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He exhales, sharp and quiet, and shakes his head with a small, pained smirk. “The Petrov empire was never meant for us, solnishko. Z and I spent our lives running from it.”

He glances toward his twin, something unspoken passing between them.

“Besides,” he adds, voice lower now. “You’ve earned it more than either of us ever did.”

Z nods, his complexion pale with blood loss but his expression sharp. “Uncle will be rolling in his grave knowing a woman, especially you, is taking control. Makes it all the sweeter.”

"Then it's settled," I declare, stepping over broken glass toward the chapel doors. "Let's go claim what's ours. It’s time I meet my son.”

VESPER

The Palace staffand guards bent the knee far more easily than I could have imagined. Clearly loyalty didn’t run as deep with Victor’s staff as he imagined. Though the men guarding my son will likely be far more loyal than the servants at the Winter Palace. After a few hours of patching everyone up, we leave for the hunting lodge.

The drive to the northern hunting lodge stretches before us like an eternity compressed into miles. Though the twins insisted on accompanying me despite their injuries, I can seethe pain etched into the tight lines around Z's mouth each time we hit a bump in the road. Oz isn't much better, his breathing shallow to avoid aggravating his broken ribs.

As the Russian countryside blurs past the windows, my mind drifts to the child waiting at the end of this journey—my son. The thought still feels surreal, almost dreamlike. What will he look like? Will he have my green eyes, or Dmitri’s deep, shadowed orbs staring back at me? Blonde hair like mine, or rich chestnut like his father’s?

I press my forehead to the cool glass, watching my breath fog the surface. Will he have Dmitri’s jawline? My stubborn chin? I try to picture him, but the image shifts and refuses to settle.

Will I even recognize him as mine when I see him? Or will he be a stranger who shares my blood?

The most terrifying question lurks beneath all the others. Will I be able to love him instantly? He's half Petrov, created from my stolen eggs and the DNA of a family I've just decimated.

“You're thinking too much,” Z's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts.

“Hard not to,” I admit, turning away from the passing landscape to face him. “I’ve dreamt about him, wondering what this moment would feel like. What if bringing him into this world is a mistake?”

“You're scared,” he finishes for me. “That's normal, moya koroleva.”

I shake my head, forcing back the tears threatening to form. “What if he hates me? What if he's bonded with his caretakers? What if?—”

“What if he's perfect?" Z says, his hand finding mine despite the obvious pain the movement causes him. “What if he has your smile and your spirit? What if this is the beginning of something beautiful instead of the end of something terrible?”

His fingers tighten around mine. The simple contact pulls me back from the edge of panic.

“I don't know how to be a mother,” I confess. “I wasn't exactly given the best examples.”

Oscar leans forward from the seat behind us, his face appearing between the headrests. “You don't have to know everything right away, solnishko. No one does.”

“He's right,” Talon adds from the driver's seat. “Kids don't come with instruction manuals. We’ll figure it out together. Unlike most kids, this one has an incredible mother, and three men who will love and protect him like he’s our own.”

“They’re not wrong,” Luca chimes from the third row next to Alex. “He has a hell of a lot better chance than we did, Ves.”

I appreciate their attempts at comfort, but the fear gnaws more than they understand.

“We're almost there,” Talon announces, slowing the vehicle as we turn onto a narrow road flanked by towering pines. “Ten minutes out.”

The forest grows denser around us, ancient trees swallowing the last traces of daylight. Snow begins to fall in gentle flurries, dusting the landscape in a deceptive blanket of innocence. In the distance, I catch glimpses of a structure through the trees—sharp angles and chimney stacks rising above the canopy. The hunting lodge looms ahead, a sprawling construct of timber and weathered masonry, as if it had grown from the forest itself.

Talon pulls off a couple of hundred feet from the lodge in a dense tree line. We funnel out, some easier than others, and stand behind the SUV while he surveys the lodge ahead. Alex deploys a drone that he confiscated from The Winter Palace.

“Security patrol, two o'clock,” Talon points out beside me, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air.

“How many?” My fingers tighten around the grip of my gun.

"I count eight external," Z responds, his voice tight with pain despite the field dressing on his shoulder. He refused to stay behind, insisting that a "scratch" wouldn't keep him from finishing what we started. The stubborn fool. "Four on rotation, four at fixed positions."

"And inside?"