But Malvina didn’t need to know that.
Getting back to his feet, Niklaus looked to Reagan who was standing not too far away, and unlike him, she was crying freely, quickly wiping at her eyes, however, when she noticed his attention on her.
With one arm still around Malvina, he held his hand out to Reagan and waited. Wordlessly, she joined him at his side.
He didn’t know what Malvina would say about her. She knew better than anyone in this room how he had felt about Sarah.
“Such a sweet girl, your Reagan,” Malvina said instantly. “Stayed with me during the entire flight, though she didn’t tell me you needed a haircut.”
She reached for his hair, and he had to bend at the waist to give her access to what she wanted. As quickly as she had touched the ends of it, she turned a narrowed gaze on Mishca.
“You too, Mishca,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s grown too long.”
Lauren smiled up at her husband, waiting to see his reaction just as Niklaus did.
The man in question just shrugged. “Let me know and I’ll let you have at it. Now, we’ll give you all some time before Lauren comes back with Sacha. She told me how you’ve been ready to meet your grandson.”
Malvina’s eyes lit up, and Niklaus knew it wasn’t just because of the prospect of meeting Sacha, but the casual way he had included her in the family.
Releasing his hold on his mother and Reagan, Niklaus walked back over to Mishca and didn’t hesitate in hugging him. Mishca grew stiff, but after a moment, he returned the embrace.
It had only taken twenty-seven years, but they had finally embraced as family should.
“Thank you, brother.”
It was the first, and probably the last time, Niklaus would ever call Mishca “brother,” but in that moment, that was how he felt.
With just this simple gesture, though Niklaus couldn’t express the magnitude of it in words, Niklaus finally let it all go.
The anger.
The frustration.
The hatred.
This meant the world to him.
“No worries,” Mishca said for only him to hear. “You deserve this.”
Clapping him on the back, Mishca pulled away, grabbing hold of Lauren’s hand. When Niklaus looked to her, she winked, a knowing smile curling her lips. She had always promised that the feud between them would end, and he hadn’t believed her.
She was right.
As they made their leave, Niklaus turned back to his two favorite women. Rubbing the back of his neck, he knew it was about to be a long night. “Where do I start?”
Malvina got comfortable on the couch, patting the spot next to her. “Start at the beginning.”
Three months later
“For someone that hasn’t had a permanent place in years, you’ve accumulated a lot of junk,” Reagan said as she looked around at the sheer amount of organized boxes that were lined throughout that storage room.
Day after day, she had woken up to the sight of him next to her, sometimes asleep, other times awake, his sleepy gaze on her. In that time, she had stopped worrying that one morning she would wake up and he would be gone.
If he did leave for longer than twenty-four hours—and that had happened on a few occasions—he let her know beforehand.
For good or bad, he was there with her, and she couldn’t imagine it any other way.
Nevertheless, that didn’t mean she had been ready for the cluster fuck of unpacking that awaited them. He had long since already moved himself in, yet he kept all of his possessions in one of seventeen warehouses he kept around the city.
Some were full of weapons, she remembered him saying once, others filled with other such things that she didn’t really want to think about considering he said it was “need to know.”
Except one, one he’d said was filled with more personal belongings—things he had collected over his travels, and even a few mementos from his life before becoming a mercenary. It was the suitcase, the same one he had brought along with him to New York City that first time.
He had given her everything he possibly could. His name, his memories, his experiences, and everything else, even if it was hard to hear.
And now, there was just this one final step … one simple task before it was done and he was fully integrated into her life.
“Not junk, babe,” Niklaus said as he walked past, touching a few of the boxes along the way, as if it reminded him as to what was inside each one.
“Right, you won’t be saying that when we have to go through all of this later—never mind the number of trips it’s going to take to get this all back to our place.”
“Are you always this moody?”
“Only after I find out I’m pregnant.”
Whatever shuffling he had been doing before silenced as her words sunk in. She smiled to herself, glad that she had done it this way instead of making a big production out of it.
Something to share just between the two of them, she couldn’t deny the small thrill that shot through her at his surprise.
Turning to face him, she didn’t know what to expect—happiness, anger, confusion—but the expression on his face was far better than she could have hoped.
Wonderment.
He looked excited, fearful even, but the sight of his face so open made her smile, even as she waited for him to respond.
“You’re pregnant,” he said evenly, his voice not shaking in the slightest, but the words were whispered like he was too afraid to really say them any louder.
Reagan nodded, her hand going to her stomach even though she wasn’t close to showing. “Eight weeks tomorrow.”
She had only found out a mere week ago when she had gone to the doctor after feeling like she didn’t want to eat anything for fear of throwing up. But ever since she had found out that warning, she had wondered how best to tell Niklaus.
It wasn’t like they had ever talked about having children, and while Niklaus doted on Sacha, that still didn’t mean he was ready to be a father.
