Page 170 of The Wrong Brother

She laughs through suspiciously bright eyes. She cries more freely these days—not just out of frustration or sadness, but laughter, happiness, joy at our son’s antics.

“I’ll make them see.”

“You can’t force people, Rus.”

“I own an empire.”

She laughs harder, rolling her eyes.

“I’m serious. If necessary, I will deploy every resource at my disposal.”

“Against my parents?”

“Respectfully.”

She shakes her head. “You are unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Roman lets out a tiny, sleepy sigh between us, completely unaware that he’s become the center of both our worlds. Emma strokes one finger across his impossibly soft cheek.

“I still can’t believe he’s ours.”

“Neither can I.”

I look down at my son.

Then at the woman I love.

For years I chased revenge because I believed it would make me whole. I was wrong.

Home was never a place.

It was always going to be this. And I never could’ve imagined it.

After a long silence, I ask the question that has lingered in the back of my mind since the day we met.

“Do you love me even though I’m a criminal?”

Emma doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reaches up and brushes a strand of hair away from my forehead. Then she smiles.

“Do you love me even though I used to be FBI?”

I laugh softly, leaning in and pressing my lips against her wrist.

“Very much.”

“So do I.”

Roman yawns, already drifting back to sleep, and I tighten my arm around Emma while holding our son securely against my chest. Outside, dawn is just beginning to crest.

For the first time in my life, I find that I don’t mind waiting for tomorrow.

* * *

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