Epilogue #2
"The guests are seated, the musicians are ready, and Papa is pacing at the altar like he thinks you might not show up." She rolls her eyes with all the dramatic flair of a preteen. "I told him you wouldn't abandon us, but he's being ridiculous."
"He's nervous," I say, smiling.
"He's ridiculous," Mila repeats, but there's affection underneath her exasperation. "Now come on. We have a schedule to keep."
She ushers everyone into position with terrifying efficiency. Delilah takes Sofia, who will ride down the aisle in a flower-decorated wagon pulled by Mila. It's unconventional, but so is everything about our family.
Dad offers me his arm. "Ready to do this?"
I take a deep breath, feeling the baby kick inside me—our second child, another girl according to the ultrasound. Sofia will have a sister. Mila will have another sibling to boss around. And Dante will be even more outnumbered by women in his own home.
He pretends to complain about it. He's never been happier.
"More ready than I've ever been," I tell my father.
The chapel doors open, and I see him.
Dante stands at the altar in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, but I barely notice the clothes.
I'm too focused on his face—the way his blue eyes lock onto mine with absolute intensity, the way his breath catches when he sees me, the slight trembling in his hands that tells me the most dangerous man I've ever known is nervous about marrying me.
Behind him, Alexei stands as best man, looking proud and just a little smug. He's grown into his role as pakhan, leading the organization toward more legitimate enterprises while maintaining the family's power. He and Dante still talk regularly—some bonds can't be broken by retirement.
But it's Dante I can't look away from. Dante, who kidnapped me and kept me captive and turned my entire world upside down. Dante, who taught me to shoot and held me through nightmares and walked away from an empire because I mattered more than power.
Dante, who gave me Sofia and this baby and Mila and a life I never knew I wanted.
The walk down the aisle feels like both an ending and a beginning.
Each step takes me further from the woman I used to be—the one who thought safety meant avoiding risk, who believed love was something that happened to other people, who never imagined she'd find home in the arms of a monster who turned out to be a man.
Sofia spots her father and shrieks with delight. "Papa! Papa!"
The guests laugh. Dante's stern expression cracks into a smile so full of love it makes my eyes sting.
When I finally reach the altar, Dad places my hand in Dante's. The two men exchange a look—understanding passing between them that doesn't need words. Two fathers, two protectors, both trusting each other with the person who matters most.
"Take care of her," Dad says quietly.
"Always," Dante promises.
Dad kisses my cheek, then takes his seat in the front row, already dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.
The officiant begins speaking, words about love and commitment and building a life together. But I'm barely listening. I'm too busy looking at Dante, seeing our entire history reflected in his eyes.
The bar in Chicago where a case of mistaken identity changed everything.
The penthouse suite where I gave myself to a stranger.
The estate where I was his prisoner and then his lover and then something far more complicated.
The battles we fought, the secrets we kept, the impossible choices we made.
All of it leading here, to this moment, to this man whose hand is warm and steady in mine.
"I believe you've written your own vows," the officiant says.
Dante clears his throat, and I realize with a start that his eyes are glistening.
"Hannah," he begins, his accent thicker with emotion. "Two years ago, you walked into a bar looking for someone safe. Someone boring. Someone who would never turn your world upside down."
Soft laughter ripples through the guests.
"Instead, you found me." His thumb traces circles on my palm.
"I was a broken man when we met. I had power, money, an empire built on fear—and none of it mattered.
None of it filled the emptiness inside me.
I had resigned myself to a half-life, going through the motions for Mila's sake but never really living. "
He pauses, collecting himself.
"Then you called me Kevin, and everything changed."
More laughter. I'm crying now, tears streaming down my cheeks unchecked.
"You challenged me. Fought me. Refused to break no matter how impossible I made things for you. You showed me that strength isn't about control—it's about knowing when to let go. You showed me that love isn't weakness—it's the only thing worth fighting for."
His voice drops lower, meant for me alone but carrying in the chapel's acoustics.
"You gave me Sofia. You gave me a reason to walk away from everything I thought I was. You gave me a future I never dared to imagine." He lifts my hand to his lips. "Ya tebya lyublyu, zaika. Today, tomorrow, forever. You're my home. You always will be."
I'm full-on sobbing now. Delilah passes me a tissue, and I dab helplessly at my eyes while trying to remember my own vows.
"Dante," I manage, my voice shaky. "When we met, I was looking for someone safe. What I found was the most dangerous man in Chicago."
He smiles, unrepentant.
"You kidnapped me. Held me prisoner. Threatened my family and turned my entire life upside down." I shake my head. "I should have hated you. For a while, I think I convinced myself I did."
The chapel is silent, everyone hanging on my words.
"But you were never really a monster, were you?
You were just a man—a father, a protector, someone who built walls around his heart because he'd already lost so much.
" I squeeze his hands. "You let me see behind those walls.
