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Samuil laughs, drawing Andrei close. "The city's pulse never stops, neither does ours."
I smirk, sipping my drink. "For tonight, let's pause. For Andrei's peace of mind."
Andrei's chuckles fill the air. “At last! Come, Viktor's about to spill some tales of a naive Samuil from our Moscow days.”
I tease Samuil, "Now, that I can't miss."
He groans, pulling me close, "Just remember, I've got dirt on both of you."
Laughter, lightness, and love fill the night, our empire's weight lifted, if just for an evening.
I lean back against the plush couch, the soft hum of conversation filling the room. Damien, with his hair slicked back and a gleam in his eye, takes center stage. He speaks of his grand plans for Moscow, and I'm captivated. Damien's not just all talk; he has the makings of a gamechanger. It's a sentiment shared by many in the room.
The clink of glasses and shared laughter wash over me. This new family of mine… they've enveloped me with warmth, love, and trust. In a world that's shown me its ugliest facets, being around them always feels like home.
My eyes wander to the French doors that lead to the garden. The sight of children playing under the darkening evening sky fills my heart with warmth. Their laughter, genuine and uninhibited, is the very sound of hope. I allow the scene to fill my senses, letting the joy and contentment seep in. After everything, moments like these, are worth their weight in gold.
A sudden break in the conversation yanks me back. I catch Leo's voice, tinged with annoyance. "We're out of Polugar."
The room murmurs in response. Polugar, a beloved Russian bread wine, has been the drink of choice tonight. An event without it feels incomplete.
"I'll go get some," I offer, standing up and smoothing down my dress. It's a good opportunity to stretch my legs and maybe find a quiet corner for a few moments.
Viktor gives me a nod, his eyes expressing gratitude. "You sure? I can send someone."
I wave him off. "It's fine. The store's not far, and besides, a little walk might do me good."
Damien looks up, his eyebrows raised. "Need company?"
I shake my head, smiling. "Thanks, but I'll manage. Continue with your tales, and by the time I'm back, I expect the room to be buzzing with even more excitement."
He chuckles. "That's a promise."
As I head toward the door, I feel Samuil's hand brush mine. The touch is fleeting but filled with warmth. "Be careful," he murmurs.
Always the protective one. "Always am," I reply, with a wink.
Stepping out, the evening air is cool against my face. The city's lights twinkle in the distance, only adding to the serene beauty of Westchester. It's moments like these—the stillness, the solitude—that I cherish. I've grown to appreciate the balance between the hustle of the empire and the tranquility of the rare quiet moments.
The store isn't far, and my heels click rhythmically against the pavement. The night is alive with the sound of distant cars, whispers of trees, and the faint din of the neighborhood. The importance of family, blood or chosen, reverberates in my mind. They are the backbone, the support system. In this tumultuous journey, they've been the anchor, keeping me grounded.
Reaching the store, I find the familiar bottle and make my way to the counter. As I pay, my thoughts wander back to the party, to Samuil, to our life together. I think of the future, of Niko, of the legacy we're building.
The sun casts sharp, contrasting shadows on the pavement as I exit the store. The slight breeze rustles the trees lining the street, carrying with it the faint laughter and sounds of a city alive and bustling. I begin my walk back, the bottle of Polugarsecure in its bag, my thoughts adrift in the warmth of family and the legacy we've crafted.
Before I've taken more than a few steps, a soft voice interrupts my reverie. "Aren't you the Tsarina?"
I turn to find a small group gathered a short distance away. Among them, a little girl no more than ten, her eyes wide with awe, clutches a notebook and pen. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a face flushed with excitement.
I offer a half-smile, my tone playful yet firm, "Last I checked."
She hesitates for just a moment, glancing up at what I assume is her older sister, before stepping forward. "Can I have your autograph?"
The sincerity in her voice warms my heart, and I nod. "Of course."
As she hands me the notebook, her sister pipes up, a teasing note in her voice. "She wants to be just like you when she grows up."
The little girl shoots her a reproachful glance but doesn’t deny it. She looks up at me, determination burning in her eyes. "I want to be as strong as the Tsarina. Can I be?"
