Epilogue 1-Atlas
Six months later…
Tonight we hosted a dinner party for some of the family, the O’Doyles, the Callahans, the Botarellis, Sammy and Aella, Balor and Lucy, Junior and Leanna, and Remy and Andrea. Plus all their kids.
It was an uproarious affair. Laughter, food, and plenty of tall tales.
But there’s a contented kind of silence you only get when the last bottle’s been opened, the food's all been eaten and put away, and the women we fought like hell to win are safe in our arms.
We’re scattered around a firepit on my back terrace in Rumson Castle, which is what they all call it. The guest bedrooms have all been made up. And the moon’s sitting high over the Atlantic, waves crashing like applause against the cliffs.
The manse behind us glows with warm lights and laughter—our wives somewhere inside, probably charming the children into their PJs, getting last-minute snacks and drinks, and making whatever womanly magic they always seem to do so effortlessly.
I take a long sip of scotch and let the burn settle deep as I take a glance around the fire at all eight of us out here.
Eight men.
Eight ghosts turned kings of our own little castles.
And every single one of us bleeds the same truth now that the dust has cleared.
We didn’t just close the deals of our lives when we walked into this enormous circle, we call the Volkov Clan.
We married them.
Liam O’Doyle leans back in his chair, arms crossed and grin lazy.
“Funny thing. I thought I’d die first before I let anyone touch my heart the way Michaela did. Turns out I just had to live long enough to realize she was the only one who could.”
Connor Callahan snorts.
“You’re getting soft, Irish. And don’t pretend like you didn’t chase her halfway across town first.”
“I followed her a little bit, bro,” Liam corrects. “Big difference.”
Connor rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, well. I told myself I’d never fall for a woman so young and innocent. But Clementine took me down with one look and wound up saving my old ass.”
Ono Botarelli cracks a rare smile, his crystalline gaze watching the fire. “My wife doctored me, ran from me, and had me ready to kill half of Jersey City for just looking at her.”
“And?” Nico Fury Jr. grins over the rim of his glass.
“And in the end, I begged her to take my name.”
Laughter echoes across the terrace. Remy’s sitting with one leg draped over the arm of his chair like he owns the night.
“My woman wanted to use me as her own personal sperm bank. Thought she was gonna have my babies without me.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Balor Cruz mutters. “You married her.”
“Damn right I did,” Remy says, smug. “Andrea’s got claws and curves and a bite that makes a man beg.”
“Speaking of bites,” Nico Jr. cuts in, voice low and full of heat. “Leanna? I got bit by that love bug before it was even legal. But I waited, and now she’s the one that branded me. I let that woman ruin me, and I thank her for it every goddamn day.”
Sammy Ramirez chuckles from the edge of the circle. “Amateurs. Aella just waited for me to come back from war, and I was gonna leave her alone. I knew my hands were too fucking dirty to ever touch her. But then I saw her again, and I couldn’t walk away.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me about all that eye-fucking you were doing on her Vegas birthday trip,” Junior says.
“Oh yeah? Like you weren’t staring at Lee-Lee the whole time,” Sammy counters and snorts.
“Well, at least your women don’t have fan-fucking-pages dedicated to them. I swear I spend half my time shutting that shit down,” Balor mutters, but he’s grinning as he says it.
“What about you?” Junior asks.
They all look at me then.
All these powerful men who once would’ve sold their souls to keep control of their empires.
Now? Now we’d burn the world to protect the women we call ours.
I look down into my glass, but I’m not really seeing it. I’m seeing her.
My brilliant, infuriatingly beautiful, soft and savage wife.
Cecilia Stavros. God, I love her name. Love her.
She didn’t just upend my empire—she became the heart of it. Of me.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I say aloud, my voice low.
“Some of us were at war. Some of us were running. Some of us were just too damn proud to admit we were alone. But love doesn’t give a fuck about your bank balance. It doesn’t care how many enemies you’ve buried or how many walls you built.”
I pause, letting that settle.
“I thought I was playing the long game. Building legacies. Protecting my father’s name. Controlling the board.”
A second pause, watching the firelight catch on the engraved ring on my finger—the one she slipped there with tears in her eyes and a vow on her lips.
“I never expected the one deal I’d fight hardest to keep would be my wife.”
They all go quiet.
Not because they disagree.
But because they know exactly what I mean.
So I raise my glass one last time, for the bastards who lost themselves and the women who found us.
“To desperate men,” I say. “And the women who made us whole.”
Because love?
Well, that’s just the ultimate acquisition.
No matter how desperate the merger, love is worth every risk.