Calina and Milana are right behind them. Milana has a massive, fluffy brown teddy bear tucked under her arm, her face bright and excited, while Calina is carrying a stack of board games.
"How is he?" Kira asks, walking over and wrapping her free arm around my shoulders.
"He's quiet," I say, my voice low. "But he's talking. He just asked for hot chocolate."
"I brought books," Kira says, gesturing to the box. "And some of Artyom’s old toy trains. They were in the attic at the country house. We thought he might like them."
"He'll love them," I say, my throat tight.
"Can we see him?" Milana asks, her eyes wide and hopeful. "I promise I won't squeal. Calina told me if I made a scene, she’d lock me in the car."
"You can see him," I say, looking at Calina. "But be gentle. He’s had a very long night."
We all head upstairs after I ordered the hot chocolate. The sisters slip into the guest room, their voices dropping into a soft, gentle register that I’ve never heard from them. Milana drops the teddy bear onto the floor near Oleg, sitting down beside him without a word and pointing to the board games Calina is holding. Within five minutes, Calina is sitting on the rug, explaining the rules of Monopoly to a seven-year-old boy like she’s negotiating a territory dispute.
I watch them from the doorway, my chest feeling lighter than it has in a decade.
"They like him," Mikhail says, stepping up behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his hands coming down to rest on my waist.
"Of course they like him," I say, leaning my head back against his shoulder. "He’s adorable."
"He’s a Morozov now," Mikhail corrects, his voice a low, possessive rumble in my ear.
Artyom walks over, his arm still in a cast, looking at the boy on the floor. He looks at me, his gray eyes serious and steady. "He has your chin, Irina."
"I know," I say, my voice a whisper. "Thank you, Artyom. For everything."
"He's family," Artyom says simply. He looks at Mikhail. "Konstantin is finalizing the Petrov holdings. The Council has already agreed to the merger. Boris’s enforcers have surrendered. The war is over, Mikhail."
"Good," Mikhail grunts. "Because I have a kid to teach how to shoot."
"Don't you dare," Kira warns, swatting his arm as she walks past.
By midnight, the house is completely quiet.
Artyom and the girls left hours ago, and Oleg is finally asleep in the guest room, the massive brown teddy bear tucked under his arm, his breathing deep and even. I stayed with him until he drifted off, running my fingers through his hair, listening to the small, soft sighs he made in his sleep.
I walk back into our main suite, my feet silent on the rug.
Mikhail is standing by the French doors that lead to the balcony. The doors are open, the cool night air blowing the dark curtains around him. He’s changed into a simple gray t-shirt and sweatpants, a glass of water in his hand, his eyes fixed on the dark woods of the estate. The bruise on his jaw is starting to fade, but he still looks tired—exhausted by the last three days.
I walk over to him, sliding my arms around his waist from behind. I press my face against his bare back, the scent of him, woodsmoke and clean cotton, instantly filling my lungs.
Mikhail lets out a long, ragged sigh, his hands coming down to cover mine, his fingers interlocking with my own.
"He’s asleep?" he asks.
"Yeah. He’s holding the bear Milana brought. I think he’s going to be okay, Mikhail."
"He’s going to be fine, Irina. He’s got you."
I pull away slowly, walking around to stand in front of him. I look up at his face, the dim light of the bedroom casting long shadows across his sharp features. My chest is tight, a sudden, quiet vulnerability rising through my stubborn defenses.
"Mikhail," I say, my voice a quiet thread.
"What?"
"Is this real?" I ask.
