Extras Ch 16: Kazimir - A Better Man

Extras Ch 16: Kazimir - A Better Man

Her labor lasted fourteen hours.

Kazimir had commanded men in battle. He had walked into ambushes with his pulse steady. He had stared down Dante across a dinner table and felt nothing but cold resolve. None of it had prepared him for watching Elena suffer.

He stayed with Elena the entire time, but he felt utterly useless. Her every groan and spasm of pain was a knife in his own chest. He would have taken her place if he could, but all he could do was hold her hand and murmur words that felt pathetically inadequate.

"You're doing well," he murmured, pressing a cool cloth to her temple.

Another contraction came. She squeezed her eyes shut, her whole body coiling, a low sound escaping her throat.

Kazimir felt the pain of it in his own bones. He pressed his lips to her temple when the contraction passed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She opened her eyes and smiled. ‘It’s my choice, Kaz. I want a family.’

The words lodged deep in his chest. He had to look away for a moment, blinking hard against the sting in his eyes. Even now, even in the worst of it, she was still choosing their future.

"I don't deserve you," he said.

At 3:33 A.M., their daughter entered the world with a furious cry.

"A girl! Healthy and loud," the midwife announced, lifting a tiny, squalling bundle.

‘Hold her,’ Elena mouthed, looking up at him.

Kazimir went rigid as the midwife put the baby in his arms. He had killed men with these hands. How was he supposed to hold something so fragile? What if he held her wrong? What if she could sense the decades of violence in him and recoiled from his touch?

He didn't realize he was trembling until Elena's hand found his arm, steadying him.

‘Breathe,’ she mouthed. ‘You're not going to hurt her.’

Kazimir forced himself to look down. The baby was so impossibly small—barely the length of his forearm, her skin flushed and new, her tiny fists clenched against her chest. She was still crying, her tiny face scrunched, her legs kicking. Then she opened her eyes.

Her gaze fixed on his face. And she stopped crying. Her tiny fingers uncurled and closed around his thumb.

Kazimir felt something crack in his chest. He cradled the baby against his heart with a care he hadn't known he possessed.

"Nadia," he said, his voice scraping. "Our Nadia."

Elena was watching him, her smile exhausted but radiant. ‘She's been hearing your voice for months. She knows you're her father.’

Kazimir lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, cradling their daughter between them. He pressed a kiss first to Elena's temple then to Nadia's downy head.

I will not become a monster, he promised silently. I will be a better man for both of you.

Nadia yawned. Her tiny fingers relaxed, still curled loosely around his thumb. She had no idea what he was promising. She wouldn't understand for years. But he meant every word.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The years that followed were not always easy, but they were good.

Dante's shadow faded slowly. The business stabilized under Leo's precise management and Timothy's growing confidence as Kazimir's new right hand. The Ferrantes stopped stirring up trouble. The Contis retreated to their own ports. The Volkov name, which had once been whispered with pity, was now spoken with respect.

Kazimir still worked too many hours. He still woke up some nights with the memory of gunfire in his ears and his hand reaching for a pistol. But now, when the nightmares came, he rolled over and pressed his face into Elena's hair and let the sound of her breathing anchor him back to the present.

And in the mornings, there was Nadia.

She was five years old now—dark-haired and grey-eyed and utterly fearless. She always asked questions. She climbed things she shouldn't. She had all the staff and soldiers wrapped around her finger.

Kazimir watched her from a second floor window as she ran through the garden, her hair coming loose from its ribbon. She had been digging again. Dirt smeared her cheeks and dress.

He pushed open the garden gates and stepped into the morning sun. Nadia spotted him immediately and came running, something clutched in her small fist.

"Papa! Papa, look!"

She skidded to a stop in front of him, breathless and beaming. She held up her prize—a red dagger wrapped in aged leather.

Kazimir crouched down and took the dagger carefully from her hands. The weight was familiar. He hadn't seen this blade in over twenty years, but he recognized it immediately.

He knelt down and wiped the dirt from Nadia’s face. “Where did you find it?”

"Over there," she pointed to the garden. "It was buried under a big rose bush. The one with the white flowers. Can I keep it?"

"It's not a toy."

"I know." She looked up at him, her grey eyes serious. "I'll be careful. I promise."

