Chapter Twenty Four
Isaak
T he house is quieter than usual.
It’s not the kind of silence that comes before war, the tension-laced quiet, or the quiet that’s present as you wait for a kill.
No.
This is different.
This is peace.
For the first time in years, this house—built purely by blood, power, and violence—feels like a home.
I step towards their room, drawn by the soft mummers inside.
The door is slightly ajar, and from the hallway, I can see both of my sons.
Mikhail is in front of Chiara, and Nikolai is beside her.
And in Chiara’s arms, wrapped in a delicate white blanket, rests my granddaughter.
How beautiful.
My chest tightens with every step that I take, memories of my own daughter coming to mind.
I force them out to focus on the present as I watch my two sons glancing down at the baby they helped create like she’s the most precious thing in the world.
And in a sense, she is.
Just as my daughter is my world, their daughter is theirs.
Nikolai is the first to sense me.
His sharp blue eyes flicker up, meeting mine through the dim light of the room.
There’s no warning in his expression, no hardness—just acceptance.
A silent invitation.
I step into the room to join them all.
Chiara’s tired eyes lift to meet mine, and she smiles at me.
Soft.
Content.
Completely at ease.
“Come meet your granddaughter.”
She murmurs, standing up slowly as I move forward, my steps slow, and careful too.
Both my sons help Chiara, and they move to stand on either side of her, and their baby.
My chest swells with pride.
I stare down at the tiny, sleeping girl in her arms, finding myself smiling softly at the content expression on her little face.
She’s so small.
Her lashes flutter as she stirs slightly in her mother’s hold.
For a moment, I don’t move.
I can’t move.
I’ve seen a lot in my life.
Men taking their last breaths at my feet.
Power shifting with a single kill.
Empires built and burnt in a matter of days.
But this?
This is something else altogether.
“Go on.” Chiara whispers as her smile grows wider. “She won’t bite.”
Mikhail lets out a breathless chuckle as Nikolai smirks.
“Yet.”
He adds in.
Chiara rolls her eyes at his antics, but there’s nothing but pure love in them.
I huff quietly as I shake my head, taking a deep breath in before I even think about reaching out.
My hands—hands which have held more weapons than children—settle gently around my granddaughter’s small body.
She’s so light. So warm.
I lift her carefully, holding her close, her little head resting against my arm.
Something in my chest cracks wide open as I look down at her, life created from life I created.
“She’s perfect.” I murmur, my voice rougher than intended. “Does she have a name yet?”
Chiara nods, running the top of her finger along her daughter’s button nose.
“Anastasia Vasiliev.”
I smile, saying my granddaughter’s name out loud.
“Beautiful.”
Nikolai rests his hand on Chiara’s shoulder.
“Our daughter obviously gets that from her mother.”
I smirk, my gaze flickering up to Chiara.
“Of course.”
Mikhail grins, nudging me.
“But she’ll have your glare though.”
I release a low, amused hum as I stare down at this little girl who is a piece of all of us.
She’s Bratva.
And even though Chiara didn’t grow up in it, she’s part of the famiglia too.
Anastasia is the bridge between both words, no matter the awful history both sides share.
The thought settles in my chest, strong and unshakeable.
My granddaughter will be loved.
My granddaughter will be protected.
My granddaughter will never want for anything.
Because she is ours.
I lean down, pressing my lips to her forehead, before I gently place her back into her mother’s arms.
Chiara holds her daughter close, both my sons immediately reaching out for their little girl too.
There’s a soft knock at the door, and as my sons become tense at the sound, I turn around, nodding at the two men who stand on the other side of it.
Francesco.
Dario.
Chiara gasps behind me.
“Papa.” She breathes out. “Dario. What are you both doing here?”
Francesco enters first.
As soon as he steps inside, his entire body tenses, his sharp eyes locking onto the baby nestled in Chiara’s arms.
I grow tense, knowing I have no real reason to.
Anastasia is just as much my granddaughter as she is his.
For a long moment, he says nothing.
The air grows thick with silence.
Then, he slowly moves forward.
