Chapter 28 Dimitri
DIMITRI
I wake up the same way I have every morning for the past three months—with a split second of panic where I think Konstantin is alive and Alexei will come back. That everything we’ve built is about to crumble.
Then I see Vera.
She’s still asleep beside me, lying on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek and the other resting on the swell of her belly. At thirty-three weeks pregnant, she’s all curves and soft skin and this glow that everyone keeps mentioning but that I swear has been there since the day I met her.
The morning sun catches in her dark hair, painting it with hints of gold and copper. Her face is peaceful in sleep, lips slightly parted, and I find myself just watching her breathe.
She’s the most beautiful woman in the world.
I reach out carefully, not wanting to wake her, and rest my hand over hers on her stomach. Our baby (still a mystery because Vera agreed with me that there aren’t many real surprises left in life and we should savor this one) kicks immediately against my palm.
Strong. Healthy. Ours.
Though if I’m being honest, I have a secret hope, a wish I haven’t told anyone, not even Vera.
I want a daughter.
A little girl with Vera’s eyes and fierce spirit. Someone I can protect and spoil and teach to be strong. Someone who’ll never doubt she’s loved and will never question her worth.
But a son would be just as loved and wanted. He would be just as perfect.
Vera stirs, her brown eyes fluttering open. When she sees me watching her, a sleepy smile curves her lips.
“You’re doing it again,” she murmurs.
“Doing what?” I ask, moving a strand of her hair out of her face.
“Staring. Like a creep,” she quips.
I roll my eyes affectionately. “I’m not a creep. I’m appreciating my beautiful wife.”
“Mmm.” She stretches carefully, one hand still on her belly. “Your beautiful wife who currently resembles a whale and is trying so hard not to get a charley horse.”
I frown, hating when she talks like that. “You’re not a whale,” I say sternly.
She shrugs, rolling onto her back. “I’m pretty sure I am. A very attractive whale, but still.”
I lean over and kiss her stomach through the thin fabric of her pajamas. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
She laughs. “You have to say that. I’m carrying your baby.”
“Our baby,” I correct, letting my lips ghost over her skin. “And I don’t have to say anything. I’m the terrifying head of the Volkov family. I say what I want.”
She laughs—that bright, genuine sound that I’ll never get tired of hearing. “Oh, is that how it works?”
“Absolutely. It’s in the Mob boss handbook.”
“There’s a handbook?”
“Chapter three: Always compliment your pregnant wife, especially when she’s beautiful enough to stop your heart.”
Her expression softens. “God, that’s so corny. You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m ridiculously in love,” I quip.
That causes her to groan loudly. “That’s it. I’m divorcing you.”
I grab her before she can move and kiss her properly then, morning breath and all, and she sighs against my mouth in a way that makes me want to keep her in bed all day.
But unfortunately we can’t because her family is visiting today, and if I know my in-laws they’ll be here precisely at noon with enough food to feed a small army (which will piss Mrs. Kozlov off).
I spend the morning in my office handling business—the legitimate kind, mostly, though there are still some elements of the Volkov empire that will never be entirely legal.
But things are better and stronger now. The alliance with the Ashfords opened trade routes we never had access to before, and Vincent’s connections in the political sphere have proven invaluable.
The families are thriving.
More importantly, they’re peaceful.
No more wars or betrayals. No more looking over our shoulders wondering who’s plotting what.
It’s strange, actually. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and for something to go wrong.
But nothing does.
Roman pokes his head into my office around eleven. “The nursery furniture arrived. Where do you want it?”
I put down my pen. “I’ll be right there.”
I’ve been obsessively preparing the nursery for weeks now. Vera thinks I’m overdoing it—we have a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, and enough baby clothes to outfit triplets, but I can’t help it.
I want this baby to always know how wanted and loved they are. I want them to know every detail of their arrival was planned with excitement and hope.
The nursery is in the east wing, three doors down from our bedroom.
Close enough to hear if the baby cries but far enough to give us some privacy.
The walls are a soft cream color and Vera picked out this border with little animals that she says is “adorable” and I have to admit is actually pretty cute.
The furniture is solid wood, hand-crafted by a carpenter in the city. We chose a crib that converts to a toddler bed and the dresser has a changing table top. There’s a bookshelf already half-filled with children’s books that Vera keeps buying even though the baby won’t be able to read for years.
