Epilogue
Leonid
One moment I'm asleep, Lily tucked against my chest where she belongs. The next, she's sitting up, grabbing my arm, saying words that turn my blood to ice.
"Leonid. It's time."
I've killed men without my pulse rising. I've faced down rival Bratva leaders, corrupt politicians, federal agents. I've walked into rooms knowing I might not walk out.
None of it prepared me for this.
"Are you sure?" My voice comes out steady, which is a miracle. "It could be—"
"My water just broke all over our sheets." She's already swinging her legs out of bed. "I'm sure."
I'm on my feet before she finishes speaking. The hospital bag has been packed for three weeks, because I made her do it early, couldn't stand the thought of being unprepared. I grab it, grab my phone, grab her hand.
"Can you walk?"
"I'm pregnant, not dying." But she squeezes my fingers hard. "Okay. Maybe help me a little."
The drive to the hospital is the longest twenty minutes of my life. Lily breathes through contractions in the passenger seat, her hand crushing mine on the center console. I run two red lights. Don't care.
"You're speeding," she says through gritted teeth.
"Yes."
"The baby's not going to fall out in the car."
"I'm not taking chances."
She laughs—breathless, pained, but real. "My Bratva killer, scared of a little childbirth."
"I'm not scared."
I am, in fact, terrified.
***
The hospital is a blur of bright lights and antiseptic smell and nurses who keep telling me to calm down.
I don't calm down.
Lily is moved to a delivery room. Hooked up to monitors that beep and flash numbers I don't understand. A doctor examines her, says she's progressing well, says it could be a few more hours.
Hours. She has to do this for hours.
"You can sit down," Lily says. She's propped up in the bed, hair damp with sweat, face pale but determined. "You're making the nurses nervous."
"I'm fine."
"You've been pacing for forty-five minutes."
I stop pacing.
She's the bravest person I've ever known. A year ago, she was standing on an auction block, covered in another man's blood, asking for a family. Now she's here, carrying my child, about to bring new life into the world.
And she's making jokes.
"Come here," she says softly, reaching for me.
I go. Take her hand. Press my forehead to hers.
"I'm terrified," I admit. The words come out rough, scraped from somewhere deep. "I've never been this scared in my life."
"I know." Her fingers brush my cheek. "But we're going to be okay. All three of us."
"How do you know?"
"Because you promised me forever." She kisses me softly. "And you always keep your promises."
The next six hours are brutal.
Lily labors with a strength that humbles me. Between contractions, I feed her ice chips, wipe the sweat from her forehead with a cool cloth, let her crush my hand until I lose feeling in my fingers. When she needs to move, I help her walk slow circles around the room, her weight leaning against me.
"You're doing so well," I murmur against her hair. "So strong. I've got you."
"Easy for you to say," she gasps. "You're not the one pushing a watermelon out of your—" Another contraction hits and she doubles over, gripping my arms.
I hold her through it. Would hold her through anything.
At one point, she threatens to castrate me if I ever touch her again. I tell her that's fair. She laughs, then screams, then laughs again.
"Almost there," the doctor says. "One more push, Lily. Give me one more big push."
Lily bears down, her whole body straining, a scream tearing from her throat—
And then another sound.
A cry. Thin and high and furious.
"It's a girl," the doctor announces. "Congratulations."
A girl. I knew it. I always knew.
They place her on Lily's chest—tiny, red-faced, screaming her displeasure at being evicted from her warm home. A shock of dark hair, damp and matted. Lily's coloring. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Oh," Lily breathes. She's crying. Laughing. Both at once. "Oh, Leonid. Look at her."
I'm looking. Can't stop looking.
My daughter. Our daughter.
"She's perfect," I manage. My voice doesn't sound like my own. "Lily, she's—"
I can't finish. There aren't words.
"Do you want to hold her?" Lily asks.
The nurse helps transfer the baby into my arms. She's so small. So fragile. I've held guns that weighed more than this.
She stops crying. Her eyes are unfocused, newborn-dark—they'll change color later, settle into blue or green or something in between. But right now I swear she's looking right at me. Probably she's not—probably newborns can't see that far—but it feels like she is.
"Hello, little one," I whisper. "I'm your papa."
She makes a small sound. Not quite a cry. More like she's reserving judgment.
The nurses step back, giving us space. For a moment, it's just the three of us—Lily in the bed, exhausted and glowing, me holding our daughter, the machines beeping quietly in the background.
"I'm going to protect you," I tell the baby. "For the rest of my life. No one will ever hurt you. No one will ever make you feel unwanted. You're going to grow up knowing you belong."
Lily reaches up, touches my face. Her fingers come away wet—I'm crying, didn't even realize.
"Look at you," she says softly. "My big scary Bratva man."
"Shut up," I say, but I'm smiling.
"I love you. Both of you. So much."
I lean down carefully, mindful of the baby between us, and kiss her forehead. "I love you too. Thank you for this. For her. For everything."
"Thank you for choosing me."
"I'd do it all again. The auction. The blood. All of it. Because it brought me to you."
Our daughter makes another sound—hungry now, searching. I give her back to Lily, watch as she guides the baby to her breast with an instinct that awes me. Our daughter latches on, and Lily winces, then relaxes.
"She's got a good grip," she says.
"Like her mother."
I pull a chair close to the bed. Take Lily's free hand. Watch my daughter nurse.
"What should we name her?" Lily asks.
I already know. Have known for months.
"Vera," I say. "It means faith."
Lily's eyes fill with fresh tears. "Vera. It's beautiful."
"She's our new beginning. Our faith in something better." I stroke my daughter's cheek with one finger. "I want her to carry that."
"Vera Morozova." Lily tests the name. Smiles. "Perfect."
It is.
Everything is.