Page 51 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

"Well, what else is new?" Luca chimes in from the corner, unable to resist the jab.

"Shut up, Luca," Roman retorts, though his tone is light, tinged with the humor of a man who knows his faults all too well.

I watch the three of them, an oddball family created not by blood but by necessity and unspoken bonds. It's moments like these I realize that despite all the darkness we’ve endured, there's a light within us that refuses to be snuffed out.

I clear my throat, catching their attention as the laughter dies down. "Look, I appreciate all this," I start, gesturing to encompass the room, Roman’s recovery, and the collective effort that got us here. "But I need to be clear about something."

Their expressions sober, sensing the shift in my tone.

"I’m going to continue leading this syndicate. And I’m raising my baby as a single mother. That's non-negotiable," I state firmly, locking eyes with each of them in turn.

The room is quiet for a moment, everyone processing my words. I soften slightly, but my resolve doesn’t waver. "If you guys want in on this baby's life, you’re ‘uncles.’ Nothing more. You all matter equally to me, and I want this baby to love you all equally too."

Luca nods first, his agreement immediate and firm. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Lana."

Grigori’s nod is slower, more contemplative, but just as accepting. "You’re the boss, Lana. Always have been."

Roman’s expression is mixed, a hint of his old cockiness playing at the corners of his mouth. "Guess that makes us the coolest uncles in town, huh?"

I can't help but smile at that, despite the seriousness of the conversation. "Only if you can handle it," I challenge back.

Luca throws back his head and laughs. "Handle it? Lana, we've faced down barrages of bullets, survived betrayals and bombings, and we've danced with death more times than I can count." His grin is infectious as he adds, "A little diaper duty? We've got this."

Grigori's deep voice joins the mirthful moment. "Speak for yourself. I haven't changed a diaper since my nephew was born, and that was over a decade ago. Might need a refresher course."

Roman watches us, the pain in his eyes replaced with something softer, more vulnerable. He reaches out again, this time his hand steady as he places it over mine. "You're a force of nature, Lana. You'll be an incredible mother. And we’ll be here to support you—diapers and all."

There's warmth in the room now, the kind that feels like sunshine after a relentless storm. It seeps into my bones, making me feel strong again.

The door opens without warning, and Julia steps in. "Julia, I asked you to stay in bed and rest," I say, my tone more worried than stern.

She waves a dismissive hand, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Roman. "Bed's boring. Besides, I needed to see for myself how the hero of the hour was holding up."

Roman, looking more alive now, offers her a weak but genuine smile. "Hey, Jules. Looking better than me, I bet."

Julia sidles closer, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Not hard to do, considering you look like you've been in a brawl with a bear."

Luca chimes in, unable to resist adding to the teasing. "He’s always trying to show off. Even got shot to look tougher than the rest of us."

"Shame the bear didn’t know about his face being his moneymaker," Grigori jokes, making Roman roll his eyes.

Julia laughs, her presence bringing a refreshing burst of energy into the room. "Well, this bear-fighting, money-making face had us all scared for a minute there."

Turning serious for a moment, she reaches out, squeezing Roman’s hand. "Seriously though, thank you."

Roman squeezes back, his response softened with sincerity. "Anytime, Jules. You know that."

I watch this exchange, a warmth spreading through me. "Alright, everyone," I cut in, "let's let the man rest. He's had enough excitement for one day. Plus, we don’t want his head getting too big from all this hero talk."

"Too late for that," Julia quips.

We all laugh, but we stand to leave, letting Roman get the rest he needs. As we file out of the room, there's a pause in our steps, a collective moment where the camaraderie hangs tangible in the air.

At the doorway, I turn back one last time. "Rest up," I say with a nod toward Roman. "We've still got a war to win."

Roman's grin is all confidence and charm. "As if there was any doubt."

Epilogue

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