Alex Volkov had faced ruthless business rivals, political threats, and the weight of an empire on his shoulders—but nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared him for fatherhood. More specifically, fatherhood to twins.

As he stood in the middle of the nursery, arms crossed, he watched his two twelve-month-olds with an expression that could only be described as…calculating.

Sofia, already a little storm in her own right, kicked wildly in her crib, her dark curls bouncing as she babbled nonsense at her brother. Niko, more reserved even as a baby, stared at her with furrowed brows as if questioning her sanity.

Alex exhaled sharply and turned to his wife, you, who was watching him with barely concealed amusement.

“They are plotting something,” he said, dead serious.

You snorted, adjusting the blanket over the twins.

“They are our babies,” he continued, still staring at them like they were miniature criminals in training. “Which means they are at least fifty percent more dangerous than normal children.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

As if to prove his point, Sofia suddenly let out a piercing shriek—not of distress, but of pure, unfiltered mischief. Then, with surprising accuracy for someone who had just learned to use her hands, she flung her stuffed bunny at Alex’s face.

The room went silent.

Niko blinked at his sister, then at his father, before slowly, deliberately, picking up his own stuffed bear and offering it to Alex, like a peace treaty.

Alex narrowed his eyes at both of them. “I see what’s happening here. Good cop, bad cop.”

You burst into laughter.

He ignored you, pointing at Niko. “This one distracts me with fake obedience.” He turned to Sofia, who was now grinning—grinning—as she prepared to launch another attack. “And this one takes the kill shot.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around Alex’s waist.

Alex looked down at you, then at his tiny, merciless offspring. He sighed in resignation. “I am never taking my eyes off them.”