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Both sisters look at me. "When did you get wise?" Dalla asks.

"Must be Revna's influence."

"Must be," Revna agrees, but she's smiling.

After dinner, we migrate to the living room.

Dalla claims the massive sectional to spread out her sketches while Revna and I take the loveseat.

She curls into my side automatically now, fitting perfectly.

"Any regrets?" she asks quietly, watching her sister work.

"About?"

"This." She gestures vaguely. "The house, the marriage, being so close to my family."

"Only one regret."

She tenses slightly. "Which is?"

"That I waited so long to make you mine."

"Possessive bastard."

"Your possessive bastard," I correct, pulling her closer.

"I've been working on something," she says eventually. "For law review."

"Yeah?"

"About organized crime legislation. The intersection of family loyalty and legal obligation." She glances up at me. "It's theoretical, obviously. No names or specifics."

"Obviously."

"But I might need to pick your brain about hypothetical scenarios."

"Hypothetically, I'm available for brain-picking."

"Good." She yawns. "But not tonight. Tonight I just want to not think about law or crime or any of it."

"What do you want to think about?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"I can work with that."

Dalla eventually heads to her wing, claiming how tired she is, but really just giving us privacy.

We move to our bedroom—massive space with a balcony overlooking the pool neither of us uses enough.

"Oh," Revna says as she's getting ready for bed. "We're having Sunday dinner this week. Both families since your parents are in town."

"Lord help us all."

"It wasn't that bad last time."

"Your father and mine planned a hunting trip. They're bonding over killing snakes in the Everglades."

"Male bonding is weird," she agrees, sliding into bed beside me.

I pull her close, marveling as always that she's here.

That she chooses to be here. "What are our mothers plotting?"

"Grandchildren, probably. Mom's been dropping hints."

"Already?"

"Apparently three months is long enough to wait." She traces patterns on my chest. "Mom and the other ladies at the club have a bet on how long we can last. Charm gives us five years, since we’re both professionals and have careers.."

"Generous of her."

"Right?" She yawns again. "I'm too tired to think about babies anyway."

"Sleep," I murmur, kissing her forehead.

She's out within minutes, exhausted from law school.

I stay awake longer, thinking about Bembe, about how the MC is going to snap sooner rather than later, about how different everything is from what I imagined.

Three months ago, I thought I'd have a wife who tolerated me at best.

Instead, I have a partner who challenges me, supports me, loves me despite knowing exactly what I am.

My phone buzzes—Mikhail with a late update.

The club vote happened tonight.

Unanimous decision to handle the Bembe situation permanently.

Good.

Let them have their revenge.

One less problem for me to manage, one less threat to Revna's safety.

I set the phone aside and pull my wife closer.

She mumbles something about "procedural requirements" and burrows into my chest.

***

The next morning, I wake before Revna again.

It's Saturday, which means she'll sleep until at least nine.

I slip out of bed carefully, grab my workout clothes, and head to our home gym.

The equipment here is better than most commercial gyms—a necessity when your profession occasionally requires physical persuasion.

I'm halfway through my routine when Dalla appears in the doorway, looking unusually awake for seven AM.

"Can't sleep?" I ask between sets.

"Nervous about Monday." She fidgets with her water bottle. "What if your mom realizes I'm not actually talented? What if the other interns are better?"

"Impossible."

"You haven't seen the other interns."

"Don't need to." I finish my set, grab my towel. "Mum doesn't do charity. If she accepted you, it's because you earned it."

"Or because I'm family now."

"That might have gotten you the interview. The acceptance was all you." I study her—she looks young, uncertain. It's easy to forget she's only twenty-one. "Want some advice?"

"From my brother-in-law, the crime lord?"

"From someone who knows about imposter syndrome."

She blinks. "You have imposter syndrome?"

"Had. When I first started taking over some operations from my father. Kept waiting for someone to realize I was just playing dress-up in my dad's world."

"What changed?"

"I stopped trying to be him and started being myself. Turns out, my way worked too. Different, but effective." I head for the water cooler. "You're not trying to be another designer. You're trying to be Dalla. That's what Mum saw."

"When did you get so philosophical?"

"Your sister's influence. She makes me think about things beyond the Bratva, and all the things that come along with it."

"She's good for you," Dalla observes. "You're less... scary than before."

"Only around family."

"Still counts." She pauses at the door. "Thanks. For the talk. For letting me live here. For not being the asshole I thought you'd be."

"Give it time. I'm sure I'll disappoint."

"Somehow I doubt that." She grins. "I'm making pancakes. You want some?"

"Sure."

By the time Revna wanders down at 9:30, Dalla and I have demolished a stack of pancakes and are debating the merits of various fashion houses.

Revna stops in the doorway, hair a mess, wearing one of my shirts and shorts, looking between us with amusement. "My husband and my sister, bonding over breakfast. Should I be worried?"

"Extremely," Dalla says. "We're planning your surprise birthday party."

"My birthday's not for nine months."

"Hence the surprise element."

Revna rolls her eyes but kisses us both on the cheek before heading for coffee. "What are you actually discussing?"

"Fashion week," I answer. "Apparently, I'm attending with Mum this year."

"You are?" Revna looks delighted. "Mr. 'I Only Wear Black Suits' is going to fashion week?"

"Mum insists. Something about supporting Dalla's debut. She expects you to be there as well."

"Debut?" Dalla squeaks. "What debut?"