But with one look at him now, she didn’t know why she had waited this long.
“There’s no point in moving this shit in,” Niklaus said looking around. “We’re going to need a bigger place.”
“Niklaus—”
“We can stay in Hell’s Kitchen if you want, or we can leave the city. Like I said, whatever you want.”
“Niklaus!” Reagan said his name again on a laugh, finally grabbing his attention. “You’re not upset then?”
He tugged her into his arms, kissing her forehead a second before he gave her a kiss that took her breath away. “Of course not,” he murmured against her lips. “Why would I be upset?”
“Because it may be too soon and—”
“Nothing could have made me happier than you telling me you loved me, but this … this tops that.”
“So you’re happy?” Reagan asked once more, smiling as she thought of what he would say next.
“Thrilled.”
“So you’ll still be happy even when I tell you there are two?”
It was only a moment of suspended time before his lips were splitting into the biggest of grins and he laughed that loud, glorious laugh of his.
It was a happy sound.
And Reagan was glad she could make him happy.
CODA
Episode One
“Red has arrived, sir,” Dominic Mantolo said, the sharpness of his accent making his words shorter and crisper. Always the professional, he didn’t linger after he delivered his message, drifting back into the shadows where he could hear, but not be seen.
If there was one man who knew Uilleam’s secrets, it was Dominic.
However, unlike others whose loyalty to Uilleam had been bought, Dominic’s had come after years together. The man had seen him at his lowest point, and now was seeing him at the precipice of something much greater. No, he wasn’t at his highest, not yet.
There was still too much work to be done.
Uill
eam gave no outward reaction to the man’s words, continuing to stare over the balcony at the men and women that stood front and center on the stage, their voices carrying in the empty theater. For a long time, he had never understood the allure of the opera, even with his privileged background. Hearing people sing at the top of their lungs had never appealed to him, but some time ago, his interest had shifted. Now, he had learned to appreciate it for the art it was.
He had her to thank for that.
Red, a mercenary that was one of many in his arsenal, could be heard before he was seen. Though he had a talent of moving within the shadows, the mercenary made it a habit to blatantly announce his arrival whenever he was in Uilleam’s presence, like he was purposely trying to get under his skin.
But Uilleam didn’t take it as an act of disrespect. Quite the opposite. He was rather amused by him more than anything. He knew Red’s history, had actually known him long before he and the Volkov boy ever crossed paths. That was just the world they lived in.
Information.
If he wanted to be powerful—and that was arguably one of the most important things to him—he had to know more than his competitors did, and more, he had to know as much as possible about any and every one that traveled in the same circles.
Mikhail Volkov had once been a friend—or an associate as it were—and watching his slow and steady descent from the top had been quite fascinating to watch. Now, Mishca reigned in his stead, a boy who, in Uilleam’s eyes, still had a lot of learning to do in business. But what he didn’t know, Uilleam didn’t care to supply him … at least not until he was paid to offer such information.
Red, or Niklaus as was his name, was quite different from the father that birthed him and the brother that shared his DNA. The pair lacked a sort of … viciousness that Red possessed.
Of course, Uilleam couldn’t have known this when he had intercepted the deal between Mikhail and the Albanian mobster by the name of Jetmir Besnik. They had merely wanted to get rid of Mishca for reasons Uilleam had never cared to find out.
It had been far too easy on his part to ensure that it wasn’t Mishca taken by the Albanians, but Red instead.
It had been a coincidence that Uilleam caught sight of Mishca’s twin walking the streets of New York with the woman he fancied.
And it was then, with just a glance that an alternate plan formulated in his mind, one where he would have Mishca in his debt—he had grown rather skillful at manipulating the events that brought a person into his debt.
All it had taken was a phone call, one carefully orchestrated maneuver that got the Albanians in the right place at the right time.
The rest was child’s play.
Except … he never expected Red to live through it all, nor could he have anticipated just what Red had ultimately become, but all the same, after years in the making, he had exactly what he needed from both Volkov brothers.
Reconciliation.
Yes, he already had Red as a weapon, but now that he was aligned with the Volkov Bratva—an organization that Uilleam had already done a favor for in the past—their loyalty would be to him should he ever have need of it.
And no one was the wiser.
Uilleam didn’t look away from the stage as Red approached from his left, but could practically feel the mercenary’s gaze on him as he took a seat in the only other one available.
“Elias Harrington.”
Uilleam didn’t react to the name because though he wished otherwise, he had never heard of the man—and there were very few people that he had never come across, especially with the amount of power and influence this man clearly had.
Over two years ago, before this, before he had had a need to call in his debt from Zachariah—the previous owner of the Den—he had been content in the knowledge that he was at the top of the food chain. How quickly he learned otherwise when the one thing in his empty and lonely life that he cared for was taken away from him.
