Chapter 9 - The Legacy of Love
Two years after their wedding.
The Rostov estate on the Hudson River was no longer known as a cold fortress; it was now famously referred to as the Rostov Foundation Estate.
Emma had transformed her position as the Don’s wife into a force for good. Using the massive wealth of the Rostov estate, she had established the Sophie Rostov Foundation—a nationwide network of specialized schools, therapy centers, and baking academies designed specifically for deaf and hard-of-hearing children from underprivileged backgrounds.
The bakery in Manhattan where they had first met had been completely renovated into a non-profit community hub where deaf youth were trained in professional culinary arts, giving them independence and high-paying careers.
On a bright summer afternoon, a grand garden party was underway on the estate’s sprawling green lawns. Dozens of children were running around, playing games, and signing happily under the shade of giant oak trees.
Viktor sat on a teak bench near the rose garden, wearing a casual linen shirt and slacks, watching the children play. The harsh lines on his face had softened over the years, replaced by a quiet, contented peace.
Sophie—now nine years old, confident, fluent in speech and sign, and top of her class at school—ran up to the bench, holding a tray of freshly baked strawberry tarts.
“Papa!” Sophie said clearly, her voice melodic and bright. “Look what Mamma and I baked for the party!”
Viktor smiled, taking a tart from the tray. “They look delicious, my little princess.”
Sophie kissed his cheek and ran back toward her friends, her laughter floating through the warm afternoon air.
Viktor watched her go, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. A few moments later, Emma walked out from the veranda, holding a tray of iced tea. She was six months pregnant, her gentle baby bump showing beautifully beneath a yellow floral sundress.
Viktor immediately stood up, walking over to take the heavy tray from her hands and setting it on a nearby table. He gently wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his hands over her warm bump.
“You should be resting, Mrs. Rostov,” Viktor murmured softly against her hair.
May you like
Emma leaned back against his chest, placing her hands over his. “The doctor said walking is good for me, Mr. Rostov. Besides, our little boy is kicking—I think he wants a strawberry tart.”
Viktor chuckled, a warm, deep sound, and bent down to press a soft kiss against her belly. “He gets whatever his mother wants.”
