Page 32 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)
LILLY
P eace feels like a foreign language.
One I’m just starting to learn. Still fumbling through the vowels. Still half-convinced it’s all a lie.
It’s been two weeks since Ivan and Nikolai came back from that meeting with Boris Kozlov. Two weeks of nothing. No gunshots in the distance. No cars trailing us down backroads. No threats veiled behind polite smiles.
Just quiet.
Just mornings with coffee and Nikolai’s bare chest and Chleo’s sleepy yawns.
Just evenings with dinner and cartoons and the soft hum of a life I never thought I’d have.
And now?
Now I’m staring down at a tiny pink plus sign that’s about to blow it all to hell.
Again.
Because apparently, peace isn't enough.
My body wants more.
His baby. Again.
Honestly—I do, too.
I stare at it, sitting on the edge of the bathtub in Nikolai's cabin. Our cabin now.
“Mama!” Chleo shouts from outside the door. “Dad is saying breakfast is ready.”
Dad.
The word still catches me sideways. The way Chleo says it makes it seem like something always meant to be.
“Coming, baby!” I shout, flushing the evidence. Wrap the test in toilet paper. Stuff it deep into the trash under used cotton pads and a half-empty mascara tube. I’ll tell Nikolai. Just… not with Chleo watching.
Not yet.
The kitchen smells like syrup and heaven. Nikolai’s at the stove. Chleo’s stacking strawberries into smiley faces on our plates. One for me. One for him. One for the man who somehow became ours.
It’s domestic. Ordinary.
Beautiful.
“You okay?” Nikolai’s voice cuts through my haze, low and full of heat.
His eyes find mine. They always do. The man misses nothing.
“Just tired,” I lie, planting a kiss on his stubbled jaw.
His hand finds my waist. Holds me there. Not hard. Not soft. Just his.
“You sure?”
“Later,” I whisper, lips brushing his skin, low enough that Chleo doesn’t hear.
A domestic life is a busy life. Later doesn’t come until a week after.
I find him on the porch one evening, staring out at the mountains like he’s waiting for a war to arrive with the morning mist.
His shirt’s half unbuttoned. Hair still damp from the shower. He’s brooding. Tense. Handsome.
I step behind him, wrap my arms around his waist. He doesn’t flinch. Just lowers his head, exhales slow like it hurts.
“They’re not coming, you know,” I whisper against his back.
“They always come.”
His voice is gravel. Rough with a lifetime of waiting for bad things to happen. With the FBI still on his heels, he’s only waiting for the other ball to drop.
As for me? I’m ready to let the past go. Even if they’ll come, we’ll handle it. Together.
There’s a whole bright future for us to look towards.
I turn him around. Look up into those storm-green eyes. My heart’s about to punch through my ribs.
“I need to tell you something.”
He watches me, unreadable. But I see the flicker—worry. Readiness. That part of him that braces for the worst.
“I’m pregnant.”
The silence stretches.
Then—
He smiles.
A real one. Slow. Deep. It hits his eyes. “You think I didn’t know?”
I blink. “What?”
He takes my face in his hands, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “Lilly, I've been watching you throw up every morning for a week. You've been turning green at the smell of coffee. And you fell asleep sitting up on the couch last night.”
“Why didn't you say anything?” I ask, tears pricking at my eyes.
“Waiting for you to be ready to tell me.”
He drops to his knees so fast it knocks the breath from my lungs. Hands splayed over my stomach. Lips soft against my skin.
“Hello in there,” he whispers, voice softer than I've ever heard it. “I'm your father.”
I hold back a choked sob.
“This baby…” His voice is reverent, fingers tracing circles on my stomach. “Ours.”
I nod. Tears bite the corners of my eyes.
“Time we get married, don’t you think?” he says, looks up at me with those gorgeous grey eyes.
I laugh. It comes out choked. “Yes.”
Just like that. No ring. No speech. Just the truth, warm between us.
He rises. Takes me into his arms. We hold each other. No words. Just breath. Just heartbeats.
The church in Fern Falls was built in 1892. Stained glass windows. Wooden pews polished to a shine. Flowers everywhere—roses and lilies and baby's breath turning the simple space into something magical.
