Epilogue
Three Weeks Later
Kirill
It would have happened eventually—being surrounded by Lucy’s male relatives on their turf.
But I had to play nice. It was Lottie’s birthday, and I didn’t want to be the Grinch who ruined it.
I have been better with my social smiles.
At least, that was what my darling wife told me.
It also helped that I could sip a glass of scotch to disguise my derision every time a De Lucci male glowered my way.
But really, all I had to do was watch my wife in animated conversation with the other wives.
She was especially close to Sloane and Bianca.
Jeremiah King’s case was on lockdown. No one spoke about it at family gatherings.
But down in my wife’s basement office, Sloane and Bianca were frequent visitors, which probably gave Bianca’s husband, the overprotective Sandro Rossi, heartburn after heartburn.
Not only that, sometimes Bianca came by with their baby daughter.
Lucy threw back her head and laughed at something Sloane had said. Her eyes fell on me, and she shot me an impish grin before returning to her conversation.
I smiled into my scotch. Yes, watching my wife laugh like that was worth every second of aggravation from her De Lucci relatives.
“I’m surprised to see you relaxed amid all these Italians,” an amused voice said beside me.
“They’re not so bad,” I told Ivan. And honestly, they weren’t. They were growing on me. “Did the women boot you out of the kitchen?”
“Irina is helping Lottie and Ava. And Ava told the husbands to leave since too many cooks in the kitchen and all.”
I chuckled. “I don’t have that problem with my wife.”
“You’re lucky there. She doesn’t monitor your salt and fat intake,” Ivan grumbled.
I patted my father on the back. “She just wants you to live longer.” Ever since Lucy’s attack that landed her in a coma, my relationship with Ivan had mellowed out, and antagonism was no longer our default exchange.
For one thing, he went from criticizing to praising me how I ran the bratva.
More importantly, and I think this was the turning point—when Lucy was in the hospital, he never wavered in reassuring me it wasn’t my fault.
He didn’t use that moment to make me feel less than or worse.
Or maybe Lucy had successfully instilled more humanity in me by then, and that lessened the confrontational tone I used when talking to Ivan, or it helped me open up to accepting compassion instead of coloring Ivan’s approach as condescending behavior.
“I heard Irina hid the saltshaker at the house.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Ivan grumbled. “What is life without salt?”
“You didn’t have to tell her she would have to pry it out of your cold, dead hands.” A fleeting laugh escaped my mouth.
“Are we talking about the saltshaker incident again?” Lucy appeared by my side, her arms hugging my torso. As was my newly acquired instinct, my free arm came around her.
“Don’t worry, Ivan,” Lucy told him. “Kirill does the same thing with my carb and sugar intake.”
“Someone needs to manage you.” I kissed the top of her head.
And just my luck, or maybe it was the collective gazes burning a hole through me that made me raise my eyes, I spotted Dom and Matteo watching me.
There was no sign of a smirk in their smiles.
I wouldn’t call that even a smile. No, it was in their eyes.
Instead of contempt, there was approval.
We’d come a long way since I'd married Lucy. What? Like I didn’t know they were ready with an escape plan for my wife. That had angered me so much, but it didn’t excuse how I treated Lucy in the beginning of our marriage.
My arms tightened around her. I got stabs of anxiety every time I allowed myself to remember the many times I could have lost her.
First, because of my quest for revenge, I nearly failed to discover the treasure fate blessed me with.
Second, if I had dealt with Anya decisively, then I would have realized Jeremiah’s manipulation before he had a chance to hurt my wife and family.
My love for Lucy was absolute. I’d made my position clear in the bratva, including Kolya.
They protected my wife the way they would protect me. Speaking of Kolya…
“I heard you and Kolya had a little secret meeting.”
Ivan scoffed. “As if there are any secrets to be kept from you.”
“Is this about Chloe?” Lucy asked sharply. My wife was still annoyed at her brother for keeping Chloe’s secret from her.
Ivan clamped his mouth shut.
I gave my wife a mild shake. “Yes. But you need to stay out of it, Lusenka.”
Lottie appeared at the mouth of the kitchen. “Food is ready!”
Ivan and I exchanged a look, our eyes saying, Saved by the dinner bell.
Lucy
Aralina
The food looks delicious. Why did I get sick?
Me
There’ll be more gatherings. Or I can cook for you.
You’re hurting my feelings.
I snorted a laugh.
“Is that my sister?” Kirill asked.
He was driving the Porsche. Our security was behind us.
“Yes, she’s bummed she couldn’t come to the party.”
“Yeah, that was one spectacular feast.”
“What was your favorite?” I suspected what his favorite was.
I’d seen him go back to the buffet table for seconds.
There were about thirty guests, and to do a sit-down would be unwieldy, especially when Mom was going to be cooking.
Besides, she wanted to enjoy circulating with our guests instead of supervising the plating.
Once in a while, we did sit-downs when it was just the core family of the De Luccis.
Recently we’d added the Rossis, and now the Zahkarovs.
“Lobster ravioli.”
“Mama made that herself.”
