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Rosie sits on the edge of the bed in one of my shirts, watching me with worried eyes. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Andrei.”

I walk over to her, cup her face with both hands, and kiss her slowly, deeply, trying to pour every reassurance I can into it.

“Don’t worry, plamya.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, brows furrowed. “You’re going to war. How can I not worry?”

She pouts, actually pouts, and I can’t stop the smile that tugs at my lips. “You’re cute when you pout.”

She smacks my arm. “Be serious.”

I brush a strand of hair away from her face, thumb lingering on her cheek. “I am being serious. I’m doing what needs to be done to keep you and Anya safe. That’s all that matters.”

She swallows hard and nods, but I can see the fear still lingering in her eyes.

“Be safe,” she whispers.

“I will.”

I stand up straight and look down at her. “You stay in the house until I get back. Most of my men are coming with me, but there will still be heavy security patrolling the grounds. The dogs will be released too. If you need anything, call me.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile on her lips. “So you’ll actually pick up while you’re in the middle of torturing someone again like last time?”

I chuckle and rub my thumb across her lower lip. “Cheeky.”

Last night she watched me kill. I expected her to be terrified of me afterward. I thought she’d try to run again. Instead, she let me hold her. Let me fuck her slow and deep until she fell asleep in my arms. And I like that she isn’t running in the other direction, because I’d go after her wherever she goes.

I lean down and kiss her again. This time she deepens it, her hands fisting in my shirt like she doesn’t want to let go.

“Come back to us,” she whispers against my mouth.

“I will.”

My phone vibrates. Dmitri’s text lights up the screen: We’re ready boss.

I glance at Rosie one last time. She looks so worried, brows pinched, bottom lip caught between her teeth. No one has ever worried about me before.

I’ve never cared much about what happens to me. Death was always just another risk in this life, something I accepted a long time ago. But right now, that mindset has completely shifted.

I have a wife. I have a daughter. And for the first time in my life, I have something real to fight for. Something worth coming home to.

I walk into the kitchen and find Anya sitting in her high chair, happily eating sliced strawberries while Daria finishes cleaning up for the night.

Daria nods respectfully. “Mr. Popov.”

I return the nod and move straight to my daughter. I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, breathing in her sweet scent.

“I’ll see you when I get back, malyshka.”

Anya looks up at me with those big, bright eyes. “Daddy, I have a gift for you!”

“Oh really?” I smile. “Where is it?”

“In my room!” She bounces in her seat.

I’m pressed for time; my men are already waiting, but if my daughter has a gift for me, I’ll be damned if I don’t see it before I leave. I help her out of the high chair and take her tiny hand in mine.

We start walking upstairs. Anya insists on climbing every step herself, even though she sometimes has to use both hands and feet like a little bear cub. She always tells me she’s a “big girl,” so I never carry her unless she asks. It would earn me a very serious reprimand from my three-year-old.