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 Kingmaker’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.

On his back with his little arms stretched out above him, he was fast asleep.

Keira, on the other hand …

Even with Reagan holding her, Keira’s face was scrunched up tight as she cried, the sound breaking his heart.

“Oh, come now, little bit, enough of that.”

The second he had her cradled in his arms, her wails tapered to a stop. Gradually, her eyes blinked open and she stared up at him with all the wonder in the world.

He carried her over to the rocking chair in the corner of the room, easing himself down. Niklaus was happy to be sitting, but he was even happier to be holding his little girl.

When was the last time he’d been this calm?

When was the last time he’d felt at peace?

As he sat there, humming a lullaby his own mother had sung to him so many years ago, Niklaus knew he would trade this moment for anything in the world.