Extended Epilogue
VIKTOR
Five Years Later
Anya and I sit on a bench as we watch our kids chase each other around the park.
Annetta has the advantage of age, but Viktor Jr. is hot on her tail.
He’s two-and-a-half years younger than her, but you’d never know it to look at him.
He’s almost as tall as she is, even at four-and-a-half.
He’s a big boy and she’s built like her mom.
Baby Irina cries in her stroller, and I immediately lift her up and hold her against my chest.
“You’re going to make her dependent on you if you keep doing that,” Anya reminds me for the millionth time. “It’s okay for babies to cry.”
“Not my babies,” I answer petulantly. “I’ll never let my perfect little girl cry, will I?”
“Speaking of,” Anya murmurs, just as Annetta runs over to us with tears in her eyes.
“Donald says we aren’t allowed to play on the playground,” she says pitifully. “Why can’t we play with the other kids?”
How do I explain to my kids that it isn’t safe for them to play with random children in the park? Even with their half a dozen guards and both Anya and I keeping a watchful eye on them, there are some things that our children just can’t do because of who their father is.
“I have an idea,” Anya says, breaking the tension. “Why don’t we all go get some ice cream?”
Annetta’s face automatically brightens.
“VJ, we’re getting ice cream,” she screams to her brother, who immediately comes running.
We get ice cream as a family, though that requires my men to sweep the tiny little shop and give us the all-clear. Then we keep the shop closed while we sit inside, enjoying our ice cream as a family.
This part is easier on the kids. The shop is so small that they never question why we’re the only ones who come here. I always compensate the owners for their lack of business, and it works out fine for us.
Brooklyn is much more stable now, but that doesn’t mean it’s peaceful. After Mikhail’s death, things just sort of shifted into place. Every family got the power they needed, and I emerged as the clear leader of the borough. With a queen at my side.
Anya proved to be much more than a pretty face.
Once Annetta turned two, Anya started helping me run my businesses.
She has quite a mind for numbers. She’s helped us nearly double the profits of our legitimate businesses, and found ways to keep our security costs down without losing any of our protection.
She’s an amazing partner, both personally and professionally.
“Papa, I don’t feel so good,” VJ says.
“Told ya you can’t eat ice cream,” Annetta says, sticking her tongue out at him.
“Nettie, that’s enough,” Anya scolds. “Can you take him to the bathroom, just in case?” she murmurs to me.
This is my life now. By day, I rule Brooklyn with an iron fist. On nights and weekends, I wipe butts and rub my kids’ backs when they throw up. Thankfully, that part doesn’t happen so often, even though Irina does have bad reflux.
After VJ’s unfortunate experience, we decide to call it a night and take the kids home. I put the older two to bed while Anya nurses Irina and puts her down. It’s been a little overwhelming since we became outnumbered by our kids, but we’re making it work the best way we know how.
When we both make it back to our bedroom, we acknowledge each other with the same reverence as soldiers returning from war.
“Annetta insisted on three books tonight,” I say warily.
“Irina almost bit my nipple off,” Anya shoots back.
We look at each other and burst out laughing.
“Is it okay?” I ask. “Should I check it out?”
She rolls her eyes and sighs. “You may look, but don’t get any ideas,” she says. “I’m so not in the mood tonight.”
“You mean you don’t want to go for kid number four?” I tease.
“Don’t even joke!” she nearly screeches. “We’re barely surviving as it is.”
I chuckle as I gingerly pull up her shirt and examine her injured flesh. It isn’t too bad, but she does wince when I brush my finger over it.
“That bad, huh?” I ask.
“It’s fine.” She shrugs.
“You once got shot and barely reacted,” I remind her. “You’re not going soft on me, are you?”
“I think I went soft after the second pregnancy test was positive.” She smirks, getting into the bed. “It’s hard to keep up the constant fire when you’re trying to manage morning sickness again.”
“Oh, I disagree,” I say, sliding in next to her. “You’ve gotten way tougher. Just today, you told me to leave an innocent, screaming baby to cry herself out.”
“That baby hasn’t slept through the night in two months,” she reminds me. “If we don’t get a handle on this regression, we’re screwed.”
I chuckle and pull her against my chest.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, my love, but we’ve both gone soft.” I sigh. “We used to talk about territory and battle plans. Now we’re talking about sleep schedules.”
“I don’t mind it,” she says wistfully. “Our kids are lucky to have such loving parents.”
“Not nearly as lucky as I am,” I say, kissing the top of her head.
She snuggles into my chest and I hold her until her breathing changes.
Falling asleep with the love of my life in my arms makes me the luckiest man in Brooklyn.
The End