“What kind of plan?”
She thinks about it for a moment. “What if we used surgical strikes instead of total war? We could target the actual threats instead of everyone connected to them.” Zita’s voice carries conviction.
I consider her words while studying the intelligence reports spread across my desk. “Surgical strikes are riskier thantotal elimination. They leave potential threats alive who could regroup and retaliate later.”
“Everything is risky when you’re raising children in this world.” She absentmindedly traces one of the tattoos on the back of my hand. “You want them to be proud of how their father handled those risks.”
“I want them to be alive.” The words come out harshly in my frustration and simmering anger. “I want them to grow up knowing their parents will do whatever it takes to keep them safe.”
“Even if whatever it takes means they grow up afraid of their father?”
The question makes me recoil. “You think they’ll be afraid of me? I would never hurt them or you.”
“I think if you let this pregnancy turn you into Nicky, they’ll have good reason to be afraid of you.” Zita’s honesty is painful to hear, but I recognize its necessity. “I think if you choose wholesale slaughter over strategic action, you’ll become someone I can’t respect and they can’t trust.”
I’m quiet for several minutes, processing the considerations of what she’s saying. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to let me help you plan this.” Zita’s voice is steady. “I want you to make decisions based on what’s necessary instead of what’s possible. I want you to remember our children will judge us not just by if we kept them safe, but by how we kept them safe.”
“You want to be involved in planning military operations against the Federoffs?” The idea both thrills and terrifies me.
“I want to be involved in planning our family’s future.” Zita corrects. “That includes dealing with threats, but it doesn’t have to include becoming unfocused, broad threats ourselves.”
I look at the ultrasound photos again, trying to imagine explaining to six children why their father killed dozens of people to protect them. “What would you suggest?”
“Let’s identify the actual decision-makers in the Federoff organization and neutralize them specifically.” Zita picks up one of the intelligence files. “Simultaneously, we target their financial resources and operational capabilities instead of just eliminating personnel who can be replaced.”
“You want to dismantle them instead of destroying them.”
She nods. “I want to end the threat they pose without creating new enemies in the process.” She opens the file and studies the organizational charts Viktor prepared. “If we kill everyone connected to them, we create blood feuds with their families and allies. If we destroy their ability to operate, we eliminate the threat without creating new ones. We can even step in to fill the gap.”
I shake my head, replying automatically, “No. I want to legitimize as much of the business as possible once this crisis is over.” I’m still thinking about her words as I speak. The strategic thinking behind her approach is sound, but it requires a level of precision and patience that feels at odds with the urgency I feel about protecting her and our children.
“That approach takes longer and involves more risk to you during the planning and execution phases.” I share my concerns while she continues reading. “It also requires trusting that we can anticipate and counter all their potential responses.”
“The approach you’re planning involves becoming someone our children will be ashamed of.” Zita closes the file and looks at me directly. “Which risk are you more willing to live with?”
The question forces me to confront something I’ve been avoiding since we left Dr. Kozlova’s office. I’m terrified that loving Zita and our children makes me weak and vulnerable in ways my enemies can exploit. The instinct to eliminate all threats through overwhelming force comes from that fear, and the need to prove that caring about someone doesn’t make me less dangerous.
“I’m scared.” The admission comes out quietly. “I’m worried loving you and our children will make me hesitate at the wrong moment or make me show mercy to someone who doesn’t deserve it, which might get you killed because I wasn’t ruthless enough.”
“I’m scared too.” She moves closer to me. “I’m fearful that trying to protect us will make you into someone who doesn’t deserve our love. I’m scared that you’ll choose security over humanity and lose yourself in the process.”
“Then what do we do?”
“We trust each other.” She cups my face.
I lean into her touch, drawing comfort from her presence in ways that still surprise me. “Will you help me plan this? Will you help me figure out how to eliminate the Federoff threat without eliminating myself in the process?”
“Yes.” Her words carry absolute conviction. “But you have to promise me something first.”
“What?”
“Promise me that no matter how angry or scared or protective you get, you’ll talk to me before making any major decisions.” She looks directly into my gaze. “Promise me you won’t disappear into a version of yourself that solves problems through brutality and uncoordinated violence.”
“I promise I’ll remember that our children need a father they can respect, not just one who can protect them.”
“Good.” She kisses me softly. “So, show me what you’ve learned about the Federoffs, and let’s figure out how to end this threat without losing ourselves in the process.”
