EPILOGUE
IVY
The plane's engine hums beneath us as I adjust my parachute straps one final time, my heart racing with anticipation rather than fear.
Two years ago, I never could have imagined I'd be sitting here, fifteen thousand feet above the ground, holding hands with my husband as we prepare to jump into the vast blue sky together.
Konstantin's fingers intertwine with mine, his callused thumb tracing gentle circles across my knuckles.
Even now, after all this time, his touch sends electricity shooting through my veins.
I glance over at him, taking in the rare relaxed expression on his face.
Gone is the commanding Pakhan who strikes fear into the hearts of his enemies.
Here, strapped into his parachute gear with his dark hair tousled by the wind from the open plane door, he looks almost boyish.
"Ready, moya lyubov?" he asks, his green eyes sparkling with excitement. The Russian endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, and I feel that familiar flutter in my stomach that he still manages to provoke.
"More than ready," I breathe, squeezing his hand. "I can't believe it's been almost three years since my last jump."
His expression grows tender, and he brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my wedding ring. "I know how much you missed it. I should have arranged this sooner."
I shake my head, smiling. "You've given me so much more than I ever dreamed possible."
And it's true. Our life together has been nothing like what I expected when I first learned about the Bratva.
Yes, there's danger—there always will be with Konstantin's position—but his swift and ruthless justice to those who've crossed him has created a protective bubble around our family.
No one dares to threaten what belongs to Konstantin Mikhailov.
My thoughts drift to our daughter, Konstance—Konnie, as we call her—who's spending Christmas morning with her grandfather Andrei and Viktor back at the house. She’s already showing signs of her father's commanding personality, though she has my blonde hair and his striking green eyes.
Konstantin is an incredible father, patient and gentle with her in ways that would shock his enemies.
Just last night, I watched him sitting on the floor of our living room, carefully helping Konnie stack the wooden blocks Viktor had carved for her, his massive hands so careful and tender with our tiny daughter.
Viktor is family to us and the uncle figure Konnie deserves.
His latest creation, a beautiful mobile of carved woodland animals that hangs above her crib, is a masterpiece.
Each animal is perfectly detailed, from the wise owl to the playful fox, all suspended on delicate strings that catch the light streaming through her nursery window.
He's already started a collection for her, wooden animals that will become family heirlooms passed down through generations.
"What are you thinking about?" Konstantin asks, noticing my distant expression.
"Konnie. And how perfect this all is." I gesture between us, then toward the open door where the instructor is giving us final signals. "Two years ago, I was so focused on just surviving each day, and now…"
"Now you're living," he finishes, understanding immediately. His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing across my skin. "We both are."
He's right. In just four months, I'll graduate with my teaching degree—something that seemed impossible when I was working double shifts at Otrava and taking classes online whenever I could find time.
Now, thanks to Konstantin's generous donation, I'll be running my own private school.
Mikhailov Academy will open next fall, and I'll have complete control over the curriculum and teaching methods.
It's a dream I never dared to voice, but somehow, Konstantin saw it in me before I even recognized it myself.
The school will be small and intimate, focusing on individualized learning and creativity.
I've already hired three other teachers who share my vision, and we're planning innovative programs that blend traditional academics with arts and practical life skills.
Konstantin jokes that I'm more excited about the school than he was about expanding his territory, and he's probably right.
"Five minutes!" the instructor shouts over the wind.
My pulse quickens, but it's pure exhilaration. Konstantin stands and helps me to my feet, his hands steady on my waist as we move toward the door. The ground spreads out below us like a patchwork quilt, and I can see the landing field in the distance.
"I have something to tell you," Konstantin says, his voice low and intimate despite the noise around us. He pulls me closer, his body warm and solid against mine.
"What?" I ask, having to lean in to hear him.
"I've been skydiving for years. Since I was twenty-five."
I pull back to stare at him in surprise. "What? But you acted like this was new for you!"
His dimple appears as he grins, that rare, genuine smile that transforms his entire face. "I wanted to experience it fresh, through your eyes. Everything is better when I see your joy."
My heart melts completely. Even after two years of marriage, he still finds ways to surprise me, to show me depths of his love I didn't know existed.
"Two minutes!"
The instructor checks our gear one final time, and I feel Konstantin's hand settle possessively on my lower back. Even here, preparing to jump from a plane, he can't help but touch me, claim me. The possessiveness that once frightened me now makes me feel cherished and protected.
I think about how much has changed since that terrifying night I witnessed the murder.
Frank has found happiness with a kindergarten teacher named Sarah, and though it was awkward at first, he occasionally visits as a friend.
He's much better suited to Sarah's gentle nature, and I'm genuinely happy for them both.
My mother remains estranged, still unable to accept my choices or forgive me for reminding her of my father.
But I've found peace with that. Andrei has more than made up for her absence, embracing his role as grandfather with enthusiasm.
He spoils Konnie terribly, teaching her Russian lullabies and traditional Christmas songs.
This morning, before we left for the airfield, I watched him showing her how to hang ornaments on the tree while explaining the significance of each decoration in careful, patient Russian.
"Ready?" Konstantin asks, and I realize we're at the door now, the wind whipping around us.
I look into his eyes, seeing my whole future reflected there. "Always, with you."
He leans down and kisses me, hard and possessive, his hand tangling in my hair. When we break apart, we're both breathing heavily.
"This is what our life will always be," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Jumping into love, into fun, into danger—always together."
"Always together," I agree, my heart so full I think it might burst.
The instructor gives us the final signal, and suddenly, we're moving. Konstantin's hand grips mine tightly as we approach the edge, and then we're falling, plummeting through the sky together.
I scream in pure joy, the sound torn away by the wind as we freefall through the clouds.
Beside me, Konstantin lets out a wild yell, his usual control completely abandoned in this moment of perfect freedom.
This is the side of him that only I get to see—the man beneath the Pakhan, the one who loves me enough to jump out of planes and carve out a safe space in his dangerous world for our family to flourish.
The ground rushes up to meet us, but I'm not afraid. With Konstantin beside me, I'm never afraid. We pull our ripcords in perfect synchronization, and our parachutes bloom above us like colorful flowers against the winter sky.
As we drift down together, I think about the life we've built. It's not the quiet, predictable existence I once thought I wanted. It's better—wild and passionate and full of love so deep it takes my breath away.
We land softly in the field, and Konstantin immediately pulls me into his arms, spinning me around as I laugh breathlessly.
"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Mikhailov," he murmurs against my ear.
"Merry Christmas, husband," I whisper back and seal it with a kiss that tastes like adventure and promises of forever.