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The alternative—surgical rather than catastrophic, precise rather than absolute—creates a possibility I had never considered. Justice without destruction. Accountability without annihilation. Future beyond mission completion or objective destruction.

Hours later, with our discussion exhausted and possibilities outlined beyond initial planning parameters, I stand in the doorway of the nursery where Anastasia sleeps in a chair beside Sofia's crib. Mother and daughter in peaceful vulnerability that triggers a protective response beyond tactical assessment or calculation.

My family.

The designation forms with devastating clarity despite my own uncertainty. Beyond Bratva politics or organizational positioning. Beyond arranged engagement or infiltration mission. Beyond vengeance or justice or any objective established through years of planning.

My daughter with silver eyes that mirror my own. Her mother who offers alternatives beyond destruction or abandonment. The future suddenly possible beyond the mission that defined my existence since witnessing my family's execution.

Sofia stirs in her sleep, tiny fist escaping the yellow blanket in an unconscious movement that triggers a paternal response beyond rational explanation. I adjust the covering with care that maintains comfort without disturbing rest, my finger brushing against her impossibly soft cheek with protective affection no training prepared me to process.

I will burn the world to ashes before allowing harm to touch this child.

The certainty forms with absolute clarity as I maintain protective watch over my sleeping family. Regardless of mission complications, regardless of vengeance postponed or justice recalibrated, regardless of future uncertainties beyond tactical resolution or strategic anticipation.

Sofia Viktorovna Baranova changes everything.

And anyone who threatens her will face destruction beyond Bratva retribution or organizational vengeance.

They will face me.

24

ANASTASIA

"Look at them," Anna murmurs, her voice soft with wonder.

I follow her gaze across the room, where Viktor sits cross-legged on the floor, sunlight streaming through the windows and catching on Sofia's dark curls. My breath catches. The ruthless man who's executed people without blinking is now completely absorbed in our daughter's tiny fingers as they explore his watch.

Three days since Sofia arrived, and I still can't believe what I'm seeing.

"I've never seen her take to someone so fast," Anna says, shaking her head. "Especially not with a man—she's always so careful with strangers."

"Blood recognizes blood," I say, folding one of Sofia's tiny shirts, grateful for something to do with my hands. My heart's doing strange things in my chest, and I don't want to examine why. "It's like they've known each other forever, isn't it? Like they were just... waiting to find each other."

Viktor glances up, catching me watching them. Something flickers across his face—vulnerability that would get him killed in my father's world. For a heartbeat, he's just a father discovering his child, not the man who's infiltrated the Bratva to destroy everything I've known.

The sight twists something inside me. I turn away quickly, arranging Sofia's bottles by size, focusing on the small task instead of the warmth spreading through me.

"She's settling in beautifully," Anna says, mercifully pulling me back from thoughts I can't afford to let linger. "Sleep's normal despite the time change. Appetite's good too."

I grab onto the practical information like a lifeline. "Any anxiety? Is she wary around him at all?"

"Not even a little," Anna says, raising an eyebrow and nodding toward Viktor. "It's almost weird how much she trusts him, actually. Like she just... knows him."

Viktor rises in that fluid way he has, Sofia secure against his chest. He moves differently with her—still deadly graceful, but careful. Protective in a way I've never seen before.

"We should move her things to my quarters," he says, voice low. His eyes—identical to Sofia's—lock with mine, saying much more than his words. "Easier to keep her safe if we're all behind one security perimeter."

"Your quarters?" I keep my tone neutral, even as my pulse jumps.

"My suite," he clarifies, watching me too closely. "The study's already set up for her. Your rooms could connect through the east corridor. Makes sense, logistically."

"Or we could just call it what it is," Anna interrupts bluntly. "You're a family. Sofia's happiest with both of you near. Security's tighter. Why dance around it?"

Viktor's expression shifts—surprise at Anna's directness, a quick mental calculation, and something else, something that sends heat rushing to my face despite years of learning to control my reactions.

"This isn't just about security," he says, his voice steady but loaded with meaning that ripples between us. "Sofia needs us both. Consistency. That's all I'm saying."