Though still bound to the Bratva, Tomas works hard to make sure his family is distanced and protected, and I do the same. We maintain as much normalcy as we can, and most days are perfect, simple perfection.
“Will you tell us about your family someday, mama?” My daughter looks up at me with her large, curious eyes.
I smile at her. “Sure thing, baby. My family is made up of my fearless, fierce husband. Two precocious six-year-olds. And soon, another set of babies that will grow into mischievous children.”
She smiles. “You’re talking about us.”
“I am. And Uncle Nicolai and Aunt Marissa, Uncle Yakov and Aunt Yvonne.”
My daughter takes a big gulp of milk and swipes her hand across her mouth. “We have the best family.”
Sometimes family isn’t bound by blood but loyalty. Sometimes family is found, not born.
I reach for Tomas’ hand across the table and squeeze.
“The absolute best.”