Page 177

"Last warning," Oscar says, as he moves closer, weapon trained on the woman's chest.

With a resigned sigh, she takes two steps back from the crib. "I am not armed," she says. "I am only Irina, the nurse."

I keep my gun trained on her as I edge toward the crib, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. The soft whimpering grows louder as I approach, and for the first time, I catch a glimpse of my son.

Time stops.

He's perfect. Impossibly small yet somehow exactly as I'd imagined in my dreams. A dusting of dark hair crowns his head, his tiny fists waving in frustration at being disturbed. But it's his eyes that steal my breath—vibrant green, identical to mine, blinking up at me with innocent curiosity.

"Hello, little one," I coo, my voice cracking as I holster my weapon. "I've been looking for you for a very long time."

The baby stills at the sound of my voice, his tiny features scrunching in concentration. For a heartbeat, we simply stare at each other. His little mouth opens in an 'o' of surprise.

"He knows you," Irina declares from behind me.

My arms hover above the crib, suddenly unsure. I’ve killed without blinking, toppled empires with a word—but this? Reaching for something so small, so breakable, terrifies me more than anything I’ve ever faced.

“It’s okay,” Oscar says softly behind me. “He’s waiting for you.”

I inhale, then slide my arms beneath the tiny bundle. He weighs almost nothing, but the moment he rests against my chest, I feel the world shift. No battlefield ever made me feel this exposed. I cradle his head instinctively, surprised by how natural it feels…and how fiercely I already want to protect him.

The scent of him fills my senses, powder and innocence and something uniquely his own. His warmth seeps through my tactical gear, melting the last frozen fragments of my heart as I draw him closer.

“I’ve got you now," I sob against his downy hair. “No one will ever take you from me again."

His tiny hand escapes the blanket, five perfect fingers splaying before curling around my index finger with surprising strength. The connection is electric. physical manifestation of the bond that's drawn me across continents and through blood to find him.

“Remarkable grip." Oscar steps closer to peer down at the infant's face. His expression softens as he takes in the delicate features. “Strong like his mother.”

I can’t look away from my son’s face. There’s a depth in his expression, an intensity in his small features that feels far too knowing for someone so young.

“We need to move. The others can only hold position for so long.”

I nod, reluctantly dragging my attention back to Irina, who watches us with a calm, unreadable expression.

“What is his name?” I ask. “What have they been calling him?”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Nikolai Dmitrievich Petrov. After Victor’s father.”

The name hits like a blow. The Petrov legacy, forced onto him before he ever had a voice. I shake my head, rejection immediate and final.

“That’s not his name.”

“What will you call him then?” Oscar asks, eyes fixed on the doorway, his posture alert.

I turn back to my son, memorizing every detail. A name rises, quiet but certain, as if it’s been waiting all along.

“Matteo," I declare.

The baby blinks up at me, as if considering the sound of his true name. His fingers tighten around mine in what I choose to interpret as approval.

“Matteo," Oscar repeats, a smile warming his voice. “It suits him."

I turn to Irina, who stands watching us with that same unreadable expression. "Is there anything he needs? Formula? Supplies?"

Something softens in her weathered face. "There is a bag by the changing table. Everything is prepared. I...I always knew this day would come."

Oscar moves swiftly to retrieve the bag, checking its contents with efficient movements. "Looks complete. Formula, diapers, extra clothes."