Page 151 of Secret Heir

“We’re agreed.” She kisses me. “Although I won’t lie, I was worried you would pick some pretty harsh names like Olga or Vladimir.”

“What’s wrong with those names?” I ask with bewilderment. “They’re excellent names.”

Aria fixes me with a look. “Olga sounds like an old lady and Vladimir…” she trails off and looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s not a name I would like.”

“You would have dealt with it as you told me I could pick the names,” I tease. “I change my mind. I like Olga and Vlad better.”

Aria smacks me with a pillow and I tackle her carefully into the mattress, pinning her down, her laughter sweet music to my ears.

For the first time in my life, the future doesn’t feel dangerous. It feels full of possibility.

Life settles into a comfortable rhythm over the next few weeks.

We buy a house in Westchester and it’s a beautiful four-bedroom colonial in a quiet neighborhood with good schools. It has a big backyard, a proper office for me, and it’s far enough from Brighton Beach to feel removed from the Bratva world but close enough that we can still see Nikolai when needed.

Daniel is nervous about starting at a new school, but he’s also excited. He’s eight now and growing up fast. The trauma from the poisoning and car bomb has left marks. He’s more cautious than other kids his age and still has nightmares sometimes. But slowly and carefully, he’s making friends.

There’s a boy in his class named Colton who also loves pirates and adventure books. They eat lunch together and make up elaborate games at recess. Rounding out their little duo is a girl named Charlotte, who’s good at math and helps Daniel and Colton with their homework sometimes. In return, Daniel helps her with reading comprehension.

I pick him up from school every day and make a point of being there so Daniel always knows that Papa will always come for him.

“How was school, solnyshko?” I ask as he climbs into the car, his school uniform shirt wrinkled and his cheeks flushed.

“Good! We learned about the Revolutionary War in history, and Colton and I built a fort during recess. Charlotte punched a kid in the nose because he pulled her pigtails.”

“Good for her,” I tell him, listening to him chatter about his day, my heart full. This is what childhood should be. Friends and forts, not fear and trauma.

I still consult occasionally with Bratva operations when Nikolai needs me, but mostly I focus on my family and legitimate business investments. I’m now in real estate and while I’m still in import-export, it’s the actual legal kind. I also dabble in some tech startups that Nikolai’s financial advisors recommended.

I’m becoming a legitimate businessman. A husband. A father.

Life has settled into a pattern I never thought I’d have. I’m in the garage of our house, organizing tools. It’s a Saturday morning, warm and sunny. Through the open garage door I can hear birds singing, and neighbors walk their dogs and push strollers.

This is domestic bliss.

Daniel comes running in from the backyard, grass-stained and breathless with excitement.

“Papa! Papa, guess what!”

I turn to him, relaxing at the joy on his face. “What is it, solnyshko?”

“Colt invited me to his birthday party next weekend! Can I go? Please? His mom said she’d call Mama to make sure it was okay, but I wanted to ask you first.”

“Of course you can go.” I ruffle his hair. “We’ll get him a good present.”

“Thanks, Papa!” He hugs me quickly, then runs back outside.

I watch him go, my chest tight with emotion. Birthday parties. Normal childhood things.

“Maksim!” Aria’s voice calls from the house. “Can you help me with something?”

I finish organizing the last shelf of tools and head inside. The house smells like vanilla and cinnamon and I find Aria in the living room with fabric swatches for curtains, her face slightly flushed from exertion.

“What do you think?” She holds up two different samples. “The cream or the beige?”

I glance at them both. “They look the same to me,” I say dryly.

She laughs and whacks me with a sample. “They’re completely different! The cream has warm undertones and the beige is more neutral.” She rolls her eyes good naturedly. “Never mind. I’ll pick.”