Extended Epilogue Matvey
TEN YEARS LATER
“Mooom! Sasha stole my cookies!”
“They’re mine! Dad gave them to me!”
“Liar! He said to share but you’re just?—”
“Kids!” April claps once to grab everyone’s attention. “No fighting in the car. That’s the rule.”
“BUT MOM—!” two little voices cry out in unison.
“No buts!” She puts her foot down. “Sasha, share with your sister. May, don’t start shouting matches. If you have a problem—an actual problem—you come to me or your dad. Okay?”
“Okay,” May mumbles under her breath.
“Good. Now, what do you say to each other?”
I twist my head back from the passenger seat, biting down a smile. The kids give each other the stink eye, but eventually, Sasha gives in. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken all the cookies.”
“I’m sorry, too,” May grumbles. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“There!” April claps her hands again, this time happily. “See?”
Sasha offers his sister the cookie box. She hesitates over the last chocolate chip one, but deviates at the last minute towards a plain shortbread biscuit. “You can take it,” Sasha tells her.
May bites her lip, looking conflicted. “But it’s your favorite type,” she protests.
I shake my head, the twitching corners of my lips becoming impossible to contain. It’s just like May to say that. Not even two years apart, and she keeps stepping up to her role as the eldest sister.
Just like her mother.
“How about you split it?” I suggest.
Sasha’s eyes light up. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”
Once he plucks the cookie from the box, his brow furrows in concentration. It’s like watching Walton split the atom. “There!” he declares eventually.
The two halves are by no means even, but May seems happy as a clam. “Thanks, Sasha!”
“Can I have half of that one, too?”
April meets my gaze over the seat. “You’re missing a lot of excitement back here,” she teases. “Our kids are about to reinvent the barter economy.”
“Take minutes for me?”
“Aye aye, cap’n.”
I wish I didn’t have to work on this trip, but it’s non-negotiable. Either I do it here, in the car, or I’m going to have to skip on our planned activities. And there’s no way in hell that’s happening.
Today is a day for family.
“Drop you off at the meet-up spot?” Grisha asks from the driver’s seat.
I nod. “Feel free to take the rest of the day off. We don’t have to be back on our way until six.”
“Yessir.”
I roll my eyes. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve known each other: when he’s on duty, I’m always sir or boss or pakhan. Unless he’s got a smart joke to crack, that is. “Say hi to the missus for me.”
“Will do, boss. Though she’s already more at your place than mine.”
“That’s best friend duty,” April points out. “You can’t skip out on best friend duty. June would never.”
Of all the ways I thought the chips would fall, Grisha tying the knot with April’s former roommate was not on my bingo card. Goes to show anything can happen. And now that June is on her way to becoming a five-star chef, every restaurant on the East Coast wants a piece of her. Which is how she wound up spending a week in D.C. whipping new chefs into shape.
Naturally, she’s requested her husband for lunch.
“Uncle Grisha!” Sasha pipes up from the backseat, as if reading my mind. “Tell us the cookie joke again!”
“Why did the cookie go to the doctor?”
“Because it was feeling crumbly!”
Grisha chuckles. “Out to steal my job, aren’t you?”
“But I can’t drive,” he pouts. “And I don’t have a suit.”
“Mom can make you one,” May suggests. “Right, Mom?”
“Sure.” April grins. “But it’ll cost ya. Half a cookie oughta do.”
“Moooom!”
Despite the small party going on in the backseat, I manage to finish reviewing the vory’s reports just as we’re about to pull over. For a few years after we lost Ivan, our finances kept struggling. We weren’t in our glory days anymore, and we all knew it. Worst of all, we deserved it—I deserved it.
Luckily, in our fifth year, April’s fashion line took off. Needless to say, we haven’t had a bad quarter since.
“See you later, Uncle Grisha!” May waves.
“Smell ya later, alligator!”
“That’s not how it goes.” Sasha frowns.
“He’s old,” May helpfully supplies. “Maybe he forgot.”
April shakes her head and laughs. “Don’t let him hear you say that. Everybody ready?” She grabs them both by the hand, one on each side.
“What about me?” I tease.
“Here!” May runs all the way around me. “I’ll hold your hand, Daddy.”
“Why, thank you, malyshka.”