I stand in the small room at the back, staring at my reflection in a full-length mirror. The dress is simple. White lace. Empire waist that hides the smallest suggestion of a bump.
“You look beautiful,” Rosa says, adjusting my veil. “Like a freaking fairy princess.”
I laugh. “A pregnant fairy princess marrying a Bratva enforcer. Tale as old as time.”
“The best kind of fairy tale,” she winks. “One with some spice.”
The door opens. Chleo peeks in, dressed in a tiny suit that makes my heart melt.
“Wow,” he breathes, eyes widening. “Mama, you look like an angel.”
I crouch down, careful not to wrinkle the dress. “And you look like the handsomest ring bearer ever.”
He grins, showing off the gap where his front tooth used to be. “Dad said I should come check on you. He's nervous.”
“Nikolai? Nervous?” I can't imagine it.
Chleo nods solemnly. “He keeps fixing his tie. Uncle Maksim told him to stop fidgeting before he strangles himself.”
I laugh, picturing the scene. “Tell him I'm ready whenever he is.”
As Chleo races off, Rosa helps me stand. “You ready for this? Marrying the most dangerous man in the mountain?”
“Former most dangerous man,” I correct. “And yes. I've never been more ready for anything.”
The music starts. Rosa squeezes my hand, then heads out to take her place as my maid of honor. I take a deep breath, pick up my bouquet, and step into the hallway.
The first thing I see when the doors open is Nikolai. Standing at the altar. Back straight. Eyes fixed on me like I'm the only person in the universe.
And then I notice the rest of it.
The church is full. Town on the left. Bratva on the right. Like the world's most awkward family reunion.
Mrs. Chen sits beside the mayor's wife, both of them eyeing the tattooed men in suits with expressions ranging from fascination to horror.
On the other side, Maksim stands as best man, flanked by three men I've never seen before. All built like brick walls. All watching the church entrance with the hypervigilance of men who expect trouble at any moment.
It should be terrifying. Should make me want to run.
Instead, I start walking.
Down the aisle.
Toward Nikolai.
Toward our future.
His eyes never leave mine. Not when I reach him. Not when we exchange vows. Not when he slides a simple gold band onto my finger next to the engagement ring he got me. A solid fucking diamond, if I ever saw one.
“I promise,” he says, voice low and sure, “to love you and protect you and our children until my last breath.”
And I know he will.
The reception is held at the town park. Fairy lights strung across the street. Music floating through the grounds.
It's chaos. Beautiful chaos.
Chleo races between tables with the mayor's grandson, high on cake and adventure.
The florist keeps crossing herself whenever she passes a table of Bratva men, their jackets carefully arranged to hide their weapons.
Rosa has cornered Maksim by the punch bowl, his stoic expression softening every time she laughs.
And Nikolai—my husband—stands by my side the whole time.
I slip my hand into his. “Happy?”
He pulls me against his side, presses a kiss to my temple. “More than I knew was possible.”
That's when Maksim approaches, something urgent in his expression.
“Lilly,” Maksim gestures for Nikolai and me to join him in a quiet corner.
“I told him to wait for the honeymoon to kill someone,” I deadpan.
Maksim grins. Hands me a folded sheet of paper.
“He’s clear.”
I blink. “What?”
“The charges. The warrants. All of it. Gone. Dmitri came through.”
The air rushes out of me.
Nikolai turns to me, face alight with something I've never seen before. Relief. Pure and complete.
“It's done,” he says, breaking into a smile. “Boris came through. The FBI has officially closed my case.”
“You're free,” I whisper, the implications hitting me all at once. “Completely free.”
He pulls me closer, hand sliding protectively over my stomach. “We all are.”
He pulls me into him. Kisses me hard. The crowd cheers.
Kids run between tables, stealing cupcakes. Mobsters raise crystal glasses. A grandma is whispering to her priest about “those suspicious Russians.”
It’s awkward.
It’s unusual.It’s perfect.
Because we’re here. We made it. And no one’s taking this life from us now. Not ever.