Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
As I grab her hand and lead her out of the courthouse and to the limo waiting for us, I realize that it was never the Bratva that made me a king. It was her.
EPILOGUE I
MOLLY
Eighteen Months Later
There is a sweetness to afternoons now, a softness I didn’t know life could have until Samuil and I built this one together. The sunlight pours through the nursery windows in warm sheets of gold, catching on the tiny dust particles that drift lazily through the air.
Nikolai sits on his play mat surrounded by a chaotic ring of baby toys, banging a soft block against his leg confidently. In his mind, he is doing very important work. His chubby arms move with determination, and every few moments he stops, mid-bang, to look up at me with the sweetest little smile, making sure I’m giving him all my attention.
He has Samuil’s eyes, a deep, warm brown, fringed with lashes that are just unfairly long and thick. But he has my smile, wide and squishy and earnest. He also has a dimple in his right cheek that neither of us can explain. I’ve decided it’s just his little signature on the world.
His laugh bursts out suddenly as I tickle under his chin, so sweet it makes me laugh too.
“Are you having fun?” I ask, reaching for his pudgy foot and pretending to nibble on it. He shrieks with delight, kicking hard enough that his sock flies off.
He loves when I do that, and I love the sound of him laughing. There were days, almost a year ago, when I wasn’t sure I would ever hear anything so pure. That dark stretch of time feels impossibly far away now, like a life someone else lived.
His laughter stops suddenly, replaced by an intent stare at the floating dust motes above him. His mind is always busy. He watches, absorbs, listens, and learns. I wonder if he’ll grow up quiet like me, observing before acting, or if he’ll grow up fierce like Samuil, steady, intentional, and protective.
I’m still smiling when I hear the front door open and close with the soft metallic click Samuil always makes when he’s trying not to wake the baby. A moment later, his footsteps come down the hall.
Nikolai hears him before he sees him. His whole body wiggles excitedly, arms flapping like a little bird.
“Da-da-da-da!” he squeals in a long string of sounds he doesn’t really understand yet.
I roll my eyes at the ceiling even though his excitement always makes me grin.
“It’s so unfair,” I tell Nikolai. “I spend all day playing with you, but you get all excited to see your dada.”
Samuil appears in the doorway, loosening his tie with one hand, his hair slightly mussed from the wind outside. He laughs as he takes in Nikolai and me playing on the floor. His shoulders drop, the tension in his jaw relaxes, and the warmth in his eyes floods the entire room.
“There are my loves,” he says softly.
I can’t help but melt a little. Even after a year-and-a-half, I’m still getting used to the fact that I have a real family. I have a husband who loves me, and a son we both adore. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of.
Samuil crosses the room in a few long strides, bends down, and kisses me first. Always me first. It’s just a soft press of lips, a quiet hello that carries all the affection he has for me. I kiss him back, slow and familiar.
Nikolai begins to fuss dramatically, but it’s just for show. He can’t stand not being the center of attention. Samuil laughs and scoops him up effortlessly. “Hey, kartoshka,” he murmurs, kissing our son’s cheek. “Were you good for Mama today?”
Nikolai immediately grabs two fistfuls of Samuil’s shirt and squeals something unintelligible that Samuil pretends to understand completely.
“He says yes,” Samuil translates solemnly.
“Oh, does he?” I raise a brow. “Because what I heard was him explaining how he had two blowouts and fussed the whole time I tried to change him.”
“He’s our independent boy,” Samuil says with a straight face. “He’ll change his own diapers.”
“That would be the dream.” I laugh.
“Absolutely.”
He lowers himself to the floor beside me, leaning his shoulder into mine as he settles Nikolai in his lap. Our son immediately begins patting Samuil’s face, memorizing every line.
“Did you have a good day?” he asks me without looking away from the baby.
I take a slow breath. “It was good,” I say honestly. “Exhausting, but good.”
Teaching again still feels surreal. It’s only been a week, and it was so hard being away from Nikolai for so many hours. Still, I loved interacting with my fifth graders and providing for all their needs. Being back in that environment feels right, like reclaiming a piece of myself I wasn’t sure survived the chaos of last year.