With my free hand, I find April’s. “Manipulator,” she whispers to me.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I answer with a straight face. “I see nothing wrong with guiding my daughter through the roads of an unknown city.”
“Does she know that? Because I think your daughter believes she’s guiding you.”
“Maybe she is. I might get lost.”
April brushes my cheekbone with the tip of her nose. “Oh, dear. Whatever shall we do?”
“Ew!” Sasha goes. “They’re kissing!”
“Wow. I didn’t know I’d given birth to the kissing police.”
We’re so busy bantering with our kids, we almost don’t notice our destination. “Guys!” Sasha shouts. “Look, it’s Santa!”
It is, most definitely, not Santa. “That’s George Washington,” May says smugly. “We learned all about him in school.”
Warmer, but still not it.
“Wanna take a look?” April suggests. “Maybe there’s a plaque that will tell us who that is.”
Just like that, the kids start pulling us towards the monument. Though “pulling” is an understatement—they’re like two huskies with a sled. “I bet it’s Washington! Because we’re in Washington, D.C.!”
“I bet it’s Santa because he has a beard!”
“Should we tell them?” I whisper into April’s ear.
“Let’s not.”
We weave our way through a small crowd of tourists until we’re finally in front of the statue. Sasha frowns at the plaque behind it. Then he starts reading it—very loudly. “‘In this maple…’”
“Temple,” May corrects.
“‘… as in the farts…’”
“Hearts!” April blurts out. “That’s ‘hearts,’ darling.”
“‘… of the people for worm…’”
“Why don’t I read it?” I suggest.
“I can do it!” he protests.
“I know you can. Your dad just wants to see if he remembers how to read.”
“You don’t know how to read?!”
“I used to. But then again, it’s been a while since I’ve gone to school.”
“Will I forget how to read, too?” May pulls on April’s sleeve fearfully. “When I’m old like Daddy?”
“Okay!” April claps her hands. “I think it’s time for some ice cream. Anybody want ice cream?”
“OHH, ME ME ME!”
We shake our heads and leave President Lincoln behind. “I’ll text them to meet us at the kiosk,” April mutters.
“Who, us and these two patriots?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
But before she can get out her phone, a familiar voice trills, “Uncle Matvey!”
We turn. Not too far off, sandwiched between two figures I’d recognize anywhere, a little boy’s bouncing up and down, waving his arm in the air. “Vitya!” I grin. “Who’s that old hag next to you?”
“Hilarious,” Petra deadpans.
Viktor comes hurtling at us like a bullet. I catch him in my arms and lift him in the air. “Oof! So heavy!”
“I’m not!” he squeals, but he’s laughing.
“No fair, Dad! I wanna play with Viktor, too!”
“Me, three!”
“Yeah?” I sit him on my shoulder. “Well, I’m ransoming him. What have you got to offer?”
May purses her lips for a moment. “Ice cream,” she decides. “But only one bite.”
“Two bites!” Sasha cuts in.
“Do I hear three?”
“Two and a half, but that’s it!”
My brother comes rumbling up with an amused smile as he takes in the auction proceedings. “I take my eyes off of you for one second, and you’re auctioning off your nephew?”
My grin widens. “That’s right. We’re two and a half ice cream bites into this. Care to bid?”
Yuri smirks. “How about I treat all the kids here to some ice cream?”
The unified roar is deafening.
With a laugh, I drop Viktor off and he goes again, this time with Sasha and May in tow. The adults follow along behind them.
“How have you not popped yet?” I ask with a glance at Petra’s belly.
She rolls her eyes. “Asks the guy whose wife’s pregnancies last like a giraffe’s.”
“Hey!” April protests.
“No shade, but it’s true.”
“I forgot how mean you can be.” But she follows my gaze, too. “Matvey’s got a point, though. How are you this big six months in?”
Petra takes off her designer sunglasses with a calculated hair swish, like she’s rehearsed this or something. “Because I’m eating for three.”
April’s eyes go wide. “Oh my God!” she squeals. “Twins?!”
“Two girls,” Petra confirms, all smug. “My father would be appalled.”
“Ahh, congratulations!” April pulls her into a hug. “Gah, I’m so happy for you!”
Petra blinks up at me like I can somehow save her from this. After ten years, she should’ve realized April’s displays of affection are a non-negotiable part of their friendship. “Thank you,” she says diplomatically. “I should, uhh—check on Yuri. See if he hasn’t been mutinied.”
