I looked up at him, as if seeing him for the first time since everything had started.
The man who had once broken me, who had haunted my nightmares, had just dismantled three empires, toppled centuries of crime, and done it all to protect what was ours. My throat tightened. “How... how did you do all of this in four weeks?” I whispered.
“Intelligence is more powerful than guns,” he said quietly, almost like a lesson. “They thought I was weak because I had no visible army. They never saw the one I built in the shadows—or the one I bought in Rome. Every move calculated, every ally silent. They didn’t even know what hit them until it was too late.”
I exhaled shakily, pushing a hand through my hair. “I... I can’t wait to see Vanya.”
Dmitri studied me for a long moment, his piercing gaze softening only for an instant. “While I still grasp at memories—dreams, flashes—the doctors working with Vanya say his are gone for good. His brain was too young. The injection they used... it caused permanent damage.” His voice caught, roughening just enough to let me hear the weight behind his words. “Those responsible are paying with their lives. Slowly.”
My chest caved so hard I thought my ribs might crack. “Are you saying my son will never... never remember me as his mother?” The words were hoarse, barely audible, each syllable dragging like stone through my throat.
Dmitri’s jaw tightened.
He looked away, toward the high windows where slants of sunlight cut through stained glass, turning the stone floor into fractured pools of muted red and blue.
Then he met my eyes again. Steady. Lethal in his calm.
“He believes you’re dead,” he said quietly. “Not even I can force that truth back into him. The doctors were clear: his brain was too young. The injection they used... it didn’t just suppress memories. It severed them. Permanent.” He swallowed hard. “But we can try. We can build something new. He’s six. Children adapt. We show him who you are now. Day by day. Slowly. Carefully.”
My body shook, my hands trembling so badly I had to clasp them together to keep from dropping them.
The cathedral suddenly felt too large, too empty, every echo of police boots and distant orders from hours ago replaying in my head like a broken record.
Before I could respond, the great west doors groaned open again.
My heart nearly stopped.
Giovanni stepped through first, cautious, careful. And behind him, cradled in his arms like the most fragile treasure in the world, was Vanya. My son.
His dark curls were mussed, his small face streaked with confusion and tears.
He clutched Giovanni’s coat tightly, knuckles white. And then he saw Dmitri. Relief flooded his features so completely that it nearly broke me.
“Boss...” Giovanni began, voice rough but steady.
Vanya wriggled free suddenly, twisting out of Giovanni’s arms with a strength born of panic. Then he ran—small legs pumping, shoes slapping against marble—straight toward Dmitri.
He crashed into his father’s legs and wrapped his arms around him as tightly as his small body could manage, face buried in Dmitri’s coat.
“Dad,” he sobbed, his voice muffled, breaking apart with every breath. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Dmitri dropped to one knee instantly, the movement instinctive, as if nothing else in the world mattered.
He gathered Vanya into his arms, holding him with a careful, reverent strength, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other pressed firmly between his shoulder blades.
“Nothing in this world can separate us,” Dmitri murmured, voice low and steady, vibrating through Vanya’s small body.
He brushed his fingers through the boy’s hair with a gentleness so intimate it hurt to witness. “Not ever. Do you hear me?”
Vanya nodded against his chest, trusting completely, the way only children can.
Then, slowly, he pulled back.
His gaze drifted past Dmitri’s shoulder.
To me.
Really looked.