Chapter 18
Nikandr
T he doctor’s office is smaller than I expected and more intimate than the sterile medical facilities I’m used to.
I’ve owned Women’s Associates for three years, but this is my first time inside the building.
From the property listing, I thought the spaces would be larger, but there’s something comforting about the human scale of everything here.
Sabrina sits on the examination table in a hospital gown that dwarfs her frame, swinging her legs nervously while we wait for Dr. Price to return with the ultrasound equipment.
“You don’t have to stay for this part if it makes you uncomfortable,” she says, fidgeting with the edge of the gown.
I move my chair closer to the table. “I want to be here.”
“It might be weird. Seeing everything, I mean.”
“Sabrina.” I wait until she looks at me. “I want to be here for all of it. Every appointment, every milestone, every moment that matters—and I’ve seen everything by now anyway,” I add with a wink that makes her blush.
She nods and visibly relaxes. The doctor arrives, introduces herself to me, and does the physical exam while asking questions before saying, “Let me get the ultrasound machine.” Hearing those words makes me nervous and excited.
Soon, Dr. Price returns wheeling in the ultrasound machine. “This is your first ultrasound together?” she asks as she prepares the equipment.
“Yes.” The word catches in my throat, coming out huskily.
Dr. Price smiles warmly at both of us. “Well, you’re in for a treat. The pregnancy is at sixteen weeks now, so we should get some excellent images of the baby. We can usually tell gender by now. If not, we’ll try again at the twenty-week detailed anatomy exam.”
Sabrina lies back on the table and unsnaps some of the closures on the front of her gown, exposing the gentle curve of her belly.
Dr. Price applies gel to the transducer and presses it against Sabrina’s skin, moving it slowly as grainy images appear on the monitor.
“There we are,” says the doctor with a smile. “Let me just...”
The image shifts, becomes clearer, and suddenly, I’m looking at the profile of a tiny human being. I see perfect features in miniature, delicate limbs moving in slow motion, and a spine like a string of pearls curved in impossible grace.
Sabrina gasps softly beside me. “That’s our baby,” she whispers, her voice thick with wonder.
I can’t speak, breathe, or do anything but stare at the screen where my child moves and grows, completely unaware their father is a man who’s killed more people than he can count.
“And here’s the heartbeat,” says Dr. Price, adjusting a dial.
The rapid, strong, and unmistakably alive sound fills the room.
Each beat hammers against my chest like a physical blow, and I have to grip the edge of the examination table to keep from swaying.
This is real. This tiny person is real, half of their DNA comes from me, and they’re depending on both Sabrina and me to keep them safe in a world that’s more dangerous than they’ll ever understand.
Dr. Price continues her examination, taking measurements. “Heartbeat looks excellent. Growth is right on track, and all the major organs are developing normally. Everything looks perfect.”
I watch Sabrina’s face as she stares at the monitor, tears streaming down her cheeks in silent amazement. She reaches for my hand without looking away from the screen, and when her fingers intertwine with mine, my chest constricts.
Dr. Price pauses in her measurements and looks at both of us. “Would you like to know the gender? Baby’s in a good position today, so I can tell with reasonable confidence.”
Sabrina looks at me, eyebrows raised in question. We discussed this beforehand and decided we wanted to know, but now that the moment is here, I find myself hesitating.
“Yes,” Sabrina says when I don’t immediately respond. “I want to know.”
“I…think so…” I do want to know, but I’m almost afraid to discover it at the same time.
This child will transform every aspect of my life, and I don’t know if I want to savor the surprise or delay the inevitable.
If it seems real now, it will be so much realer when I know if I’m having a son or a daughter.
Dr. Price nods and continues her examination. “It’s surprisingly common for parents to be split on the decision. I’ll write it down for you. That way you can look together when you’re ready, or if you’re planning a gender-reveal party…”
Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting in the back of my car with a sealed envelope between us.
Viktor is upfront, but the privacy screen is up, separating us.
The ultrasound photos are scattered across the seat between us in a collection of profile shots and close-ups that make the reality of our child impossible to deny.
