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United by Sofia.

"We proceed with extraction in four days." His voice regains professional focus despite the continued proximity between us. "Security protocols established through coordinated implementation. Protective measures verified through multiple authentication systems. Operational parameters maintained with redundant countermeasures against potential surveillance penetration."

I nod, accepting this joint operation despite lingering reservations about shared control over Sofia's protection. The reality continues settling around me—everything changing from this moment forward, security architecture transforming with introduction of second protective force: her father.

Viktor's hand releases mine as our planning resumes, our bodies moving through the safe house as extraction details take shape. Multiple transportation vectors. Surveillance countermeasures. Secure communication channels. Verification protocols.

Yet something fundamental has shifted between us, creating connection beyond arranged engagement or organizational positioning. Something anchored in shared blood now flowing through our daughter's veins.

"No one will ever hurt our daughter." Viktor's promise emerges with bone-deep certainty that penetrates doubt lingering after years of solitary protection. His hand catches mine once more, fingers interlacing with deliberate intent. "No one."

Our daughter.

Two words transforming everything about our reality from this moment forward.

23

VICKTOR

"This room connects directly to the primary bedroom. Reinforced walls, bulletproof windows, dedicated ventilation system separate from main house."

My voice echoes in the space that, until three days ago, had been my private sanctuary. I push open the heavy mahogany door, revealing what was once my study—the place where I'd plotted vengeance with single-minded dedication for five years. Now it serves a purpose I never imagined.

"Direct access to a panic room through a concealed entrance behind the bookcase. Emergency extraction route through a floor panel under the rug."

Anastasia follows me inside, her fingertips trailing along the antique desk that dominates the center of the room. The simple touch—her skin against polished wood that's absorbed countless hours of my planning—creates an unexpected intimacy that tightens something in my chest.

"Sightlines to all approach paths. Acoustics designed for early warning detection. Defensible position with multiple exit strategies." Her professional assessment falters as her eyes meet mine, vulnerability breaking through her tactical mask. "You're giving up your study?"

"Converting it." I move to the windows, checking the electronic seal for the hundredth time since preparations began. The glass is cool beneath my fingertips, grounding me as anxiety threatens to break through years of trained control. "The adjoining layout provides optimal security while maintaining comfortable living arrangement. Sofia requires both."

What I don't say aloud: that the thought of my daughter sleeping walls away from me, rather than in the designated guest wing, had overridden tactical considerations. That I'd dismantled my war room to make space for her tiny existence. That I'd chosen proximity over protocol.

Anton appears in the doorway, his familiar presence a temporary anchor in the emotional storm brewing inside me. The tablet in his hand displays real-time perimeter surveillance, multiple screens scrolling with security feeds.

"Final security sweep confirms clean boundaries. Extraction team reports successful transit through third checkpoint. Estimated arrival fifty-seven minutes."

Fifty-seven minutes until my daughter arrives.

The thought triggers a physiological response I haven't experienced since the most intense combat situations of my special forces training—heart hammering against my ribs, every sense heightened to painful clarity, adrenaline surging through my system with such force that my fingertips tingle. I force measured breaths through my nose, fighting for control that slips further with each passing minute.

"Anna's quarters?" Anastasia asks, her professional tone belied by the slight tremor in her voice, the unconscious way she touches the locket at her throat.

"East wing. Private suite with separate security protocols she can control independently." I gesture toward the corridor where workers have spent forty-eight hours preparing designated spaces under continuous security monitoring. "Isolated communication channels established through encrypted systems matching your Swiss parameters."

Anastasia studies me with uncomfortable perception, seeing beyond the façade to the emotional undercurrent I've struggled to process throughout the feverish preparation. Her dark eyes soften, recognition of shared vulnerability creating unexpected connection between us.

"You've thought of everything."

"No." The admission slips through professional detachment I've maintained throughout the extraction implementation. My voice drops lower, words meant only for her. "I've thought of everything except how to be a father."

The vulnerability in my statement—unplanned, unfiltered—creates momentary stillness between us. For four days since discovering Sofia's existence, logical focus has provided framework for processing emotional complexity beyond rational preparation. Security protocols. Extraction logistics. Travel arrangements. Defensive preparations.

All necessary yet wholly inadequate for the fundamental reality approaching me: I am a father. I have a daughter. In fifty-six minutes I will meet her for the first time.

"No one knows how to be a parent." Anastasia's voice loses its professional edge, softening into something more genuine than I've heard since Paris. She steps closer, close enough that I catch the subtle scent of her skin beneath the antiseptic preparations we've both endured. "Not until the moment they're holding their child. Then instinct takes over where strategy fails."

"Special forces training prepares for all scenarios." I resume checking security systems with methodical attention that barely masks my building tension. My hands move automatically, testing locks and seals while my mind spirals into unprecedented territory. "Threat assessment. Protection protocols. Defensive contingencies in hostile territory. Nothing about tiny humans with requirements beyond tactical parameters."