I see the shift in him before he even speaks, the hardness cracking in his expression, and the wariness fading too.
“I had to come and see you. Are you okay, Chiara?”
He asks his daughter, his eyes full of emotion as he reaches out, holding her by the side of her face.
My throat grows tight as I watch them, and my heart hammers in my chest as she moves in closer, hugging him.
“I’m perfect, Papa.” She whispers out as she pulls away. “Look at your granddaughter.”
His eyes dart between either one of hers before he nods, looking down at the small bundle in Chiara’s arms.
“She is so small.”
Francesco murmurs, his voice quiet.
Chiara laughs softly, looking down at her daughter with so much adoration in her eyes.
“My Anastasia was only born a few hours ago, Papa.”
He huffs, shaking his head.
There’s something unsteady there as he takes his next breath.
I see it.
I feel it.
The realisation that little baby is his blood.
A life created from both of our families, regardless of all the ugly history we’ve shared in the past.
He reaches out, his hand unsteady, before he lightly brushes his finger over my granddaughter’s cheek.
His jaw clenches.
His throat bobs as he takes a deep breath in, and he swallows hard.
“She is perfect.”
He croaks, his voice hoarse.
Chiara only smiles up at him, her eyes shining.
Dario, who’s been silent throughout this entire interaction, sighs dramatically, catching all of our attention.
“Okay, fine.” He mutters, stepping forward to be closer to his sister, and his niece. “Let me see her before everybody turns into a pile of mush.”
Mikhail shakes his head, breathing out a laugh.
“Good luck keeping up the tough guy act, dearest fratello.”
Dario only waves him off, now having grown used to my son’s constant teasing.
Chiara’s lips stretch wide across her face as she moves closer to her brother, proudly showing off Anastasia to him.
And the second his eyes land on his niece, the cocky smirk falters.
His expression shifts.
“Dario.” She murmurs as she offers him a better look. “Meet your niece.”
He stares at her.
That’s all he does for some time.
And then, very carefully, he reaches out, brushing a single finger over her tiny curled fist.
“She’s so small.”
He whispers, breathing out, leaning down to get a better look at her.
Nikolai smiles, nodding towards Francesco.
“That’s what your father said too.”
Dario doesn’t move.
He only stares at her, his gaze locked on Anastasia’s sleeping form.
“She’s going to be so loved.” He finally mutters, pulling away from her to hold Chiara by the back of her head, pressing his lips to her forehead. “You did good, sorellina mia.”
Her smile is shaky, and she’s blinking a lot more now.
“Both our daughters will be loved.” She tells her brother in a small voice. “How many more months left until you meet your baby?”
Dario’s smile becomes brighter as he runs his hand through his hair.
“Only two more months, and then my princess will arrive.”
Chiara brings her own daughter closer to her, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as she looks up at Dario, smiling.
“It’s a beautiful thing; being able to carry your baby in your womb for nine months, then carrying her in your arms all over again. Tamana will know what I mean.”
Her brother releases a shaky breath of laughter, rubbing his knuckle over my granddaughter's cheek.
“And until I’m able to hold my princess in my arms, I’ll spend my time spoiling your daughter. My little Anastasia”
I clear my throat, directing all attention to me.
“Anastasia will be spoiled by all of us, and she will be raised like the princess she is.”
Francesco shakes his head as a chuckle escapes him.
“She already has some of the most dangerous men wrapped around her tiny finger.”
A bubble of laughter leaves Chiara’s mouth.
“As she should, Papa.”
Together, we leave this room to move into one of the main rooms, somewhere with a little more space so we can all catch up, and spend some more time bonding with the new addition to our family.
The room settles.
We all gather around mother and daughter, our hearts soft as we watch over them both.
Francesco rises, moving closer to sit beside her as he wraps a protective arm around Chiara’s shoulders.
I stand back, my gaze sweeping over my two sons, and the man I once considered an enemy.
Dario mutters under his breath, still watching Anastasia like he can’t quite believe that she’s real.
And my sons?
They stand there, their presence protective as they remain close to the two most important women in their lives.
This is everything.
This is family.
This is ours.