It had taken months to even piece together enough of the trail the man had left behind just to get to this point.
It had taken more than a year just to learn his name.
At least he was one step closer.
“Payment should be posted to your account within the hour. You’ve done good work.”
Unlike so many others that were too afraid to meet his eye, Red did so boldly, making it quite clear that he didn’t trust him.
Uilleam didn’t particularly care for the man’s trust, he only needed his skills.
Perhaps the money he had invested in the team he had cultivated would be worth the money after all.
“I’m taking my leave,” Red said as he stood.
Uilleam didn’t blink. “Permanently?”
Indecision played on his face.
Uilleam could understand why. He had a girlfriend that was pregnant, a one-year-old nephew, and his mother was back in his life. He probably wanted to see them more instead of risking his life.
But sometimes the past had a way of clinging on …
“The next sixteen months, but under the provision that I come on if I’m requested.”
Meaning he would answer only if the order came from him...
Seemed the mercenary had turned over a new leaf.
“I’ll add it to the books.”
Nodding, Red’s eyes shifted to the chessboard that rested between Uilleam and the opposite chair. He probably wondered who Uilleam’s opposition was, but he much preferred to play the game alone, like seeing into his own mind.
No pieces had been moved, the board still untouched.
It only remained that way, however, until Red rounded the corner and disappeared.
Once he was out of sight, Uilleam shifted forward in his seat, picking up one of the crystal pawns and moved it forward two spaces.
It was time.
The game was on.
A Little After …
Nothing could have prepared Niklaus for Reagan going into labor in the backseat of a Jeep Wrangler, and nothing could have prepared him for the love he felt as soon as the two little ones were in the world.
Four months old and they already had him wrapped around their little fingers.
Especially Keira.
The daughter he’d never expected to have—the daughter whose cries made his chest ache.
Niklaus had been tortured in the worst of ways, the scars still marring his body years later, yet that pain was nothing compared with the nights he had to spend away from his family.
Nights when he considered retiring.
Being a mercenary and the work involved … it was all he knew, and for the longest time, it was all he was.
But now he had others to consider, and as he lay on top of a building, staring through the scope of a rifle at the man dining with his business partner inside the restaurant across the street, he considered who he would be if he gave all this up.
There was still time to think about it all considering he still had the rest of his contract to fulfill with The Kingmaker, but if he did hang up his boots, what then?
It wasn’t as if he could get a real job, technically, he was dead, and dead men couldn’t exactly apply.
Then again, there was one other option.
One he hadn’t really wanted to consider before now.
The Russian had offered him a position in the bratva, his underboss or captain, or whatever the shit.
The thought of working with him hadn’t settled well with Niklaus for a long time—probably because for a long time, he had wanted to kill him.
But things were changing between them
The hostility had dulled.
His hatred nonexistent.
Now there was just a grudging acceptance of the twin brother he’d only known about for less than a decade.
He was still an asshole, still had a fucking hero complex, but the little shit was his brother, and the uncle of his children—Mishca was alright.
“On your mark,” Niklaus whispered, waiting for The Kingma
ker’s voice on the other end of his comm.
One second, then another, then finally, “Execute.”
A single jerk of his finger and the man was dead.
Less than thirty seconds to break down his rifle, then no more than two minutes before he inside his car and disappearing down the street.
“Good work, Red,” the man said evenly, no hint of inflection in his words. “You won’t hear from me again until August.”
He ended the communication before Niklaus could get another word in, not that he minded much, especially now knowing that he had at least another three months without having to check in with a man who was starting to lose his edge.
But he didn’t care about any of that right now—the only thing he was thinking about was getting home.
Three hours later, he was killing the engine of his car, sighing as he reclined his head back, closing his eyes for a moment.
Now that the adrenaline had waned, he was exhausted and more than ready to climb into his bed and sleep for the next three days.
Between surveillance, stakeouts, and tonight, he’d spent a little more than a week from home and far less sleep than what was healthy.
Blowing out a breath, Niklaus headed inside, dropping his bag by the front door, shedding his gear the further inside he walked.
By the time he made it upstairs, he looked less like a mercenary and more like himself, and as he reached the top landing, soft cries hit his ears.
The door to the twins’ bedroom was cracked, and as he turned the corner, he could just see Reagan standing over Keira’s crib.
Her hair tied up in a messy bun, his shirt draped over her body, he didn’t think she had ever looked more beautiful than she did in that moment.
He knocked softly on the door so as not to startle her before venturing in.
“How are my girls?” he asked, kissing Reagan’s forehead.
“Better now that you’re home,” she whispered back, smiling up at him. “Keira was fussy without you here, and as you can see, your son is sleeping just fine.”
As she picked up Keira, Niklaus went over to the other crib, brushing his hand over Illarion’s hair.
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