctor announces. "Congratulations."
A girl. I knew it. I always knew.
They place her on Lily's chest—tiny, red-faced, screaming her displeasure at being evicted from her warm home. A shock of dark hair, damp and matted. Lily's coloring. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Oh," Lily breathes. She's crying. Laughing. Both at once. "Oh, Leonid. Look at her."
I'm looking. Can't stop looking.
My daughter.Ourdaughter.
"She's perfect," I manage. My voice doesn't sound like my own. "Lily, she's—"
I can't finish. There aren't words.
"Do you want to hold her?" Lily asks.
The nurse helps transfer the baby into my arms. She's so small. So fragile. I've held guns that weighed more than this.
She stops crying. Her eyes are unfocused, newborn-dark—they'll change color later, settle into blue or green or something in between. But right now I swear she's looking right at me. Probably she's not—probably newborns can't see that far—but it feels like she is.
"Hello, little one," I whisper. "I'm your papa."
She makes a small sound. Not quite a cry. More like she's reserving judgment.
The nurses step back, giving us space. For a moment, it's just the three of us—Lily in the bed, exhausted and glowing, me holding our daughter, the machines beeping quietly in the background.
"I'm going to protect you," I tell the baby. "For the rest of my life. No one will ever hurt you. No one will ever make you feel unwanted. You're going to grow up knowing you belong."
Lily reaches up, touches my face. Her fingers come away wet—I'm crying, didn't even realize.
"Look at you," she says softly. "My big scary Bratva man."
"Shut up," I say, but I'm smiling.
"I love you. Both of you. So much."
I lean down carefully, mindful of the baby between us, and kiss her forehead. "I love you too. Thank you for this. For her. For everything."
"Thank you for choosing me."
"I'd do it all again. The auction. The blood. All of it. Because it brought me to you."
Our daughter makes another sound—hungry now, searching. I give her back to Lily, watch as she guides the baby to her breast with an instinct that awes me. Our daughter latches on, and Lily winces, then relaxes.
"She's got a good grip," she says.
"Like her mother."
I pull a chair close to the bed. Take Lily's free hand. Watch my daughter nurse.