“Here?” Roman asks, gesturing to where the rocking chair should go as Dmitry and Sergei hold it.
“By the window. So Vera can look out at the gardens.”
Viktor and Sergei set the rocking chair down. “You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?” Roman asks.
“I’m trying to.” I run my hand over the crib railing, checking for any rough edges. “This baby deserves everything.”
Roman’s quiet for a moment, then says softly, “You're going to be a good father, Boss.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. “You think so?”
Dmitry and Sergei nod in agreement and Roman says, “I know so. You’re already obsessing over furniture placement and making sure everything’s perfect. That’s what good fathers do.”
I’m not sure I believe him as I never had a good father, so I don’t know what that looks like, but I’m going to try and be the father this baby deserves.
The Ashfords arrive at noon sharp, just as predicted.
Vera’s sisters Lydia and Natasha (they claim they aren’t identical but I sure as shit can’t tell them apart) burst through the door with bags of baby supplies and enough enthusiasm to power a small city.
“Vera!” Lydia squeals, wrapping her sister in a careful hug. “You’re huge!”
“Lydia!” Elena admonishes.
“I mean that in the best way!” The girl insists. “You look amazing! Glowing! Absolutely gorgeous!”
Natasha’s already moving toward the nursery. “Can we see the baby’s room? Please? We brought more stuff—I know you said you have enough but we found these adorable onesies with little animals and—”
“Come on,” Vera laughs, leading them away. “But I’m warning you, Dimitri’s already gone overboard.”
“There’s no such thing as overboard for a baby!” Elena says but she ushers her younger daughters down the hall, following Vera.
Vincent and I watch them go, then exchange a look that’s become familiar over the past few months. The look of men who are utterly outnumbered by the women in their lives and have learned to accept it.
“Drink?” I offer.
“Fuck, yes.”
We settle in my office with a bottle Vincent brought as a gift two months ago when he and I actually started talking like friends instead of reluctant allies. It’s fucking good scotch too and I’m always delighted to open it up.
“How’s she doing?” he asks, swirling the amber liquid. “Really?”
“Good. Tired, but good. Dr. Petrov says everything looks perfect. Baby’s healthy and measuring right on track.” I pause. “She’s scared, I think. About the delivery and being a mother, but she won’t admit it.”
“She’s always been stubborn like that.” Vincent sips his glass. “Elena was the same way before we had Vera. But it goes away after the baby arrives.” He’s quiet for a moment before he fixes me with a piercing look. “You’ll take care of her.”
I dip my head in acknowledgment. The old me would have bristled at the comment. “Always.”
“And the baby.”
“That baby is mine, Vincent. I don’t care about biology or blood. That’s my child,” I tell him firmly.
He nods slowly, relaxing. “Good. That’s—good.”
The afternoon passes in comfortable chaos. The twins coo over every baby item they bought while Vera and her mother try to organize things. Vincent and I discuss business and politics and the surprisingly effective cooperation between our families.
It’s normal. The kind of life I never thought I’d have.
And I love every second of it.
That night, after everyone’s gone and the house is quiet again, I find Vera in the nursery.
She’s sitting in the rocking chair by the window, one hand on her belly, staring out at the gardens that are just starting to bloom with spring flowers. The moonlight catches her profile, and she looks so beautiful it physically hurts.
“Hey,” I say softly from the doorway. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She doesn’t look at me. “Just thinking.”
I cross the room and kneel beside the chair, taking her free hand in mine. “About what?”
“About how different things could have been.” Her voice is quiet as she reflects. “If Konstantin had won. If Alexei had taken me. This baby would have been born into darkness instead of love. Into manipulation and schemes instead of” —she gestures around the nursery— “instead of all this.”
The idea of Vera trapped with Alexei, pregnant and alone, raising our baby in that twisted version of reality—
No. I won’t even entertain it.
“But that didn’t happen,” I say firmly, squeezing her hand. “We won. We’re here. And this baby is going to be born into so much love they won’t know what to do with it all.”
“I know. I just…” She finally looks at me, and her eyes are bright with tears. “You gave me this life, Dimitri, when all I expected was survival. When we first married, the best I could hope for was enduring a loveless marriage. You gave me everything.”