“You know, I heard two hundred grand worth of lobster was stolen from a Maine warehouse.”
I burst out laughing. “And you think it’s one of the Five Families?”
His mouth twitched. For all I knew, it could be the bratva.
“Mamma always outdid herself. Now do you regret marrying someone who can’t cook like that?” I teased.
“Is that a trick question, Luchik?” He asked that question while giving my hand a gentle squeeze.
He was still hesitant. I stopped wearing the wrist brace last week following a check-up that had given me the all clear.
I didn’t get migraines anymore either. So, I was a happily caffeinated Lucy again.
I almost cried when I drank my first cup of coffee.
“No, it’s not.”
“Did you know I rejected twenty-five marriage contracts from Margo over the years?” he said.
“Really?”
We arrived at the house, and Kirill drove the Porsche to the back of the mansion to park in the garage. “How have I not told you this?”
“I know, right? How have you not bragged about it?” I deadpanned.
Kirill chuckled. His sounds of amusement were so sexy. It was the type of suppressed chuckle that started in the middle of his chest and barely made it past his mouth.
He turned off the engine and leaned over.
“I love you, baby.” Then, he gave me a brief kiss.
Kirill had become more affectionate when it was just the two of us.
Around my family, he was more reserved, but there was no question he was protective.
And when we were in a huge crowd? Forget it.
He’d have his big-dick-energy face on and glower at anyone who even looked at me wrong.
I’d come a long way from disliking overbearing men.
Kirill was right. I just hadn’t met the right one.
“I love you too.” I sighed happily. It was a terrific night that I didn’t want to be over.
When we reached the kitchen, I grabbed a glass of water. I wasn’t sure why I was so wired, but maybe it was the cappuccino I drank at Jabbin’ Java that afternoon.
“I’m not sleepy.” I faced Kirill.
He dragged me into his arms. “Good. I have plans for you.”
I scooted away from him.
“Baby, you know I love to chase you.”
When the devilish gleam in his eyes sent a pulsing between my legs, I debated whether I should abandon my plans.
“I have something else in mind.” Why was my voice breathless?
He raked his bottom lip with his teeth and emitted an exhale of resignation. “The jigsaw puzzle.”
“It’s almost finished! It’ll probably take us one hour tops!”
He regarded me contemplatively. As if he was assessing whether to carry me off to our bedroom or suffer through an hour of blue balls.
I stepped forward and loosened his tie. “I’ll make it worth your time.”
He quirked a brow. “Really?”
“We haven’t christened the new couch in the basement.”
He grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”
Forty-five minutes later, we were about to complete the Van Gogh Starry Night jigsaw puzzle.
“You can do the honor of putting in the last piece,” I told Kirill with a twinkle in my eyes.
One Sunday, Kirill and I drove to the Catskills cabin to collect the jigsaw puzzle that lay in pieces in the living room. We counted the pieces. All 1,000 of them. Kirill grumbled we could have just ordered another one off the internet, but I insisted it wouldn’t have had as much meaning.
My basement office was mostly complete. I had my whiteboards and erasable markers and magnets.
I had my binders and colored pens. A U-shaped desk.
A couch area off to the side with a coffee table.
Maksim approached me about being the investigator for Zahkarov Holdings, which still included researching leverage that he could use for business deals.
Kirill continued to bring me to his poker games where I could suss out potential associates.
I loved that my husband trusted my instincts.
We were a team.
Kirill rolled the piece with his fingers. “You’re right,” he breathed. “There’s something symbolic about finishing this same puzzle.”
Then, with extreme reverence, he fitted the piece into the last jagged hole.
“This is us,” he said, pulling me up from where I was sitting cross-legged so I could snuggle beside him.
“Back at the cabin, we were learning about each other.” He turned me to face him, his eyes deeply searching mine.
“Finding out how each piece of me fits into each piece of you. We weren’t quite finished.
” He frowned. “But somehow, even if we had stayed longer—”
“That wouldn’t be the answer.” I brushed my lips against his as I rested my palm on his chest and felt it rumble. “We needed time. We needed to live as a couple, go through the trials—”
“That was quite a fucking trial when we came back, Lusenka,” he growled.
I laughed briefly at the ferocity on his face, but tears warmed my eyes. “But we got through it. We came back stronger.”
“Yes, we did,” he rasped.
We gazed at each other before our lips crashed together. He hauled me right on top of him. I guessed we were going to christen the new couch after all.
Our tongues dueled, and my fingers threaded desperately through his dark, thick hair. His hand was on the back of my head as he devoured me, and the other one kept me plastered to his chest.
I rocked on top of him. He groaned in approval.
We ignited.
He hardened beneath me, and I grew increasingly wet.
Clothes quickly discarded, I sank snugly onto his cock.
I rested my hands on his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss the scar I put there.
“We’re never going to be a white-picket-fence couple, are we?” I murmured.
“Baby,” he groaned, fingers tightening under my ass. “If you don’t move, I’m taking over.”
“Overbearing man.”
His eyes gleamed wickedly. “But I’m your overbearing man.”
True.
Then he flipped me over and proved it.
Thank you for reading!