Chapter 24 For Keeps #3
I lean into Anton's embrace, my fingertips brushing the nape of his neck. "You want to give me everything, but all I want is you. That's more than enough."
"I'm not going anywhere, Solnishko." His lips brush my temple, his breath warm against my skin. "Ever."
"Good thing I want you around." I pull back just enough to see his face. "Though it might be nice if we could have some normal moments, too."
His brow furrows slightly, and I see his gaze flick to Moira, then to the clock on the wall. "You should be resting. It's been hours."
"I should probably get back to my room anyway. Doctor's orders and all that."
Moira waves a hand at us. "Go. You two clearly have things to discuss that don't need an audience."
I catch the knowing look in her eyes. Anton helps me stand, his hand steady at my elbow.
"We'll check on you in the morning," Eden says, giving me a knowing look.
"Get some rest, Fee," Lorenzo adds, though there's amusement in his eyes.
The hallway is quiet as we make our way to my room, Anton's pace matching mine. Once we're out of earshot, I glance up at him.
"What if we have kids someday and they ask about our first date? 'Well, kids, we never actually had one. Instead, your dad killed five men in an alley while I ran toward him barefoot in a torn dress.'"
Anton's quiet laughter rumbles through his chest and says, "It's not an arranged marriage, so that's a plus."
"Right? I mean, I get that normal doesn't exactly exist in our world. But maybe we could create our own version of normal?"
He doesn't deny it, which makes me laugh.
We reach my room, and I bypass the bed entirely, sinking into the large cushioned chair by the window. It's more comfortable than it looks, and sitting here feels less like being a patient and more like just...being with Anton.
Anton crouches in front of me, bringing himself to almost my eye level. Even kneeling, I have to look up. His hands settle on the armrests on either side of me.
"I would love to have a family with you, Fee." His expression turns thoughtful, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Though I've been thinking about making changes. Being less hands-on with operations, more focused on leading my side of the business."
"Really?" I search his face.
"I've eliminated threats for the Basovs for years. It's time to lead from a different position." His gray eyes hold mine. "One where I'm home most nights. Where I don't miss birthdays or school plays because I'm cleaning up someone else's mess in another country."
My heart swells, expanding against my ribs almost painfully. "You've thought about this."
"I've thought about little else since I met you." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "What kind of father would I be if I'm always away? What kind of husband?"
The word "husband" sends a thrill through me. "You'd be a great dad. Overprotective, obviously. Our kids will probably have tracking devices in their shoes."
"And their backpacks. And their toys."
"Of course." I laugh, imagining it. "God help their first dates."
"I'll be reasonable," he promises, though his eyes glint with mischief. "I'll only run basic background checks."
I can't help but laugh. "You asked me out on a date almost a week ago, and here we are talking about kids. Most people would think we're rushing. But I guess when you've survived multiple shootings, a kidnapping, and a psycho trying to drug and reprogram you, normal timelines don't really apply."
"You are who I want, Fee. I've known that for months." Anton's voice is low, certain. "I'm an old soul. I know what I want when I see it. We've known each other for six months, and I've been certain about you for most of that time."
I tilt my head, studying him. "You knew more about me than I did about you. That's hardly fair."
"Ask me anything. Whatever you want to know."
"What about family? Do you have any besides the Bratva?"
Anton shakes his head. "I was born in New York to immigrant Russian parents. They died in a car accident when I was in my late teens. I was already working for the Bratva by then."
His expression turns distant for a moment, and I squeeze his hand gently, encouraging him to continue.
"My mother and I played chess all the time," he says, a small smile touching his lips. "I have a picture of her by a chessboard at the penthouse."
"That's your mother?" I ask, suddenly remembering the photograph I'd seen.
"Yes."
"I thought..." I trail off, feeling awkward.
Anton's expression shifts to understanding. "You thought it was Katya."
I nod. "Yes."
Anton's face softens as he reads my expression. "No, I don't keep Katya's photos displayed. I gave those back to her mother six months ago."
Six months? The timing hits me. "Right when you started watching me."
He nods, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "Part of getting ready to be available to you, Solnishko. I couldn't fully move forward while looking back."
Something warm unfurls in my chest. I know how significant this gesture must have been for him.
"Her mother was happy to have them," Anton continues, his voice gentle. "We had lunch together. I told her about you."
"You did?" I can't hide my surprise.
"She said Katya would want me to find happiness again." His eyes hold mine, storm-gray and honest. "She hugged me when I left and made me promise to bring you to meet her someday."
I'm speechless for a moment, imagining Anton sitting across from his late wife's mother, discussing his feelings for me. The image is so unexpectedly tender that it makes my throat tight.
"You really were preparing for me all this time."
"In every way I could." Anton brushes a strand of hair from my face. "I changed everything. Moved to a new penthouse. Gave away her clothes, her jewelry. Kept a garden. It's a peaceful place that I tend because it reminds me life goes on, but that's all it means, nothing else."
I reach up to touch the teardrop tattoo under his eye. "And this."
"It's part of what shaped me. But it doesn't define my future."
I swallow hard, touched by his honesty. "Do you have pictures of your dad?"
"I have some I can show you right here on my phone," he says, pulling it from his pocket. He scrolls through, then hands it to me.
The man in the picture has Anton's jawline and intense eyes, standing tall beside a petite woman with a warm smile. They look happy, normal—nothing like the life their son would eventually lead.
"You have his eyes," I murmur, swiping through more photos of Anton as a child, skinny and serious, playing chess with his mother, and of Anton as a teenager, already tall and solemn.
As I swipe through the photos on Anton's phone, the warmth of an unexpected lightness washes over me. It's as if these pieces of his past offer glimpses into corners of himself he usually keeps hidden, the child behind the assassin, the humanity behind the lethal exterior.
"Your parents were beautiful," I whisper, tracing the edge of the screen. "You must have been happy with them." Anton nods. "Thank you for sharing this with me," I say.
Anton takes my hand again, his gaze never wavering. "I want to share everything with you, Fee."
His grip tightens around my fingers, grounding me. "I love you, Fee."
My breath stops. The world narrows to just his storm-gray eyes holding mine.
"I love you, too," I whisper, my voice breaking. "So much it terrifies me to lose you."
His expression softens, relief washing over his features. He pulls me into him then, cradling me against his chest. His heart pounds against my ear, a reassuring drumbeat amidst a world that knows only chaos. In his embrace, I feel safe, loved.
"Wherever you go, whatever you choose," he murmurs against my hair, "you have my heart."
I press my palm against his chest, feeling that steady heartbeat. "And you have mine. Always."