EPILOGUE - LEANNA
“I think I’m fine,” I insist, one hand pressed to my lower back as another dull ache rolls through me.
Nik’s eyes narrow. “Fine?” His voice drops an octave — the dangerous one he uses when he’s two seconds from taking over. “Leanna, you’re pale.”
“It’s just Braxton-Hicks,” I say, forcing a casual tone. “False alarm. I’ve been having them all week.”
He doesn’t look convinced. His jaw flexes, that slight muscle ticking. “You’re sure it’s not the real thing?”
I shrug, wincing as the next contraction tightens low and mean. “Pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure doesn’t cut it when you’re nine months pregnant, malishka. If this gets worse, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
I told myself it was just another false alarm I could ignore.
So I did.
I came to the office anyway, determined to push through.
After all, I’ve recently taken over leadership of my father’s entire real estate portfolio. This was supposed to be the next step on my path to entering the business without wading through blood.
We both thought this was the best way for me to dip a toe into true leadership in the company.
Now, I sit at the long conference table, listening as our Chicago executives give their reports one by one. And every tightening in my belly makes me grip the armrest harder.
Beside me, Nik’s knee bounces under the table, restless energy barely contained. His face, though, gives nothing away, balanced somewhere between menace and boredom.
I’ve been shadowing my father for two years now, and despite everything I’ve learned, I still have no stomach for the violence, the threats, the necessary ruthlessness.
That’s where Nik comes in.
He handles what needs to be managed.
And every day, I’m thankful for that.
“The offer is one hundred thousand less than asking,” one of our real estate agents says, referring to a massive downtown apartment in a desirable area.
“Is it the only offer?” I ask.
“For now.”
“Well, it’s day one, and we haven’t even held the open house,” I remind her.
“Even at less than asking, we’d be turning a profit. Remember, this was a rehab. We bought low.”
“I understand that,” I say, careful to keep my tone even. “But taking a lowball on day one sets a precedent. And we’ve got more units in that building to move.”
She exhales heavily, clearly impatient. “So what’s your call?”
“Host a private open house for top-tier agents only. Make it exclusive—like they’re walking into an opportunity, not just a listing. Highlight every luxury feature. I want them leaving convinced this property is a smart investment, not just a beautiful one.”
“Okay,” she says, but the doubt in her tone is impossible to miss.
“You can come back at full price,” I tell her evenly. “Let them know we’re not budging.”
“But if it doesn’t sell and we have to lower it later—”
“We won’t,” I cut in. “It’ll sell. Just do the work.”
She presses her lips together, clearly biting back a response, and nods instead.
We finish the meeting, and everyone leaves the room except Nik and me.
“You handled her well,” he says.
“She’s a bitch. I don’t like her.”
“She’s a bitch who has tons of experience selling million-dollar properties.”
“Well, she needs to get creative and stop being lazy, then. Why does she work for us again?”
“She was in gambling debt,” Nik says. “She owed your father quite a lot of money. He offered her a job and said he’d take it out of her pay because she’d gotten herself into quite a load of debt.”
“He probably wanted to get in her pants,” I say.
“For certain,” Nik agrees, and we both make a gagging sound.
I push up out of the chair, my huge, pregnant stomach protruding, a sliver of skin showing where my shirt rides up. “I am a moose.”
“A cute moose,” Nik says, hand at my lower back. “How are the contractions?”
“About half an hour, still,” I say. “No need to worry.”
“I do worry,” he says. “That’s our son you’re carrying.”
“Daughter,” I counter automatically.
He makes a noise that says he’s not about to engage in this debate again.
The Reapers have a game later this week—their first playoff berth in years. I want Nik to play so badly, but he’s been adamant that he won’t miss the birth of our child for anything.
“You know, you could just fire her,” he says casually as he walks me out of the conference room.
I waddle beside him like a disgruntled penguin, my lower back screaming, sciatica stabbing straight down my leg and into my ass. Dear God, please let this baby come soon.
“Our daughter?” I ask, giving him a look.
“Oh, she’s got jokes,” he says with that infuriating grin. “You run this division. Fire her.”
“I’d appreciate it if my father stopped making unilateral decisions, like hiring people because he wants to let them screw their debt away.”
“Jesus,” he says. “You are a total boss right now. I’d hate to be on your bad side, but it really turns me on. I read that sex can help make babies come faster.”
I stop walking and stare at him with narrowed eyes. “Seriously?”
His grin is all wicked fox. “Want to test the theory?”
I look back at the conference room table. Consider its weight limit. “I’m…willing to experiment.”
We walk toward my office, but just as we step inside, a warm liquid gushes down my legs. “Oh my God,” I exclaim.
“Yes?” Nik jokes.
I pull on his sleeve. Point to the wetness on the floor. “I think my water just broke.”
A massive contraction hits, then, and I have to brace myself on the back of the sofa that sits in my city-view office.
“On it,” he says, pulling out his phone. He makes a quick call and then says, “The car will be out front in three minutes.”
“My bag,” I say.
Nik grabs the overnight bag we’ve had packed for weeks. I just tote it from work to home every single day.
We rush to the elevator, then ride down to the lobby.
The car is waiting, and the driver speeds us toward the hospital.
By the time we arrive, my contractions have quickly progressed to ten minutes apart, and I am met at the hospital entrance by a wheelchair and a slew of hand-chosen private nurses.
Inside my private birthing suite, I change into a hospital gown and lie back on the bed. My doctor arrives shortly after to do an exam, after which she says I’m a six.
The contractions pick up in timing and intensity, and I’m offered an epidural, but I decline. I want to be fully present for this.
By the time I’m told to push, I’m crying and screaming, my body wracked with pain and adrenaline. Nik is right beside me, kissing my forehead, whispering praise against my hairline.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs. “So damn strong. So beautiful.”
And when our daughter is born, her cry is strong and loud, I cannot stop crying with her, and Nik breaks down.
Not in the quiet, stoic way I’ve seen before.
He sobs.
His breath catches. His shoulders shake. Tears spill over his cheeks like he doesn’t even realize it’s happening.
And he just keeps staring like he’s seeing a miracle unfold before him.
“I didn’t know…” he chokes, unable to finish the thought. He reaches out like he’s afraid to touch her, like she’s made of light and stardust and the fragile remnants of a dream he never let himself have. “She’s… ours?”
Later, I hold her, wrapped tightly in a hospital blanket, her tuft of dark hair covered by a tiny pink hat. Nik sits next to us, stroking her tiny cheek with a finger.
“I can’t believe she’s here,” I say quietly.
“She’s so beautiful,” he answers. “Like her mother.”
“And so strong like her father.”
“I didn’t know it was possible,” he says hoarsely, “to love someone this fast. This much.”
And for a man who’s seen so much violence, who’s worn so many masks, this moment strips him bare.
“What should we name her?”
We chose not to know the sex until she was born, and we decided not to name her until we met her.
But in the back of my mind, I have been thinking of my mother, Lucia. And I have become very close with Nik’s sister, Misha.
Nik looks at me like he knows I have something in mind, so I blurt, “Lucia Misha Campisi-Ivanov?”
“Lucia,” he says, his accent heavy. “Lucy for short, perhaps?”
I grin. “Lucy. I like it.”
He leans over to kiss our tiny child’s cheek. “Hello, Lucy.”
We are quiet for a long time, just marveling at what we made together.
Marveling that we are together, despite who we are, where we come from, and what we’re forced to be for our families.
This baby, our little family, is something we chose for ourselves, something we earned.
Nik says often that he would kill for me, die for me. And tonight, I finally understand just how he feels.
I’d do the same for them. Both of them.
THE END.