She makes a quick getaway towards the kiosk.
“Wanna share our big news, too?” I whisper.
“Not yet.” April shakes her head. “I don’t want to steal their thunder. Besides, it’s still a bit…”
“No problem,” I reassure her. “Whenever you’re ready.”
April’s hand goes to her belly. I cover it with mine. After Sasha, we were so busy—happily busy—with the kids we already had, plus everything else, that we decided to take a break from that for a while. It wasn’t the easiest call to make: we both wanted more and we knew it. But in the end, we told ourselves there was no need to rush. After all, we had our whole lives ahead of us. And as they went, I thought I couldn’t possibly be any happier.
And then, last month…
Last month, she proved me dead wrong.
“Thanks,” April smiles. She presses a quick kiss to my lips, taking advantage of the fact that we aren’t surrounded by an army of tiny hecklers for once. “Lunch?”
I spy Yuri and Petra coming back with the rest of the pack, trailing a stream of melted ice cream as the kiddos devour their cones happily.
“Lunch,” I agree. “It’s a date.”
Our go-to restaurant in D.C. is an open air bistro with an ample courtyard and annexed playground. For that reason—and the excellent cooking—we’ve been regulars at Paul Petta’s for years. It’s the perfect place to let the children play while the adults discuss business.
Plus, it’s Italian cuisine. A fitting reminder of the battle we once fought for this territory.
Fought and won.
“Dad, can we go play?” May begs me with wide eyes.
“Please?” Sasha joins in.
“Please, Uncle Matvey?”
Petra arches an eyebrow at Viktor. “Why aren’t you asking me?”
“But I always ask you!”
She huffs a small laugh. “Fine, fine. You can be your uncle’s little komuk for a day.”
“Yay!”
“Spaghetti and meatballs for everyone?” April calls to them before they shoot off.
“WITH EXTRA SAUCE!”
“My father would have a heart attack,” I remark. Though this place has many fine qualities, authenticity isn’t one of them.
She smiles. “Good. Maybe I’ll have the same then.”
“Go with the chicken parmesan,” I suggest. “It’ll drive his ghost insane.”
I catch Yuri snorting out of the corner of my eye. All things considered, he spent more quality time with Carmine than I ever did. And the man did love to monologue. “Sour cream carbonara for me, then.”
“You’re choosing violence today, brother.”
“You have no idea. Remember those Bonaccorsi remnants we had to deal with in our first year here?” he says with a wicked glint in his eye. “Nothing got them talking like this place’s takeout.”
“It was mostly insults,” Petra adds. “But still.”
Ten years. I can’t believe it’s been that long. It seems like yesterday that we were in this city, fighting our way out of a hideout, wounded and bleeding in more places that you could see. Most of our scars from back then aren’t visible to the naked eye.
But they’ve healed. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here right now.
“Is that how you built your reign of terror?” April asks her. “Torturing Italians with fusion food?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“I trust it’s going well?” I comment. “Your ‘reign of terror’?”
She puts her hand on Yuri’s. It’s a rare display of affection, discreet enough that it could be missed. “Can’t exactly complain.”
“We’ve had our strongest quarter yet,” Yuri informs me. “And the Solovyov Bratva has been expanding steadily. Our ranks are ever-growing.”
When we took out Carmine, a power vacuum spread over D.C., fast as the plague. We had to choose: let someone else swoop in, or take over ourselves. And since Yuri was out of the Groza Bratva, and my divorce with Petra meant she and the Solovyov troops needed a new home…
Well, it was a no-brainer.
Pakhan Petra had a nice ring to it.
“How’s our sister organization?” Petra inquires. “I hope Stanislav isn’t still being such a hardass.”
“He is, but that’s what we pay him for.”
“Enough shop talk,” April declares. “We’re here to celebrate!”
“Hear-hear,” Yuri says. “Happy ten-year anniversary, you guys.”
“Happy ten-year anniversary right back.” She grins.
Between the four of us, there’s no way we’d ever forget this date. The day our new lives began.
Together.
“And happy five-year anniversary to the April Flowers fashion line,” I add.
“Armored suits and bridal gowns for your friendly neighborhood mob wedding,” Petra chuckles.
“Guys!” April blushes. “Today isn’t about me.”
