Page 108 of Emerald Vices

“Legally,” Andrey explains. “Since Natalia and I would adopt you.”

Andrey was so right. I agree. I absolutely, undoubtedly agree.

I reach for Misha’s hand, my chest hitching with emotion. “You already feel like mine, Misha. But like Andrey said, no pressure. It’s up to you.”

Misha’s eyes are glassy. He looks down at the twins. “But you already have the perfect family. You have two brand new babies—a boy and a girl. What would you want with a fourteen-year-old whose dad is…?”

His voice trails off, and I grab his chin, forcing his eyes to mine. “You’re brave and loyal. You’re kind and thoughtful and smart. What parents wouldn’t want a child like that? Our family is only complete with you in it, Misha.”

A tear rolls down his cheek as he turns slowly to Andrey.

“I feel the same way, Misha. We would love to make you an official part of this family—if you’ll have us.”

Misha opens his mouth, but he collapses into tears and I grab him and hold him against my shoulder as he cries freely.

“We’re gonna take that as a yes,” I whisper into his ear.

He laughs through his sobs, and I meet Andrey’s eyes over the top of Misha’s head.

We have our answer.

45

ANDREY

Sarra, like her mother, is still asleep when Grigory starts to stir. The girl sleeps like the dead. Remi can be barking at a squirrel outside the window while Grigory wails his little head off, and Sarra won’t wake up.

Grigory, on the other hand, takes after me. He’s restless once the sun falls, which is how we find ourselves wandering through the moonlit gardens together night after night. He seems to like the sound of my voice, though, so I’ve told him about how his grandmother designed the gardens. How she adored them as much as he seems to.

“You would’ve loved her,” I tell him, kissing his head as we meander between trees and around flower beds.

Ivan successfully moved my mother to a new care facility three states over. I don’t want to believe my father would really attack her, but I know better than to underestimate him. She has a full-scale security team and around-the-clock care.

The daily updates from the staff aren’t exactly uplifting, though. They’re full of temper tantrums, refusals to take her medications, long bouts of confusion. The transfer has her on edge, and she’s been asking for her own mother a lot.

I understand the impulse. As the world around me gets messier, I want my family closer—Natalia, the twins, Misha. Hell, I get antsy when the dog is out of sight for too long. If I thought there was any chance it would work, I’d build hundred-foot tall walls and never leave this property.

But the danger has a way of slipping through the cracks. The only way to keep them safe is to root it out.

I walk Grigory through the corner of the garden where my mother spent most of her time. It looks different now than it did back then. The gardeners keep things trimmed and weeded, but I preferred the wildness of my mother’s gardening. Regardless, I can still feel her here on quiet nights like these.

“Hopefully, one day, you’ll get to meet her,” I tell him. “She should be here with all of us. She’s part of the family.”

I point out different flowers to him and talk about constellations I know nothing about until Grigory lets out a whimper I recognize immediately.

“Hungry already?” I kiss the top of his head and walk back to the house. “Papa’s got you.”

We trudge back inside and into my office, and I prepare a bottle of formula. Then we settle back onto the couch as he feeds.

He’s halfway through his milk when his hand flutters against my chest, curling into my t-shirt as his eyes start to get heavy. Nothing ever feels quite so pure.

I used to spend sleepless nights in this office, worrying over territories and enemies. It feels like a different life. A different man.

Not for long, though.

Grigory’s eyes are almost closed when my phone lights up, vibrating on the coffee table. Shura’s name appears on the screen, and that old life comes flooding back.

Trying not to bother my son, I answer quietly. “It’s late, which means this can’t be good.”

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