Sabrina turns the envelope over in her hands nervously. “Are you ready, or do you want to wait?”
I’m still a little ambivalent about learning already, but it’s clear she’s eager to know, so I nod, and my heart is beating almost as fast as our baby’s was on the monitor.
She opens the envelope and unfolds the paper inside, reading silently for a moment before her face breaks into a radiant smile. “It’s a girl.” Her voice is soft with amazement. “We’re having a daughter.”
I stare at the paper in her hands, though the words blur together as a thousand instincts detonate at once. A daughter. My daughter. The weight of it crashes over me like a tidal wave, crushing every violent instinct I’ve built a life on.
In my world, daughters are precious beyond measure and vulnerable beyond comprehension. They’re protected with a ferocity that borders on obsession and sheltered from realities that could destroy their innocence. They’re also targets—weapons that enemies use against the men who love them.
I think about Yaroslav, and how he used to talk about having children someday. He wanted sons who could carry on the family name and daughters he could spoil and protect. He never got the chance to have either.
“Nikandr?” Sabrina’s voice sounds concerned. “Are you okay?”
I look at her and see my daughter’s mother wiping tears from her cheeks with quiet wonder. She’ll teach our child how to be kind and compassionate and good in a world that rewards none of those qualities and seems undaunted by the prospect.
Something ancient and protective locks into place in my chest, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.
This isn’t just about keeping them safe anymore.
This is about building a life where my daughter never has to know that her father once made his living through violence.
I clear my throat, forcing the words out. “I want to secure another property.”
Sabrina blinks in surprise. “Another property? The estate is large enough?—”
I interrupt, struggling to explain. “Something quieter, more permanent, and away from the city.”
She tilts her head, studying my expression. “You mean like a house? I’m confused, because your current house is?—”
“I mean like a home.” The distinction matters more than I can explain. “Somewhere our daughter can grow up without armed guards at every entrance.”
Sabrina frowns slightly. “But your business?—”
“Can be managed from anywhere.” The lie comes easily, though we both know it’s not entirely true. “I want her to have safety, stability, and a childhood that doesn’t involve learning to sleep through gunshots.”
She studies my face carefully, and I wonder what she sees there. After a long moment, she nods slowly, perhaps understanding what I’m so clumsily conveying. “Okay. We can look at properties. Maybe something with a good school district nearby.”
The casual way she says “we” does something to my chest that I don’t want to examine too closely.
She’s not just agreeing to let me provide a house for our daughter.
She’s agreeing to build a life together, to be a family in ways that go beyond shared custody and polite cooperation. “Private school. It’s more secure.”
She shrugs. “As long as it’s not repressive to her creativity, and she isn’t living there, I’m willing to consider the idea.”
I smile for a moment, imagining quiet future discussions about our daughter’s education, friends, hobbies, and interests.
Longing for that simplicity fills me as I take a breath, knowing my next words will sound like weakness to anyone in my world, but not to her.
“There’s something else. I’ve been thinking about stepping back from certain aspects of my work. ”
“What kind of aspects?” she asks quietly, looking almost hopeful.
I speak bluntly. “The kind that require me to be away for days at a time or put me in situations where I might not come home.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, processing. When she speaks, her voice is careful. “You’re talking about retiring?”
“Not immediately or all at once, but eventually, yes.” I reach for one of the ultrasound photos, studying the perfect profile of our daughter. “I can’t be the kind of father she needs if I’m constantly looking over my shoulder for enemies.”
She watches me trace the outline of the baby’s face with my finger. “What would you do instead?”
“Legitimate business ventures. Investments...” I trail off, not wanting to be too specific about the illegal activities I’d be leaving behind.
She nods with understanding. “Instead of whatever it is you do now.”
“Yes.”
Her expression grows more serious. “Can you just walk away? Will the people you work with just let you retire to the suburbs and coach little league?”
Her questions are fair, and they highlight problems I haven’t fully worked out yet.
Walking away from my current life won’t be simple or safe.
There will be people who see my withdrawal as weakness and others who view it as betrayal.
Some will try to use my family against me, viewing them as leverage to force me back into the game, but none of that changes my determination to try.