“No,” I concede. “But it’s about us. All of us.”
I look at the children, playing without a care in the world. At the people around this table, the best damn family I could’ve asked for.
At my wife.
Then I raise my glass. “To ten more years.”
After lunch, Yuri tempts me away with a cigar. “Look at you,” I whistle. “All grown up.”
“Because I’ve moved on from Marlboro?”
“No. Because you’re paying.”
He chuckles. “I’m not paying for a thing. I stole these from Carmine’s stash. Figured I’d bust them out on a special occasion.” His smile grows calm, serene. “This feels like one.”
“I’ll be damned. You really have grown up.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs, then holds out the lighter for me. “But I wouldn’t be here without you.”
I could say the same. All those years on the run, in the snow and on the streets—I can’t bear to think what it would have been like to go through that alone.
But I never had to.
“Right back at you, brother.”
We gaze out the balcony, keeping an eye on the children playing in the courtyard just below. “All that drama about heirs…” Yuri shakes his head. “Remember?”
“How could I forget?”
“And now, we’ve got so many of them. Three each soon.” He notices my surprise. “Unless you guys are expecting twins, too…?”
“You know, sometimes, you almost scare me.”
He laughs at my confirmation. “I’m just familiar with the signs. Besides, April would never pass up on this place’s wine if she didn’t have a damn good reason.”
That I can’t deny. Ever since she discovered fine cuisine, April has turned into a bona fide foodie. Though she still insists on mac and cheese nights. “Think Petra caught that?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s probably grilling her as we speak.”
So much for our big announcement. “Well, your girls are first up anyway.”
“They are. Due date’s on Halloween.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less from Petra.”
He laughs. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“Any thoughts on names?”
“Yep. Julia and Lena.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“I assure you, I am fucking not.”
“Where are they anyway?” I glance around. “Can’t imagine they’d miss the chance to play with the whole army. Or join us for dessert.”
“Stayed behind to watch Summer and Nymeria’s litter. The puppies are still young, so it’s good to have a spare set of eyes there.”
“You know, sometimes, I forget you raise actual wolves.”
“Wolfdogs,” he corrects. “And they’re excellent guards. Better than all the human ones put together.”
Since Petra’s the actual leader of the Solovyov Bratva, Yuri’s more than happy to handle his pakhan duties the same way April handles her pakhansha ones: rearing the young and supporting the family business through incredibly hyper-specific hobbies. In his case, that’s dogs.
“Which one’s it gonna be?” he asks, pointing at the kids. “May or Sasha?”
I don’t need him to explain what he’s talking about. “Not sure. They’re both showing promise in different ways.”
It’s true: May is smart, responsible, more level-headed than most kids her age. And Sasha—well, he’s my little shadow. He’s too young to know what this business is really about—they both are—but he keeps asking questions. Says he wants to be just like me one day.
I won’t force this kind of life on them. But April agrees: if they decide they want in, then we won’t stop them, either.
“Maybe they could rule together,” Yuri suggests. “Like we used to.”
I can’t help but smile. Those were tough times, but they were our times. If that’s what my kids end up wanting, my Bratva will be in excellent hands.
“Maybe. We’ll see what the little one has to say.”
“True. If I suggested Viktor should be named heir, Petra would have my head. She’ll want his sisters to have the option she never had. Speaking of…” He turns to me. “Remember the Bonaccorsi deserters? The ones who fled to Philadelphia? Well, it seems that the City of Brotherly Love didn’t treat them very nicely. They had a turf war with the local Greeks and practically decimated each other in the process.”
A lightbulb goes off in my head. “So the city’s ripe for the taking.”
“Bingo. Petra was thinking about expanding. I know your Bratva’s been growing, too. Maybe it’s time to give them both a new home.”
A territory halfway between our cities. Half-ours, half-theirs. “You want to take it over together?”
“Why not?” He shrugs. “This all started with a deal between you and Petra. What’s one more?”
One more deal. To conquer new land, set up new bases. Fortify our power on the East Coast so that no one will ever dare come for us again.
I gaze down at my children. At April, nursing a new life inside of her. They deserve everything. They deserve the world.
And that’s exactly what I’ll give them. “Just tell me one thing, brother…”
He looks up at me, nervous, same as he always is when I bring that word out. I make him sweat it for a second before I let the grin spread across my face.
“When do we start?”