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Men taking their last breaths at my feet.
Power shifting with a single kill.
Empires built and burnt in a matter of days.
But this?
This is something else altogether.
“Go on.” Chiara whispers as her smile grows wider. “She won’t bite.”
Mikhail lets out a breathless chuckle as Nikolai smirks.
“Yet.”
He adds in.
Chiara rolls her eyes at his antics, but there’s nothing but pure love in them.
I huff quietly as I shake my head, taking a deep breath in before I even think about reaching out.
My hands—hands which have held more weapons than children—settle gently around my granddaughter’s small body.
She’s so light. So warm.
I lift her carefully, holding her close, her little head resting against my arm.
Something in my chest cracks wide open as I look down at her, life created from life I created.
“She’s perfect.” I murmur, my voice rougher than intended. “Does she have a name yet?”
Chiara nods, running the top of her finger along her daughter’s button nose.
“Anastasia Vasiliev.”
I smile, saying my granddaughter’s name out loud.
“Beautiful.”
Nikolai rests his hand on Chiara’s shoulder.
“Our daughter obviously gets that from her mother.”
I smirk, my gaze flickering up to Chiara.
“Of course.”
Mikhail grins, nudging me.
“But she’ll have your glare though.”
I release a low, amused hum as I stare down at this little girl who is a piece of all of us.
She’s Bratva.
And even though Chiara didn’t grow up in it, she’s part of the famiglia too.
Anastasia is the bridge between both words, no matter the awful history both sides share.