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I look at Valentina, who returns my smile. "Of course, buddy. Let's all go. Mama, what do you think?"
Valentina gets up from the sofa, her eyes meeting mine. "I think we all deserve some fun. Ice cream and the playground sound like the perfect day."
As we prepare to head out, my mind briefly drifts to Iosef. He went right back into hiding after everything went down with Vladimir and the Chechens. So much the better, I think. His disappearance removes yet another potential complication, making our new life here in St. Petersburg even more secure.
We drive to the playground, and it fills me with pride to see Ilya's eyes widen as he takes in the colorful slides, swings, and the jungle gym. This is a new addition to the neighborhood; part of the community development projects I'd initiated. Built to top-notch standards, it's the kind of place I wish I could have played in as a kid. Ilya rushes out of the car before it's even fully parked, making a beeline for the swings.
Valentina and I follow at a more leisurely pace, hand in hand. "You really outdid yourself with this playground," she remarks, her eyes following Ilya as he navigates the jungle gym with the agility of a little monkey.
"It's all for him, and for the little one on the way," I say, placing my hand gently on her growing belly. "And for you. For us. This is the start of something beautiful."
She leans in and kisses me softly, her lips lingering on mine for a moment that feels like an eternity. "I love you," she whispers.
"And I love you, more than I can ever express," I respond, my voice tinged with a gravity I've only ever felt with her.
As we sit there, watching Ilya laugh and play, I realize this is what I've always wanted but never knew I needed: a family of my own, a loving wife, children who look up to me, and a community I can nurture just as it nurtures us. And it's all unfolding here, in a city we've made our home, under a sky that promises nothing but endless possibilities.
I look over at Valentina again, and she catches my gaze. We both know we've come a long way, battling obstacles and defeating odds that seemed insurmountable. And yet here we are, victorious in love and life, and excited for the chapters yet to come.
"We did good, didn't we?" she asks, a teasing tone in her voice.
"We did excellent," I affirm, squeezing her hand. "And the best is yet to come."
As I watch my son making new friends, as I sit next to the love of my life, as I contemplate the family growing both in size and in love, I realize that for the first time in a long, hard, tumultuous life—I am truly, deeply, unequivocally happy. And that happiness isn't a fleeting moment; it's a lifetime that's just beginning.
Epilogue I
Valentina
Two years later…
The pattering rain offers a lullaby to the city, washing away the grime and the memories of the past. It's late, way past the bedtime I've become accustomed to since embracing this new chapter of my life. Ilya is fast asleep in his room, the events of his first day at school no doubt playing in his dreams. Roman is away on business, one of the few times we're not side-by-side, ruling our little empire. It's just me and the storm.
I step over to the window, the elegant drapes Roman insisted on framing my view. I look out over the city that has offered me so much—pain, yes, but also a fresh start. St. Petersburg is our city now. Roman has used his money, charisma, and more than a little intimidation to not only rule but genuinely improve the area. Our neighborhood is proof enough of that. Streets once mired in crime are now teeming with life and prosperity, courtesy of Roman Antonov-Nicolaevich.
I may no longer don the guise of the Ghost, but I've found new purpose as Roman's head of security. He insisted, of course. Said he could think of no one better to trust his life with. The irony isn't lost on me, but I accepted the role without hesitation. My days are spent balancing the demands of motherhood and the duties of my new position, a fine line I've somehow managed to walk. Mother by day, protector by night. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
The rain intensifies, droplets pounding the glass like a thousand miniature drumbeats. It should be a lonely night, yet I find solace in the solitude, a moment to breathe, to think.
I set the phone down and watch the storm-soaked city, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world. There may still be threats out there, lurking in the shadows, but let them come. We're the Antonov-Nicolaevichs, a family built on love, resilience, and a touch of ruthlessness. And nothing is going to break us.
The storm rages on, but inside, all is calm. I head back to bed, the rain's rhythm melding with the beat of my own hopeful heart.
I tiptoe through the dim hallway, careful not to wake Ilya. The wood creaks slightly under my feet, a familiar sound that's now a part of my home. Pushing open the door to Milenoë's nursery, I have to stifle a laugh. There's Roman, wedged into a crib meant for our one-year-old daughter. His tall frame is twisted into a comical shape to fit with Milenoë nestled against his chest, her tiny body calm and quiet.
Roman looks up, his eyes catching mine. "She was crying. It was the fastest way to get her back to sleep," he whispers, a mix of childish guilt and dad-pride on his face.
I lean over the crib, softly touching Milenoë's tiny head. "You're ridiculous," I tell him. The words are teasing, but the warmth in my voice is unmistakable.
"I've been called worse," he replies softly, his eyes twinkling in the room's low light.
I shake my head and sit down on the rocking chair beside the crib. "You could've just picked her up. We have perfectly good rocking chairs."
"And miss the chance to innovate in the realm of parenting?" he grins, finally easing himself out of the crib with a series of contortions that would put a gymnast to shame.
As I watch him, it hits me again just how much I love this man. A part of me—the very core that was once walled away, untouchable—feels unspeakably tethered to him. That love has grown, encompassing two more lives that came from us, from this love.
I glance at the digital clock on the dresser. "It's late. Come to bed."
