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“I am Gavriil Nikolaev, don of the Nikolaev Bratva in Boston, and I do not accept your resignation.”
“If you think I’m going to let you go, you’re out of your fucking mind, Hannah.”
Hannah holds out something plastic and white that I can’t place. It doesn’t make sense until she takes a deep, shuddering breath and says two little words that change everything. “I’m pregnant.”
“You have my baby in your womb, Hannah Hall,” he whispers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“You were never meant to happen to me,” I whisper. “It was an accident. A mistake. But you did happen. And now, there isn’t a single goddamn force in the whole fucking universe that can tear you away from me. Not the Mexicans, not the Irish, not death itself. Not even you. You’re mine, Hannah Hall. And I will wade through hell, if that’s what it takes, to keep you from ever shedding another tear.”
“You are the center of my universe. I don’t know if you’ll ever fully understand what that means to me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t spend the rest of my days trying to tell you. Trying to show you. Your breath is my breath. What you see is what I see. Where you go is where I go and where you rest your head, that’s my home. I’ll go to any lengths it takes to bring
you the world on a silver platter. I’ll fight off every last man who’s ever lived if they even dare to dream of laying a finger on your head. You are mine. Never, ever forget that.”
“You could say this is where it happened,” he says, gaze growing even more intent on me. “When I realized that I loved you. Ever since then, it’s been… a fucking whirlwind, to say the least. The best kind. I never expected this.”
“Ms. Hall,” Gavriil whispers, letting the microphone fall to the ground. “Will you be my wife?”
“I love you, Hannah,” he says. “My partner. My wife. Mother of my child.”
“This means that happily ever after starts now,”
