“Any ideas?”

“A few. What about you?”

He’s quiet for a moment, considering. “I keep thinking about my grandmother’s name, Elizabeth. It means grace in Russian.”

“Elizabeth,” I repeat, testing the sound of it. “I like it. It’s beautiful.”

“What about middle names?”

“Maybe something that honors my mother? Her name was Claire.”

“Elizabeth Claire.” He says it slowly, like he’s imagining calling our daughter by that name. “It’s perfect.”

The easy way we slip into planning our daughter’s name, and the natural rhythm of discussing our future fills me with calm confidence. This isn’t just about shared responsibility or physical attraction anymore but about building something together while creating a family that goes beyond the circumstances that brought us into each other’s lives.

When we arrive back at the estate, Nikandr insists on carrying all the shopping bags upstairs to the nursery he’s been having renovated. I follow him down the hall to a room I haven’t seen since the day I arrived, and when he opens the door, I gasp.

The space has been transformed into something out of a fairy tale. There are soft gray walls with white trim, a crib that looks like it was handcrafted by artists, and a rocking chair positioned perfectly by the window. Everything is elegant and beautiful and completely ready for our daughter’s arrival.

“When did you do all this?” I ask, running my fingers along the edge of the crib.

“I’ve been working on it since I found out you were pregnant. I hope you’ll stay long enough to use it.”

The carefully neutral way he phrases it tells me he’s trying not to pressure me, but there’s something vulnerable in his expressionthat suggests my answer matters more than he’s willing to admit.

“I’m sure I will. I like it here…with you.”

The admission surprises both of us, but it feels true in a way that has nothing to do with fear or obligation. I want to stay not because I have to, but because I can imagine being happy here with him, building the kind of life our daughter deserves.

As we unpack the shopping bags together, arranging tiny outfits in the dresser and placing the stuffed bear in the crib, I let myself believe maybe fairy tales can come true, and two people from completely different worlds can find a way to build something beautiful together.

Maybe this can actually be real.

20

Nikandr

The framed photo of our daughter at twenty weeks’ gestation, captured in stunning detail by the latest ultrasound technology during the anatomy scan, sits in a place of honor on my desk, centered between my laptop and the secure phone I use for business calls. I can see her profile clearly now, including the curve of her nose, the shape of her lips, and tiny fingers that will someday hold mine.

The appointment three days ago was unlike anything I’d experienced. Watching her move and stretch on the monitor, seeing her heart beating strong and steady, and knowing she’s healthy and growing exactly as she should all changed something for me. It made the abstract concept of fatherhood into something immediate and urgent.

I pick up Elizabeth’s photo now, studying the image that’s already burned into my memory. Dr. Price printed several copies, but this one captured the perfect moment when ourdaughter turned toward the camera, almost like she was looking directly at us.

“She’s going to be beautiful,” Sabrina had whispered in the darkened exam room, tears streaming down her face as we watched our child move on the screen.

Beautiful and innocent and completely unaware that her father has spent years building an empire on violence and fear. The thought makes my chest tighten with something that feels like shame and desperate determination.

I set the photo back in its place and turn my attention to the documents spread across my desk. There are financial reports, asset valuations, and succession plans I’ve been working on for weeks. The quiet process of dismantling everything I’ve built over the past fifteen years is delicate work.

I can’t simply walk away without ensuring the transition won’t create a power vacuum that invites war. Too many people depend on the stability I’ve provided, and too many enemies would see my withdrawal as an opportunity to seize territory and resources.

A knock at my study door interrupts my planning. Maksim enters without waiting for permission, carrying a thick folder and wearing the expression he gets when he’s been working on complex problems.

“The latest reports you requested,” he says, dropping the folder on my desk.

I flip it open and scan the first page of the detailed financial projections for transitioning our legitimate businesses away from any connection to illegal operations. The numbers are sobering but manageable as I look at the facts distilled down tonumbers and details, including three construction companies, two import/export businesses, the medical clinics, and a dozen smaller ventures that generate clean revenue. “Talk me through the timeline,” I say, studying the charts and projections.

“The construction companies are the easiest. They’re already operating independently with minimal oversight from us. We can sell them outright to the current management teams within sixty days. A lot of money is laundered through them, but that could be curbed and gradually transition to fully legitimate businesses within…eighteen months, after wrapping up current contracts with…certain associates.”