Page 194 of Blood & Snow

XANDER

The penthouse apartment feels different, filled with voices and laughter.

I've lived here for five years, and until tonight it served only as a place to sleep between operations and store weapons.

Now children chase each other through the living room while women arrange platters of food on the dining table, transforming my fortress into a home.

"Uncle Xander, can I see your room?" Mikhail asks, appearing at my elbow.

"After dinner," I promise, ruffling his hair.

"Your mother would kill me if I let you wander around unsupervised."

"I wouldn't touch anything," he protests, but the gleam in his eyes suggests otherwise.

Besides, I have too many hidden surprises I'm sure Irina would be livid about if he went in there alone.

Anya joins her brother, eyes bright with excitement.

"Aunty Nadya says the baby will be here in a few months. Will he sleep in a crib or a bed?"

"A crib first," Nadya answers from across the room, her hand resting on the slight swell of her belly.

She's so tiny, it'simpossible to hide the small bump already poking out.

"Babies need cribs until they're old enough to climb out."

She's radiant tonight, dressed in deep blue that brings out the color of her eyes.

Almost two months pregnant and glowing with health that erases the memory of her bruised and battered face when I pulled her from that bakery.

The Sokolov scars have faded into history, leaving only the future we're building together.

Igor stands by the window, nursing a glass of vodka and looking uncomfortable in civilian clothes.

He's the only member of my organization present tonight, invited because he's the closest thing I have to family outside the Bratva.

His weathered face shows traces of amusement as he watches the chaos unfold.

"Never thought I'd see you playing house," he comments when I join him.

"Neither did I," I admit.

"But here we are."

"The boss wants to meet with you next week. Questions about your recent… lifestyle changes."

The reminder of organizational politics dampens my mood slightly.

Leonid has been patient with my withdrawal from active operations, but patience has limits.

Eventually, he'll demand I choose between the life I've built with Nadya and the obligations I swore to uphold.

After Nadya came home, I reported back to him that Sokolov was dead and his organization was dismantled.

Then I told him how I did it, and I bore the wrath of a dozen lectures in one spitting match.

But he cooled to the relative temperature of the sun, and since then he's been civil, like he put it all behind us. I just don't know what he's going to expect from me to make amends now.