The house smelled like vanilla and pine. The fire crackled low, snowflakes dancing like ghosts outside the glass. And inside—your world glowed golden. Viktor— Your mafia husband, shirt slightly unbuttoned, was already grinning as he cornered you near the tree. You rolled your eyes, swatting his chest. “Don’t even start” you warned, laughing.

“You’re the one who looks like a goddamn present, dushenka” he growled low in your ear. “I just wanna unwrap—”

“WAHHH!” your son interrupted, in that small royal voice that always made your husband flinch like he’d been shot.

Right. Him.

Lionel—Your tiny, demanding little prince. Almost a year old. Chubby cheeks. No teeth. But a gaze that burned with mafia blood and baby jealousy.

You had him in your arms now, nestled between the two of you, dressed in a white shirt that looked like he was ready to conduct a board meeting or order an execution—if only he could speak.

And just as Viktor tilted your chin up and pressed a slow, sweet kiss to your lips—But this time—

There was a third witness.

A chubby little tyrant with wide blue eyes. Lionel stared at you two, stunned, like someone just stole his favorite toy. Mouth open. Eyes blinking.

And just when you both pulled away, laughing softly.

Lionel attacked. No teeth, no warning. Just a loud CHOMP on his papa’s chin.

“FUCK—” Viktor shouted, pulling back like he’d been bit by a bear. “Did you see that? This little bastard just tried to eat me!”

You were crying with laughter, clutching the baby, who now looked smug as hell, fists curled and lips drooling like he was ready for round two. Viktor stared between the two of you like he’d just discovered betrayal.

“I kiss my wife and this is what I get?” he hissed, pacing dramatically. “Bitten? By my own blood?”

“He just wanted a kiss too” you wheezed through laughter.

“Oh, so now I gotta ask his permission before kissing you? What next—he wants visitation rights?”

Lionel squealed, reached for his father’s face again with grabby little hands.

Viktor scooped him up with a growl, staring into his son’s face like two criminals meeting in an interrogation room.

“You jealous, huh? You think she’s yours?” he muttered darkly, bouncing him. “Let me tell you something, you toothless dictator—I had her first.”

You leaned against the wall, watching the two loves of your life argue in baby noises and mafia threats.

“You want a kiss, malenkiy brat? You better earn it. That’s my woman, you hear me, hm?”