Chapter 30 Five Years Later The late afternoon sun spills golden light across the backyard, warm and lazy as it stretches over the tops of the trees. A soft breeze rustles the leaves above us, and the scent of fresh-cut grass lingers in the air. I sink deeper into my lounge chair, resting my head against Sergei's shoulder as the sound of our daughter's laughter rings out over the lawn. She tears across the grass, bubble wand aloft, a string of shimmering orbs catching the light in her wake. Her chubby legs pump as fast as they can, dark curls bouncing with every stride and a joy so pure it threatens to split me wide open. Our daughter, Anya, is only four, but she's already fearless and dramatic, and she knows exactly how to wrap her father around her little finger. "She's going to sleep hard tonight," I murmur, smiling as she squeals after the last of her bubbles. Sergei chuckles beside me, low and fond. "I don't know about that." He sighs. "She's got your energy." "And she's got your stubbornness," I concede. "Maybe we'll let Grandma put her to bed tonight." He hums in agreement and presses a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering there a second longer than necessary. "You okay?" I nod, a sigh slipping out as contentment settles deep in my bones. "More than okay. I'm happy." And I mean it. Completely, wholly, undeniably happy. We've built something rare and precious with our little family. Anya is happy and healthy, and our son, Nikolai, has just turned one. Liliya is woven into their days, and Semion has stayed blessedly silent. I couldn't ask for more. Sergei shifts slightly and wraps his arm tighter around my shoulders, his fingers gently rubbing along my arm. I smile, tipping my head up to look at him. "You? The great and powerful pakhan is surprised by domestic bliss?" He smirks. "Careful. That sounds dangerously close to teasing your husband." I laugh. "I wouldn't dream of it." He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, yet the warmth in his expression softens every hard edge. It reminds me of the day we got married. It's been three years since we stood on the Amalfi Coast, surrounded by our families, the ocean behind us and a lifetime ahead. The sun slid toward the horizon as we spoke our vows, gilding the water until it gleamed like blown glass. My dress blew in the breeze, and Sergei looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. It's one of my favorite memories. That day marked the beginning of a new chapter, not just as husband and wife, but as partners, truly and fully. He promised me forever, and every single day since, he's kept that promise. "Any updates on work?" I ask gently, even though I already know the answer. He's still the pakhan, and I've long since made peace with that. I never asked him to change for me. I just asked for honesty. And he gave me exactly that-every unvarnished piece of himself. "It's been another quiet week," he says, his voice calm. "Deals have successfully been closed. Everyone's staying in their lane." "Good." I pause. "You know I always worry." He nods, brushing his knuckles along my jaw. "I know. But you don't have to. Not now. I've got good people in place. And more importantly, I've got something worth staying alive for." A lump rises in my throat, and I glance back out to where Anya has collapsed in the grass, laughing up at the sky. The sun catches her face, her dimples, the little gap between her front teeth. She's pure magic. "I never thought I'd be this person," I admit quietly. "I used to think I had to choose between a life I loved and being a mother." "You don't have to choose," he says simply. "You're both. You're incredible at both." After Anya was born, I stayed home, soaking up every second of motherhood. But over time, I found myself missing the work I loved, helping people, offering care, and making a difference. Sergei helped me launch a home-care service that lets me do both. I visit patients in their homes now, mostly elderly or recovering patients who need a nurse and a warm presence. It's fulfilling, and it fits into the life we've built. Anya stays with her grandmother when I'm out. Liliya's health has completely rebounded, and she's become the most doting, protective babushka in the world. Sergei and I host Sunday dinners now. Every week, no matter what. His family, my family, Mia, and her new boyfriend, who works in finance and blushes every time she flirts with him in front of us. We cook together, laugh, drink wine, and sit around the long table in our dining room. The house hums with warmth and joy. "You've given me more than I ever thought I could have," I whisper. "Not just the house or the business or even Anya and Nikolai. You gave me the freedom to be myself. The safety to have a life I never could have even dreamed of." Sergei turns toward me, cupping my cheek with one large, warm hand. "You deserve it all, Nicole. And you've worked hard to achieve it. I just got lucky enough to be the man who gets to see it every day." My heart swells, and