Epilogue Vanya
EPILOGUE: VANYA
“They’re waiting for us out there.”
“Let them wait,” I whisper, shifting against him.
“Right…oh. There…” Ciro hums, his eyes fluttering.
My nails drift lower, scratching…
“Wow…” he breathes, his body going slack. “I thought that itch was going to kill me.”
“I told you to bring back scratcher.”
“It doesn’t get into all the hard-to-reach spots.”
“Not like me, da ?”
“ Da . Speaking of hard-to-reach spots,” he murmurs, working his hips. His bulge presses against me, making me tighten my thighs. A throb of desire clenches within me.
Without another thought, I grind his thigh between my legs, cupping him through his trousers.
“Fuuuck, Van.”
Stepping back, I straighten my dress. Ciro tightens his tie.
In the weeks that followed the attack by an “unknown Mocro assassin,” the brotherhood has experienced an evolution. The clans came together to raise Pyotr as their leader. He sacrificed himself to defeat Adil Abas, the invader.
We drove his people from our shores. Avenged our fallen brethren. Returned their prisoners with accords to remain in their lands. Including Abas’s son.
And in the wake of that catastrophe…
The city came together. The alliance held together. And for some strange reason, they thrust the mantle of leadership onto me.
And Ciro.
An outsider turned one of the blood. No one addressed his origins. Only his mettle.
Only the bullet he took for Pyotr. His risking death to save me.
And his killing the very assassin who blew up the summit, the celebration of Bratva unity.
Of course, Ciro then had to spend several weeks in the hospital. But they removed the bullet. Performed surgery on his shoulder, the tendons tearing from holding me so long.
He is indomitable, my lover. My Shakal.
Unless his scar itches underneath the bandages. Then, he is little bitch.
All of this, and somehow, we are here. Through war and torture.
Nodding at one another, we open the door to the dressing room, shuffle back around the stairs to the entry. Deep breath.
“You got this.” Ciro smiles. I could look at his face forever.
“ We got this,” I corrected, taking his offered hand.
Pushing the doors open, I brace for the onslaught.
“I present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Diamante-Sokolov!”
The cheers deafen us. I have never heard such a sound.
Or seen such a crowd gathered in one place. For us.
Music explodes over the cheering, whistling, applause. And we circle down the steps, right into the embrace of our comrades, our friends. Our family.
“Vanya! To health, to the Volk!”
“To the Bratva!” I shout, grinning and quickly tossing the shot offered to me over my shoulder.
“What the fuck, Van!” Ciro growls, so only I can hear.
“Shush.” I snap, waving my hand. This is my night. I will not let anything?—
“No, you just?—”
“Wasted perfectly good vodka. He is right. This is unforgivable,” Fyodor crosses his arms, scowling down at me. “What is giving?”
“It’s ‘what gives,’” Ciro corrects.
“Santa Clause,” Fyodor retorts, shoving Ciro aside. “Explain.”
“Ugh. All of the eligible women in Russia here in one place and you have to loom menacingly over me?” I square off with him, staring him down.
“Oh. Oh no.” Fyo’s eyes pop out of his head.
“Oh no, what?” Ciro returns, looking between us.
“Not another one!” Fyodor storms off, cursing in Russian.
Ciro raises one eyebrow at me, tapping his foot. “Vanya.”
“Yes, Papa?” I sing, rubbing my belly and giving him my sweetest smile.
Now I watch his eyes pop out of his head. A sight I will savor forever. And try to replicate later tonight.
“Y-you’re…uh…”
“Wearing crotchless panties…”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“No, but the other thing, you’re?—”
“Soaking wet for you?”
“I, pffft. Shit. Nope. Stop it. You are ?—”
“Ready for you to pull this butt plug out and?—”
Ciro grabs me, kissing me and sweeping me off my feet. Right across the dance floor and into the nearest closet he can find.
“Oh, you drive me fucking insane.”
“And you love every fucking second of it, Shakal.”