You trusted me with Mila, with your fears, with the broken parts of yourself that you'd hidden from everyone else. "
A tear slides down his cheek. I reach up and brush it away.
"I didn't fall in love with the pakhan," I tell him. "I fell in love with the man who reads bedtime stories in silly voices. The man who would burn down the world for his daughters. The man who chose me—chose us—over power and legacy and everything he'd spent his life building."
My hand moves to my belly, where our daughter kicks in response to my elevated heartbeat.
"You gave me a family. You gave me Sofia and Mila and this little one who's already keeping me up at night. You gave me a life I didn't know I wanted—messy and complicated and more beautiful than anything I could have imagined."
I take a breath, steadying myself for the words I need him to hear.
"I'm yours, Dante Sokolov. Not because you claimed me, but because I chose you back. Today, tomorrow, forever. Wherever you go, I go. Whatever comes next, we face it together."
The officiant says something about rings. Mila steps forward with the pillow she's been guarding like a dragon hoards gold. We exchange bands—simple platinum, elegant and unbreakable, just like us.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The officiant smiles. "You may kiss your bride."
Dante frames my face with both hands, his eyes searching mine like he still can't quite believe this is real.
"Mine," he whispers.
"Yours," I agree.
The kiss is soft and sweet, appropriate for our audience but containing a promise of more later. The chapel erupts in applause. Sofia shrieks "Papa! Mama!" and Mila is crying while pretending she's not and somewhere in the front row, my father is definitely going through his second handkerchief.
We turn to face our guests—our family, our friends, the people who stood by us through impossible circumstances.
Alexei raises his glass in silent salute.
Maria dabs at her eyes with her apron. Delilah is already planning the bachelorette party I refused to let her throw, probably scheming with Mila about future opportunities for chaos.
The reception unfolds in the vineyard itself, long tables set under string lights that twinkle against the darkening sky.
Wine from our own grapes fills glasses raised in endless toasts.
The food is perfect, the music is perfect, and Dante holds me close during our first dance like he never wants to let go.
"Having fun, Mrs. Sokolov?" he murmurs against my hair.
"Mmm." I lean into him, exhausted and happy and so in love it hurts. "Ask me again in fifty years."
"I plan to."
Later, as the sun sets and the party continues around us, I find a quiet moment at the edge of the vineyard. The view stretches for miles—rolling hills painted gold and purple by the fading light, our home nestled among the vines, the chapel where we just promised each other forever.
Dante appears beside me, Sofia asleep against his shoulder, her flower girl dress rumpled and her face sticky with cake.
"Mila's teaching your father to dance," he reports. "I'm not sure who's leading."
I laugh softly. "He'll survive."
"He's a good man." Dante's voice is thoughtful. "I understand now why you fought so hard for him."
"He's family."
"Yes." He shifts Sofia to his other arm, then pulls me close with his free hand. "And now he's my family too."
We stand there as the last light fades, watching our guests celebrate, listening to the music and laughter drift across the grounds.
Mila runs past with a sparkler, chased by one of Alexei's security guys who's been roped into babysitting duty.
My father twirls Delilah across the dance floor with surprising grace.
Maria passes out plates of dessert with the efficiency of a general commanding troops.
This is what we built. This is what we fought for. Not power or money or an empire—but this. Family. Love. A home where our children can grow up safe and happy, where the violence of the past can't touch them.
"No regrets?" Dante asks, echoing a question he asked me once before, in another life.
I think about the woman I was two years ago—the one who walked into a Chicago bar looking for a boring accountant and found a mafia king instead. That woman would never recognize me now. Would never believe the life I'm living, the man I'm married to, the family we've created together.
She would probably think I'm crazy.
Maybe I am.
"Not a single one," I tell him honestly.
He kisses my temple, then my lips, soft and reverent.
"Mama." Sofia stirs against his chest, blinking awake. She reaches for me with chubby arms. "Mama up."
I take her, settling her against my hip, her head drooping onto my shoulder. She'll be asleep again in minutes, worn out by the excitement of the day.
Dante's hand comes to rest on my belly, where our second daughter kicks in greeting.
"We should get this one to bed," I say.
"We should." But he doesn't move, just stands there looking at me with an expression that makes my heart squeeze. "I love you, Hannah."
"I know."
"I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt it."
"I know that too."
He smiles, that rare genuine smile that transforms his face from dangerous to devastatingly handsome.
"Let's go home, Mrs. Sokolov."
Home. Not the estate in Chicago with its armed guards and panic rooms. Not the penthouse where we spent our first night together. Just home—the farmhouse at the edge of the vineyard, with its creaky floors and sunny kitchen and bedrooms full of children's laughter.
Home, where a former mafia king reads bedtime stories and a former captive plans wine tastings and two little girls are growing up believing that love really does conquer all.
"Let's go home," I agree.
And we do.
Together.
Forever.