I lean into his touch. "I love you." "I love you too." He smiles. "More every day." Anya runs back over to us and climbs into my lap, still giggling as she wipes sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Mama! I made a bubble this big!" She spreads her arms wide, her eyes huge with excitement. "That's amazing, sweetheart," I say, kissing her head. "Papa, did you see?" "I saw, my dove," Sergei says, lifting her from my lap and cradling her against his chest. "I think that was a world record." Anya beams, always pleased to be the center of Sergei's attention. Sergei looks at me over her head, something soft and wonderstruck in his gaze. "I don't know what I did to deserve any of this," he murmurs. I rest my hand over his. "Whatever it was, I'm glad you did." We sit there for a while longer, the three of us tangled together under the fading sun, our world small and perfect. But the peace doesn't last very long. We hear the back door open, and footsteps on the patio. "The rest of the family will be here soon," Liliya calls out, Nikolai cooing in her arms. "You'd all better get washed up for dinner." Sergei turns to her, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "Of course, Mom," he responds, ever the dutiful son. "We'll just go get ready and be right down." She narrows her eyes, immediately suspicious. "You better be. I didn't spend two hours making dinner for nothing." "Promise," he says innocently. Anya jumps off our laps and runs to Liliya. "I don't need to get ready, Grandma. I'm ready for dinner!" She kisses Nikolai's little feet. "Come on, Niki, let's go get you ready for dinner!" "We'd better wash those hands, just to be safe," Liliya says, guiding Anya inside. We watch the three disappear inside, then Sergei turns to me and lowers his voice. "Does my wife have a spare second to accompany me to our bedroom? I have some unfinished business from last night." I flush instantly, smacking his chest lightly. "Sergei." "What?" he says, all faux innocence. "Can't a man show a little devotion to his beautiful, brilliant wife?" "Devotion, huh?" He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. "Desperate, adoring, aching devotion." He presses a theatrical hand to his heart. "I'm suffering, Nicole. Truly." I shake my head, grinning as my cheeks heat. "We don't have long." "Which is why we shouldn't waste another second." Before I can protest, he scoops me up in his arms with that signature blend of strength and grace, making me squeal. My arms go around his neck automatically, and I can't help but laugh. "Sergei! Put me down!" "Not a chance," he says smugly. "I have exactly seven minutes until dinner is served, and I intend to use them wisely." He starts walking toward the house, his long strides confident and unhurried despite the time crunch. Liliya watches us from the window with a familiar mix of exasperation and affection, shaking her head like she's given up trying to wrangle either of us. Inside, the house smells of rosemary and garlic, and my stomach rumbles. It's Sunday night, which means the long dining room table is already set with mismatched wine glasses. Mom and Dad are on their way, probably running late like usual and complaining about city traffic. Mia will be here too, hopefully with her boyfriend in tow. But for now, the house is ours. He carries me up the stairs like I weigh nothing, and I rest my head on his shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart under my palm. When we reach our bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind us and sets me down gently on the edge of the bed. "I missed you today," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "We've been together for the last hour," I tease. "It's not the same," he says, leaning in to kiss my temple. "I miss you when you're across the room. I miss you when I can't touch you. I miss you when I can't have you underneath me, squirming and writhing in pleasure." I smile, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Well, you have me now," I challenge. "Put your money where your mouth is." The moment stretches between us, tender and unhurried. He touches my face like he's still not used to having me here, still in awe that I chose him. And the truth is, I still can't believe how lucky we are either. His hands slide down to rest on my hips, and I let my forehead fall against his chest. "I love you," I whisper. He presses a kiss into my hair. "I love you more," he murmurs. And then his kisses trail lower and lower until he has me exactly where he wants me, squirming and writhing and crying out his name. We're a few minutes late to dinner, but we still beat my parents. Anya is happily chatting up Mia, who's always so enthralled by Anya's four-year-old speeches. She's sans boyfriend tonight, and I make a note to bring it up at our weekly lunch. When my parents finally arrive, we all sit down and happily eat the delicious roast chicken that Liliya made, a perfectly mismatched family. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...