Kazimir hesitated for a moment. Then he nodded. This was destiny. It had belonged to his grandmother—the first Nadia. And now, of all the people, his daughter was the one who found it.

"Yes," he said. "You can have it. But you must promise to respect it. It's not for playing.”

"I promise, Papa!" Nadia exclaimed, jumping excitedly.

Then she ran into the house. Kazimir trailed behind her.

"Greta! Greta, I need to show you something very important!"

Greta looked up from the ledger she was reviewing. It had been years since she had replaced Hale as the household manager. "What is it?"

Nadia produced the dagger from behind her back with theatrical flourish.

Greta dropped her pen. "Where did you get that?"

"Papa gave it to me," the girl brandished it proudly. "I'm going to be a warrior!"

Greta pressed a hand to her heart. "You are going to be the death of me. Nadia Volkov, put that down this instant before you—"

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"Before I what?"

"Before you cause an accident!"

"I won't stab anyone." Nadia rolled her eyes. "I'm very responsible. Papa said so."

"Your father has lost his mind! Put that away, now!"

Kazimir stood in the doorway of the archive, leaning against the doorframe with an expression of fond amusement.

Greta crossed her arms when she saw him. "Don Kazimir, your daughter is running around with a weapon."

"It's an heirloom."

"It has a blade."

Kazimir looked at his daughter. "What are the rules?"

"Don't run with it. Don't point it at anyone. Don't use it without Papa or Mama watching." She recited them flawlessly. "I'm not breaking any rules. I'm just showing Aunt Greta."

"She's just showing Aunt Greta," Kazimir echoed.

Greta looked between them—father and daughter, identical grey eyes, identical expressions of mischief—and threw up her hands. "I give up. I absolutely give up. I feel bad for Sister."

Nadia beamed. "I love you, Aunt Greta!"

"That wasn't a compliment!"

Kazimir's mouth twitched. He pushed off the doorframe and ruffled his daughter's hair. "Come on. Let's show Mama."

Nadia took his hand, the dagger still clutched in her other fist, and they walked toward his study together. Behind them, Greta was muttering something about needing a raise.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Nikolai arrived just after Nadia left.

"Don," he said.

"You know you don't have to call me that in private."

"Old habits." Nikolai dropped into the chair across from the desk. "You look tired."

"I have a five-year-old who doesn’t sleep."

"Wonder where she got that from," Nikolai retorted.

Kazimir's mouth quirked. He set down his pen and leaned back, studying his old friend. They had been eighteen when Valentina recruited Nikolai—two boys playing at being men, thrust into a war neither of them understood. They had grown up together and fought side by side.

"How is Alessandro?" Kazimir asked.

"Good. The doctor says the artery's stable. He's been working with the new recruits—but light duty only, I made sure of it."

"He must be happy that they finally cleared him."

"Yeah." Nikolai's mouth curved. He was quiet for a moment, turning something over in his mind. Then: "You know, when Valentina recruited me, I thought I knew what I was signing up for."

Kazimir raised a brow. "Are you regretting it?"

"I didn't sign up for this." He chuckled, glancing out the window. "Your daughter is a menace. She must be exactly like you were at that age."

"I was not that bad."

"Really? Then why did Valentina complain about you constantly?"

"I think about her a lot," Kazimir admitted.

Nikolai's expression softened. "She'd be proud of you, you know. How much you’ve changed."

Kazimir smiled. "Thank you."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

That night, he dreamed of the restaurant again. But this time, Kazimir was not the helpless four-year-old boy crouched in the shadows. He was himself—the man he had become.

As the guns roared and glass shattered, Kazimir drew a pistol from his hip and fired at the faceless gunmen. He moved through the chaos with cold precision. When the last shadow fell, the room fell silent.

Only then did the boy crawl out from under the table.

Kazimir holstered his gun and crossed the bloodless floor. He knelt in front of the table, bringing himself to the boy's level. Those grey eyes stared back at him—his own eyes, wide with a fear he had carried for thirty years.

"You're strong," the boy whispered. “You stopped them."

"Yes." Kazimir answered calmly. "I did."

"I couldn't do anything.” The boy's voice cracked. "I couldn't save them."

Kazimir reached out and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"It wasn't your job to save them. One day, you’ll learn to fight back. You’ll be strong enough to protect the people you love."

