Page 103 of The Pakhan's Captive
“Uncle Lyosha!” he yells, launching himself at Lyosha’s legs.
Lyosha shakes off whatever ghost is haunting him and hoists the boy into the air. “There he is! The future of the family. Do you miss me, kid?”
“Do you bring it?” Theo asks, his dark eyes—so much like Razvan’s—gleaming with a singular, relentless focus. “Dad saysI have to wait until I’m older, but you say when you come back you’ll give me a gun.”
The entire room goes silent. I feel Razvan’s hand tighten on my waist. Dmitri, who is standing by the door, lets out a pained groan.
“No!” the entire family shouts in unison.
“Theo, we talk about this,” Razvan says, stepping forward with his ‘Dad’ voice. “You get a wooden sword. Maybe a bow when you’re six. No guns.”
“But I want to protect Mama!” Theo argues, crossing his small arms and pouting with the exact same stubbornness Razvan uses during council meetings. “The baby is coming and he’s going to be small. I need to be the shield!”
“You’ll protect the little one with your brain, Theodore,” I say, reaching out to pinch his cheek. “And by not giving your mother a heart attack before the baby is even born.”
“I want a gun,” Theo mutters under his breath, looking at Lyosha for support.
“Don’t look at me, kid,” Lyosha laughs, setting him down. “Your father would bury me in the garden if I give you a sidearm before you can even tie your shoes.”
The foyer dissolves into a beautiful, chaotic mess. Theo begins chasing a golden retriever, Lyosha starts regaling Dmitri with stories of the north, and the household staff hurries about, trying to manage the whirlwind that follows the Volkov men.
In the middle of the noise, in the middle of the madness that is our life, I feel a familiar warmth wrap around me. Razvan steps behind me, his large chest a solid wall against my back. He wrapshis arms over my stomach, his hands resting protectively over our unborn child. He leans down, his breath warm against my ear.
“They’re a lot, aren’t they?” he whispers.
“They’re a disaster,” I agree, leaning back into him, letting the weight of the day melt away.
“But they’re our disaster,” he says. He turns me around in his arms, forcing me to look at him. The gold light of the setting sun hits his face, softening the hard lines of the Pakhan, leaving only the man who stays by my hospital bed and cries for my life. “I love you, Lena. Every frustrated second of it.”
“I love you too, you hovering, obsessive, wonderful man,” I tease.
He kisses me then—a deep, slow promise that tastes like home. Behind us, Theo shouts something about wanting to outside with the dog, Lyosha laughs, and the house feels full.
Five years ago, we were a lie. But today, under the watchful eyes of the men who would die for us, we are finally just a family.
