Page 47 of Accidental Bratva Daddy

As the evening progresses, I find myself increasingly aware of how right this feels. The way Elena fusses over the temperature of the borsch, insisting it needs more dill. The way Alina teases Natalia about her pregnancy cravings. The easy flow of conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter and shared memories.

For the first time since my parents were murdered, I feel part of a real family. Not the cold, calculated alliances of the mafia world, but something warm and genuine. Something worth protecting at all costs.

Looking around the table, I see the future I want for our children. Igor and Nadezhda will grow up surrounded by love, untouched by the violence that shaped my life. They'll have Sunday dinners with their grandmother and aunt, birthday celebrations filled with laughter instead of tension, holidays unmarred by the shadow of criminal enterprises.

"You're awfully quiet," Natalia murmurs, her hand finding mine under the table. "Everything okay?"

I squeeze her fingers gently, bringing them to my lips for a quick kiss. "Everything's perfect, my love."

And it is. Or at least, as perfect as our complicated lives can be. There will always be challenges—my past isn't something that can be erased with a simple retirement announcement. But looking at my wife, at her family that's become mine, I know we can handle whatever comes next.

Because this, right here, is worth fighting for. Worth dying for, if necessary. But more importantly, worth living for.

The sound of Alina's laughter draws my attention back to the conversation. She's telling a story about Natalia's first fashion show, complete with dramatic hand gestures that have everyone in stitches. My wife's cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, but she's laughing too, her whole face lit up with joy.

This is what family should be, I realize. Not power plays and betrayal, not violence wrapped in loyalty's clothing. Just love, pure and simple. Complicated sometimes, messy often, but real.

As I watch Elena pull Natalia into a tight embrace, whispering something that makes my wife's eyes fill with happy tears, I make a silent vow. Our children will never know the life I lived. They'll grow up in the light of days like this—surrounded by laughter, secure in the knowledge that they are loved.

And anyone who tries to threaten that peace will learn exactly why I was the most feared man in Moscow. Because while I may be retired, some instincts never fade.

But for now, I push those darker thoughts aside and focus on the warmth of the moment. On Natalia's smile, on Elena's acceptance, on Alina's infectious laughter. On the future we're building, one family dinner at a time.

This is home. This is family. This is everything I never knew I needed until Natalia crashed into my life and turned my world upside down.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

EPILOGUE

Natalia

Two years can change everything, and nothing at all.

The glittering ballroom of Moscow's most exclusive hotel buzzes with energy as I glide through the crowd, accepting congratulations and fielding questions about my new baby collection. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the sea of fashion industry elites who've come to celebrate the successful runway show. The air is thick with expensive perfume, champagne, and possibility.

My own dress—a silk creation in deep burgundy—swishes around my legs as I move. I designed it myself, of course, part of my new "Mother & Me" line that's already generating buzz. The critics are calling it revolutionary—sustainable, affordable luxury that doesn't compromise on style.

"Mrs. Volkova!" Marina, our nanny, approaches with Igor and Nadezhda in tow. My heart melts at the sight of my babies, now active toddlers who've inherited the best of both Luka and me.Igor with his father's intense blue eyes and my auburn curls, Nadezhda with her dark hair and my green eyes. They're dressed in pieces from my collection—clothes designed with both style and practicality in mind.

"Mama!" Nadezhda squeals, making grabby hands at me. I scoop her up, pressing kisses to both their faces as Igor hugs my legs.

"Have they been good?" I ask Marina, though I already know the answer. Despite their spirited personalities, our twins are surprisingly well-behaved.

"Angels, as always," Marina assures me. "But it's past their bedtime."

I give them each one more kiss, breathing in their sweet baby smell. "Goodnight, my darlings. Mama and Papa will come check on you later."

As Marina leads them away, I catch Luka watching us from his position at the bar. Even after two years, the sight of him still makes my heart skip. He cuts an imposing figure in his black suit, the fabric emphasizing his broad shoulders and muscular build. The dangerous edge that made him Moscow's most feared man still lingers in his bearing, though these days he channels that intensity into legitimate business ventures.

I'm about to join him when I hear it—whispered words that slice through the pleasant hum of conversation.

"Her uncle was Kirill, you know? She has some nerve trying to make her brand a household name with those mafia ties. She should be ashamed."

The speakers are two women I vaguely recognize from the fashion circuit, huddled near the bar with their heads benttogether like conspiring schoolgirls. My smile never falters as I approach them, chin held high.

"Ladies," I interrupt smoothly, taking satisfaction in the way they startle. "I couldn't help but overhear your... concerns." I meet their wide-eyed stares with unwavering confidence. "Let me be clear: my uncle has nothing to do with me. My father, the incredible man he was, spent his life protecting us from Viktor. And thanks to his efforts, Viktor's organization is gone."

The words hang in the air like crystal—sharp, clear, and impossible to ignore. The women flush with embarrassment, mumbling apologies before scurrying away.

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