“Bright and early.”
He’s moved out. Anton lives with us full time now. Security. Babysitter. And the best baby-tickler.
It’s been a year since the twins were born, and sometimes I still can’t believe this is my life. My priorities have changed dramatically. I managed to finally finish my degree but only because I hated leaving it unfinished with one semester left. My diploma is in a drawer somewhere in Sergei’s office. I earned it. And one day when we’re hounding our kids to get an education, I can be a good example.
“How was your day?” Anton asks as we walk up the steps.
“Good. You?”
He chuckles. “I’ll be in my apartment.”
The moment I open the door, I hear them. Two distinct cries of outrage coming from the living room.
I smile. The boys have opinions about everything these days, and they’re not shy about expressing them.
I follow the sound and find Sergei on the floor, surrounded by plastic pieces that I assume are supposed to form some kind of toy. Both boys are in their playpen, standing at the edge, watching their father with matching expressions of betrayal.
“Dada!” Kirill shouts, pointing at Sergei accusingly.
“Dada!” Anton echoes, not to be outdone.
Sergei looks up at me, his hair disheveled, frustration clear on his face. “These instructions are in French. Why the fuck are the instructions in French?”
I can’t help but laugh. The F-bombs should probably stop, but there are moments, like this one, that require a little colorful language. We’ll protect our boys from a lot of things, but four-letter words will not be one of them.
“That’s not the point.” He holds up two identical-looking pieces. “These are supposed to connect, but they don’t fit. Nothing fits.”
I set my bag down and cross to the playpen. Both boys immediately reach for me, their anger at Sergei taking too long to give them their new toy is forgotten.
“Mama! Mama!” They chant in unison.
I scoop up Kirill first, pressing kisses to his face. He giggles and grabs a fistful of my hair. Then I reach for Anton with my other arm, somehow managing to hold both of them.
They’re getting so big. So heavy. I don’t need a gym when I’ve got boys to lift.
“How was your day?” I ask Sergei, looking down at him still surrounded by toy pieces.
“Besides being defeated by yet another stupid toy? Fine.” He stands, stretching. “Kirill had a meeting with the Moscow contacts. Everything’s in place for the new distribution network.”
“The legitimate one?” I clarify.
“The completely legitimate one,” he confirms. “Clean money. Clean product. No organs involved.”
I smile. We’re getting there. Slowly but surely, we’re transforming the Baranov empire into something I can be proud of. Something my sons can inherit without the blood that stained my father’s legacy.
“What about you?” he asks, moving closer. His hand comes up to cup my face. “How was the office?”
“Productive. We finalized the sale of three more properties. The money’s being funneled into the real estate development fund.” I shift Anton higher on my hip. “In five years, we’ll be completely legitimate.”
“Five years,” he repeats, like he’s trying to imagine it.
Kirill reaches for Sergei, making grabby hands. “Dada!”
Sergei takes him from my arms, tossing him gently in the air. Kirill shrieks with laughter. Anton immediately demands the same treatment.
I watch Sergei with our sons, and something warm spreads through my chest. The man has the patience of a saint. It’s like he’s been saving it up for forty years to be used on his sons and only his sons. He still has a temper, but never with us.
He’s a good father. Better than I ever imagined he could be.