"Did she not mention? The interns always get to show one piece at the spring show. It's tradition."

Dalla goes pale. "I think I'm going to throw up."

"You'll be fine," Revna assures her, sitting beside her. "Remember when we were kids and you made clothes for our Barbies? You've been designing since you were six."

"Barbie clothes and fashion week are a little bit different, Rev."

"Same idea. Just more fabric."

They dissolve into sister chatter about designs and deadlines.

I watch them, struck again by how natural this feels.

Three months, and we've built something I never expected—a real home, a real family.

My phone rings.

Rhiannon, which means it's either very good or very bad news.

"Brother dear," she says cheerfully. "Guess who just texted me?"

"The Pope?"

"Close. Oly."

I tense. "What did he want?"

"To apologize, apparently. Very formal, very unlike him. I quote: 'Please tell Doran I'm sorry for the wedding incident. I'm receiving help and hope to make amends when appropriate.'"

"That doesn't sound like him at all."

"No shit. I'm guessing Uncle Liam had a chat with him. The kind that involves pliers."

"Rhiannon."

"What? We both know how Uncle L handles shite like this." Her voice softens. "But hey, at least he's staying away. That's something."

"Yeah. That's something."

"How's married life? Rev still tolerating your cunty arse?"

"Surprisingly well."

"Good. I like her. Don't fuck it up." She pauses. "Oh, and tell Dalla I'm excited about Monday. Mom's been gushing about her talent for weeks."

"Will do."

After I hang up, Revna's watching me. "Olyvar?"

"Apparently apologizing through Rhiannon. Claims he's getting help."

"Do you believe it?"

"I believe Uncle Liam made it clear what happens if he comes near us again." I reach for her hand. "He's not our problem anymore."

"Our problem," she repeats with a small smile. "I like that we have joint custody of problems now."

"Oh, you’re not getting rid of me. I am sorry for my brother, though."

"Speaking of siblings," Dalla interjects, "I should probably tell Mom about the whole dropping pre-med thing. In person. Before she hears from someone else."

"Want backup?" Revna offers.

"Please. She can't kill me if you're there."

They make plans for when we’re having Sunday dinner tomorrow night.

The rest of the day passes in the blink of an eye.

Revna studies while Dalla sketches and I pretend to read but really just watch my wife.

We order Chinese for dinner and argue about movie choices.

Sunday morning brings conversations about dinner tonight, with both of our families.

"Your mother wants to bring dessert," Revna informs me, hanging up the phone. "And Rhiannon's bringing someone."

"Someone?"

"That's all Greer would say. Someone."

"This should be interesting."

"Your family's always interesting. Mine just gets drunk and tells embarrassing stories."

"Mine does that too. We just have better alcohol."

She laughs, crawling back into bed. "Fair point."

Sunday dinner arrives too quickly.

Both families descend on our house like a friendly invasion.

My parents bring wine worth more than most cars.

Revna's parents bring enough food to feed an army.

"You've done something different," Fern says, admiring the living room. "It looks... lived in."

"That's all Rev," I answer. "She insisted on making it a home, not a showpiece."

"Smart girl." She pats my arm. "Though I already knew that."

Our fathers disappear to discuss their hunting trip.

Our mothers commandeer the kitchen even with Dalla's protests.

Rhiannon arrives fashionably late with her "someone"—a local politician named Peter who looks like the kind of man who will work his way up the ladder.

"How long?" Revna whispers to me.

"Three months, apparently. She kept it quiet."

"Smart. Your family's intimidating."

"Our family," I correct. "You're one of us now."

Dinner is chaos.

Conversations overlap, stories interrupt each other, wine flows freely.

"This is nice," Revna says quietly, leaning into me while our families argue about something ridiculous. "Messy and loud and slightly dysfunctional, but nice."

"Better than nice," I agree.

Later, after everyone's gone and Dalla's retreated to her wing, Revna and I stand on our bedroom balcony.

The night air carries hints of jasmine from the garden below.

"I love you, little wolf.."

"I love you too."

We head inside as the night grows cool.

Tomorrow is going to bring a lot of change for all of us—Dalla starts her internship, Revna has classes, I have an empire to run.

The MC will move on Bembe soon, setting off ripples we'll have to navigate.

But tonight, in this house we've made a home, with her sister safe in the east wing and our families learning to blend, everything is exactly as it should be.

"Come to bed," Revna says, already pulling back the covers. "Tomorrow's going to be insane."

"Every day's insane in our life."

"True. But it's our insane."

I join her in bed, pulling her close.

Three months of marriage, and I still can't believe she's here.

That she chooses to be here.

"What are you thinking?" she asks, tracing patterns on my chest.

"That arranged marriages might not be fairy tales, but sometimes they become something better."

"Like what?"

"Like this. Like us. Like everything I never knew I wanted."

She kisses me, slow and deep. "Smooth talker."

"Only with you."

"Better be."

As sleep takes us, I think about how much has changed.

Three months ago, I was a man obsessed with control, convinced I could orchestrate a perfect life through watching everything I could and manipulation.

Now I'm a husband who's learned that the best things in life can't be controlled—only cherished.

Revna makes a soft sound in her sleep, burrowing closer.

Somewhere in the house, Dalla's probably still sketching, preparing for tomorrow.

On the nightstand, both our phones sit silent—no immediate threats, no urgent crises.

Just peace.

It won't last—it never does in our world. But for now, in this moment, in this home we've built together, it’s everything I could ever ask for.