Even if the fucking instructions make no sense.
I pick up the next piece and stare at it. I try to figure out how it fits into the sea of parts laid out in front of me.
“Goddamn it.”
I can’t help but think of Elena and what she would think about her baby having babies. Her daughter is alive. Safe. Carrying my children.
But what kind of world am I bringing these boys into?
The same world that killed Elena. The same world that killed my mother. A world where love is dangerous and loyalty is bought with blood.
I tighten the first bolt, then the second.
My sons will have better. They’ll have a father who comes home. Who protects them without making them into weapons.
I can give them that. I can be better than my father was. Sofia and I have talked about this extensively. We are who we are, but our world does not have to bleed into our children’s lives. Not until they’re older. And if we can persuade them not to go into the family business, we will.
Two hours later, I finally finish. The first crib stands complete, sturdy and level. I give it a shake to test the stability. It doesn’t budge.
Victory.
The second crib will wait.
When I enter our bedroom, I expect Sofia to be asleep. Instead, she’s sitting up in bed, one hand on her swollen belly, her face scrunched in discomfort.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask, stripping off my shirt.
“The boys won’t stop moving.” She shifts position, trying to get comfortable. “I swear they’re practicing kickboxing in there.”
I cross to the bed and sit beside her. My hand replaces hers on her stomach. I feel the movement immediately—strong kicks against my palm.
“They’re active,” I say.
“That’s one word for it.” She looks at me, her eyes searching my face. “Where were you? You’re sweating.”
I sigh. “I got my ass kicked by a crib, and I’m not happy about it.”
Her lips twitch. “I told you we can hire someone. We have time.”
“The instructions were written by sadists.”
She laughs. “My big bad pakhan, defeated by baby furniture.”
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.” She reaches out and cups my face. “I’ll help you in the morning if you want.”
“I finished one.”
“Oh.” She looks surprised. “Well, look at you. Domesticated and everything.”
“Don’t push it.”
“What are you going to do when we have to assemble the second crib? Cry?”
“I’m going to hire someone.”
“No, you won’t. You’re going to suffer through it just like you did tonight. Because that’s what dads do.”