"Sofia smiled."
She's instantly awake. "Really?"
I make the face again—apparently I look like a demented fish—and Sofia's tiny mouth curves up.
"Oh my God." Mariana's crying. "She smiled!"
"At my fish face."
"Your fish face is terrible."
"But effective!"
Adrian, not to be outdone, chooses that moment to grab my finger and squeeze with surprising strength.
"He's holding on," Mariana breathes.
"They both are."
And they are. Holding on to us, anchoring us to this new life where Mikhail Kozlov finally lives.
"What are you thinking?" Mariana asks, watching our children slowly drift back to sleep.
"We should have met sooner."
"If we'd met sooner, I would have been deeper in darkness. You would have arrested me without hesitation."
"True."
"We met exactly when we were supposed to. When we were ready to save each other."
She kisses me softly. "For criminals and FBI agents, we're awfully romantic."
"Currently exhausted parents."
"But are you happy?"
"Deliriously."
As if in agreement, both twins sigh in their sleep, tiny fists unfurling, completely at peace.
This is what we fought for. Not just survival, but this moment. This family. This future where our children will grow up knowing only love, where their biggest concern will be whether Aunt Mila spoils them too much (she will) or if Papa's overprotective nature will embarrass them (it definitely will).
Outside, New York continues its relentless pace. But inside our house, time stops.
In his place stands a man who learned the hard way that love doesn't make you weak—it makes you invincible.
Even at 3 AM with screaming twins and spit-up on his shirt.
Especially then.
THE END