The boy's lip trembled. “What if something happens again? What if I lose them too? Elena. Nadia. Everyone I love?”

Kazimir couldn’t answer at first. He had spent three decades trying to become strong enough to keep anything like that from happening again.

But it could. That was the truth he had never let himself face. He could lose Elena, Nadia, and anyone he loved. No amount of strength, coldness, or distance would spare him from that possibility. That was the price of love.

Even knowing that loving meant living with the risk of losing, he would still choose it over the cold safety of solitude. The walls had never protected him. But love—love had kept him from becoming a monster.

He exhaled slowly and looked the boy in the eyes.

“You might,” Kazimir said, extending his hand. “That’s the world we live in. But hiding under the table won’t protect them. What matters is loving them while you have them. Showing up. Staying.”

The boy thought about it for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and took Kazimir’s hand.

The restaurant dissolved around them. Kazimir stood in Nadia's garden, the roses blooming around him, the sun warm on his face. The boy was gone, becoming just another part of himself.

The boy under the table was finally free. And so was he.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The beach was small and sheltered, tucked into a cove a few miles down the coast from the Volkov estate.

Nadia ran toward the water the moment her feet hit the sand.

"Don't go past the rocks!"

"I know, Papa!"

She splashed into the shallows, her dress hiked up around her knees, her laughter carrying on the salt wind. Kazimir watched her go and felt something loosen in his chest.

Elena tugged his hand. ‘Stop hovering. She's fine.’

"I'm not hovering," he said.

She gave him a look—the same look she gave Nadia when she was being particularly stubborn—and he sighed.

"Fine. I'm hovering."

‘She knows how to swim. Let her be a child.’

"I'm trying." Kazimir ran a hand through his hair. "It's harder than it looks."

‘What is?’

"Letting go. She’s growing up too fast."

Elena just smiled and spread a blanket on the sand. They sat together, watching their daughter.

Nadia was building a sandcastle at the water’s edge, flanked by two local children she’d enlisted as her crew. They dug with the fierce concentration of tiny architects.

"She makes friends everywhere," Kazimir said.

‘Like her father.’

"I don't make friends. I make alliances."

Elena glanced at him. ‘You have more than you think, Kaz. Leo, Nikolai, Timothy, and all the people in the mansion. Even Greta and Ophelia.’

He considered this and nodded.

Across the beach, Nadia abandoned her sandcastle and ran toward them, her feet kicking up sprays of sand. She threw herself onto the blanket between them, breathless and grinning.

"Papa! There are crabs in the tide pools! Baby crabs! Can we take one home?"

"No."

"Please?"

"We are not starting a crab farm in the mansion."

"But Mama said—"

"Mama said what?" He looked at Elena, who was suddenly very interested in the horizon. "What did Mama say?"

Elena chuckled and scooped their daughter into her lap. ‘Nadia, darling. Let’s visit the crabs another time, okay? It’ll be lonely leaving home without its friends.’

Nadia considered this logic and nodded solemnly. "Okay. But we have to come back tomorrow."

"We'll see," Kazimir said.

"That means yes," Nadia whispered loudly to Elena. "Papa always says 'we'll see' when he means yes."

Kazimir attempted a stern look, which only made Elena and Nadia laugh.

The tide had pulled back by the time they packed the blanket away, leaving the sand smooth and gleaming under the fading light. Nadia bounced on her heels, still vibrating with energy.

"The stars are coming out," she announced, tipping her head back to look at the sky.

"They are," Kazimir agreed.

"Can we count them?"

"You can try. But they're hard to count."

"I can count very high," Nadia informed him. "I can count to a hundred."

"That might not be enough."

"Then I'll count to a thousand."

Kazimir and Elena exchanged amused glances.

"How about we play catch?" he said, turning back to Nadia. "You run, and we'll catch you."

Nadia's face lit up. She pointed toward a dark shape in the distance. "Last one there is a stinky fish!"

Then she darted off without another word. Her laughter floated back to them, bright and wild, cutting through the gentle crash of the waves.

"Alright," Kazimir announced, taking Elena's hand. "We’re coming to get you!"

The three of them ran under the stars, their footprints trailing across the empty sand. The beach stretched open before them, the past falling away behind, the shadows that once clung to them now slipping away. Only the cool air and their daughter’s laughter—guiding them toward the light.

END OF EXTRAS