Sergei
I’ve held weapons that weigh more than these babies. I’ve held dying men in my arms as they took their last breath. I’ve carried bodies. Pulled triggers without hesitation.
Nothing—absolutely fucking nothing—has prepared me for how small they are.
I look down at Anton in my arms. He’s barely five pounds. His entire hand wraps around one of my fingers. His grip is surprisingly strong for something so fragile.
I think about the night she was assaulted, her body broken and bruised. About Yuri and the Ghost and every single threat that almost took her from me.
She could have died so many times. These boys might never have existed.
The thought makes my chest tight.
“Can I?”
I look up to find Anton standing in the doorway. Not my son—my captain. The man Sofia trusts more than anyone, except me.
I hesitate. Every instinct I have screams at me not to let anyone else hold them. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe.
But Sofia is watching me with that look that says I’m being ridiculous.
“Yes,” I force out.
Anton and I have come to an understanding.
He loves her like a daughter. I respect his desire to keep her alive.
That’s the only reason I allow it. She told me he’s the only man that has ever touched her with affection.
Her father never hugged her. Anton was the one to hold her after Elena died.
After the attack, only he was able to get close to her without inciting fear.
He takes baby Anton from my arms like he holds babies all the time.
“Hello, little one,” he says softly in Russian. “You have a good name. A strong name.”
I watch him like a hawk. Ready to snatch my son back at the first sign of distress.
“Kirill,” Sofia says. “You can hold the other one.”
My right hand Kirill looks uncertain. He’s standing near the door like he’s afraid to get too close. “I don’t know how— “
“Neither did I a few hours ago,” Sofia interrupts. “Come here. You both need to be familiar with them—just in case.”
None of us talk about why or when they might need to hold our children.
I reluctantly transfer baby Kirill to his arms. He holds the baby like it might explode. Stiff. Awkward. Nothing like Anton’s natural ease.
“Relax,” I tell him. “Support his head.”
Kirill adjusts his grip. Baby Kirill makes a small sound. Kirill looks at me. I get it. That sense of wonder hits hard that first time.
“I will protect him with my life,” Anton says quietly. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the baby in his arms. “Both of them. I swear it.”
“As will I,” Kirill adds. His voice is rough. “No one will touch them. Ever.”
I believe them. These men have proven their loyalty a thousand times over. But it’s different now.
It’s personal for them.
Nelson appears in the doorway. He takes one look at the scene and smiles. “Can I?”
“Get in line,” I mutter.
But Sofia is already gesturing him over. “There’s two of them. Plenty to go around.”
I watch as my men pass around my sons. Each of them holding the babies with varying degrees of competence. Each of them looking at the twins like they’re the most precious things in the world.
They are.
Sofia is glowing with pride at the men cooing over our children.
The nurse comes in to check vitals. She reaches for baby Anton. He’s back in my arms by this point because I couldn’t stand having both of them held by other people.
The moment she takes him, he screams. A high-pitched wail that makes every protective instinct I have flare to life.
“It’s okay,” the nurse says calmly. “I just need to check his temperature and— “
The screaming intensifies. His face turns red. His tiny fists wave in the air.
I can’t take it.
I step forward and take him back. The moment he’s against my chest, the screaming stops. Complete silence except for a few hiccupping breaths.
The nurse looks mildly amused. “Well. I see who he wants.”
I feel faintly smug about this. My son knows his father. Knows where he’s safe.
“Don’t start,” Sofia says from the bed. But she’s smiling.
The nurse manages to do her checks with me holding both babies. It’s awkward, but I refuse to put them down. Not when they’re this settled.
Eventually, the men leave. Anton claps me on the shoulder on his way out. “They’re beautiful. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Nelson is the last to go. “Get some rest, boss. Both of you. We’ve got this.”
Then it’s just us. Me and Sofia and our sons.
I look at Sofia. She’s fighting sleep, her eyes drifting closed then snapping open again.
“Sleep,” I tell her. “I’ve got them.”
“You need to sleep too.”
“I will. Later.”
She doesn’t have the energy to argue.
I’m left alone with two sleeping babies on my chest.
I should put them in the bassinet. That’s what the nurse said to do. Let them sleep separately so they learn to self-soothe.
But I tried. I managed to put baby Kirill down without waking him. Then when I tried to put Anton down, he woke up screaming. Which woke up Kirill. Who also started screaming.
Two screaming babies is not a sound I like.
So now they’re both on my chest. One on each side. Both sleeping peacefully. No one will tell me I can’t hold my children. If I want to spoil them, I will.
My sons are safe. My wife is safe. That’s all that matters.
I close my eyes and let myself feel it. The weight of them. The tiny breaths against my shirt.
This is what peace feels like.
I never thought I’d have this. Never thought I deserved it. Men like me don’t get to keep precious things. We get blood and violence and empty beds.
But somehow, against all odds, I have everything.
I have a family.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it. Whatever it is can wait. The empire can wait. The business can wait. My brothers can wait. They’ve sent along their congratulations. That’s enough for now.
Right now, I’m exactly where I need to be.
Baby Anton makes a small sound and shifts against me. His hand reaches up and grabs a fistful of my shirt. Even in sleep, he’s holding on.
I cover his tiny hand with mine.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper in Russian.
It’s a promise I intend to keep.
No matter what it costs me.