Page 92 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

For the first time in years, I breathe without weight on my chest. The constant pressure of maintaining territory, managing competing interests, and staying ahead of rivals who would kill me given the opportunity lifts from my shoulders like a physical burden I’ve been carrying for so long I’d forgotten what freedom felt like.

I find Sabrina in the nursery, surrounded by boxes of baby clothes and furniture that arrived while we were dealing with Vadim. “How did it go?” She looks hopeful though with a tinge of anxiety that’s become her default since the warehouse.

“It’s done. Maksim officially controls everything as of this afternoon aside from a bit of consulting I might have to do, but even then, it will be with Maksim, who will relay the information to…clients.” I settle on the floor beside her, picking up a box with a nightlight in it. “I’m officially unemployed.”

“How does it feel?”

“Terrifying, liberating, and like jumping off a cliff and discovering I can fly.” I grin. “What about you? Any regrets about being with an ex-crime boss?”

She smiles and reaches for my hand, intertwining our fingers with gentle pressure. “I fell in love with a man who was brave enough to change his entire life for his family. The crime boss part was never what I wanted anyway.”

We spend the afternoon transforming the nursery from an empty room into something that looks like hope made tangible. She directs while I follow her instructions, hanging curtains in the soft yellow she selected weeks ago and assembling the crib that will hold our daughter in just a few months.

That night, I read parenting books while Sabrina sleeps beside me, resting her hand on her belly where our daughter moves with increasing frequency. The books are intimidating in their thoroughness, covering everything from feeding schedules to developmental milestones to emergency medical procedures that I pray we’ll never need.

“What to Expect the First Year” becomes my bedtime reading, though the information feels overwhelming rather than reassuring. How do I prepare for something I’ve never experienced, that will fundamentally change who I am and how I move through the world?

“You’re overthinking it,” she murmurs without opening her eyes, somehow sensing my anxiety despite my attempts to read quietly. “Parenting isn’t something you can master through research. You learn by doing.”

“I want to be prepared. I want to know what I’m doing when she arrives.”

“You’ll figure it out. We both will.” She shifts to face me, her expression soft with sleep and something that might be amusement. “Besides, babies don’t come with instruction manuals. Every child is different.”

I set aside the book and settle down beside her, careful not to jostle her too much as I find my position. “I’ve spent my entire adult life managing situations through preparation and contingency planning. The idea of winging it with something this important feels reckless.”

“Prepare for the things you can control and trust yourself to handle the rest.” She takes my hand and places it on her belly, where I immediately feel our daughter’s response to my touch. “She already knows you. She already trusts you. That’s the most important foundation you can have.”

The movement under my palm fills me with wonder and responsibility in equal measure. This tiny person is depending on me to provide safety, guidance, and love—things I understand intellectually though have limited experience providing in a domestic context.

Over the following weeks, we settle into routines that feel remarkably normal despite how recently our lives were defined by uncertainty. We’re still looking for a new house to make our permanent home, somewhere without the defensive features and hidden rooms that made this estate necessary during my criminal career.

“I want a house with a front porch, and yellow shutters” Sabrina says, alluding to her long-ago dream, while reviewing real estatelistings on her laptop. “And a backyard where she can play safely without armed guards watching from the trees.”

“What about a white picket fence?” I ask, only half-joking. “Complete the whole suburban fantasy?”

“Don’t mock the suburban fantasy. After everything we’ve been through, boring sounds perfect.”

For the first time since we’ve been together, this house feels warm. It’s no longer just a fortress designed to withstand assault, but a home where we’re building something beautiful together. It remains what it was, and Maksim plans to buy it from me after we find a place that’s really home, without all the security features, but it feels more welcoming than it ever has before. If we don’t find the perfect place right away, we’re content to stay here for now.

The men who once answered to me now report to Maksim, though the transition has been smoother than I expected. Most of them understood that my departure was inevitable once Sabrina became pregnant, and those who didn’t adjust to new leadership weren’t worth keeping anyway.

I don’t look back. There’s nothing in that life worth missing. Everything I need is in this house, in the curve of Sabrina’s growing belly, and in the future we’re building one day at a time.

“What do you think about painting an accent wall in here?” Sabrina stands in the nursery doorway, considering color options with serious concentration. “Something cheerful though not overwhelming.”

“Whatever you want. This is your domain.”

“Our domain. She’s going to be both of ours, and this house belongs to both of us.” She moves to the window and adjusts the curtains we hung together, letting in just the right amount of afternoon sunlight. “I want you to have opinions about decorating choices if we’re still living here, or if we’re in our new place, and feeding schedules, and all the details that make up family life.”

The word ‘family’ still sounds foreign sometimes, being associated with obligations and blood feuds rather than the domestic tranquility we’re creating. Learning to think of myself as a father and husband rather than a crime boss and vengeful brother requires conscious effort, though the adjustment becomes easier each day.

“I have opinions. I want her to feel safe and loved and free to become whoever she’s meant to be.” I join Sabrina at the window, wrapping my arms around her from behind while our daughter kicks against my hands. “I want her to grow up never knowing fear.”

“She won’t. That life is over, and this one is just beginning.”

The promise settles into my bones. We’ve found our way home, and I’m never letting us lose it again.

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