Epilogue
Six months later…
Roman
T he place is heaving with people; journalists, food critics, and other movers and shakers. Many are my associates from the business world—both sides.
I have barely seen Quinn since we arrived. She’s been holding court, dazzling interviewers, and handing out cute quotes for their articles. Every time I try to get close, someone else takes the space.
She looks incredible. Her curvy body perfectly fills her emerald green gown, the satin train trailing behind her. She seems more like a mystical sea nymph than ever, and I can’t help but enjoy a surge of pride every time I catch a glimpse.
It could have been all too different. A few minutes here, a twist of fortune there, and we could both have died.
If Silvio hadn’t been so hell-bent on seeing me suffer, I would have spent my life tearing my hair out in torment, searching every corner of this godforsaken planet in the hope of finding my sweet wife alive.
“Could you try to look less moody?” Leon hands me a champagne flute. “It’s about her, not you.”
“I know, asshole,” I say. “My wife is a fucking superstar. Who else could complete her training in record time, hire a full staff, get Katrina up to speed, and look that good doing it?”
“There you are, buddy,” Leon says with a smirk. “Thought I’d lost you for a minute. Where’s Viktor?”
“Wrapping up with the komissiya .” I sip the fizz. “I refused to go to their meeting this time. I’m taking Bernard Familio’s place; what else is there to say?”
“And what will become of Bernard?” Leon asks.
“Out of respect to his family, he will be excommunicated from the mafia and sent back to them in Sicily. I don’t fancy his chances, though. Kolya made sure Bernard’s shit-kicking Sicilian uncle knew the whole tale.”
Leon hisses through his teeth. “Sheesh. We won’t hear from him again. What did you do with Ricky Lubomski?”
I grin. “Sorry to break the news, but I let him off. He did the right thing when it mattered, and the guy has a family. I used some of Vercotti’s money to buy him a whole new identity and fake his death. When his wife and daughter are released from witness protection, they’ll all head for Florida.”
“Shame, but I guess it’s fair.” Leon clicks his fingers. “That reminds me. I meant it about Disneyworld. You fancy a trip down there? You’d look cute in Mickey Mouse ears.”
“Leon, you worry me sometimes. But Quinn would love it, so I won’t say no yet.”
“And you’re staying out in the sticks?”
I nod. “It was the last wish of a dying woman. Quinn and I will raise our family far from these grimy streets, but that doesn’t mean I won’t keep a close eye on you, tovarisch . You’re my closest friend and the most volatile fucker I know.”
“True,” he says, slapping me on my back. “But you’re living the dream. Power, wealth, security, and now love too? It’s not my style, but if you’re happy, so am I.”
“Don’t knock it ’til you try it. That said, it’d be a challenge for you to attract a woman. You look like something I drew with my left hand.”
Leon downs his champagne and gestures for a server to bring the tray over. “Come on, buddy,” he says, picking up a fresh glass, “my face is fine. It’s my personality that needs a paper bag over it.”
I’m thinking up an immature rejoinder when I hear the tinkling sound of someone tapping a spoon on a glass. It’s Quinn, ready to make her speech.
The room quietens, and she clears her throat, gathering her nerve.
“Welcome, everyone,” she begins. “It’s my pleasure to receive you for the grand opening of my establishment. As you know, I’m the first apprentice to learn from Marcel Chevalier in over twenty-five years—” she blushes at the smattering of applause, “—and I hope my skills justify his faith and effort in training me.”
She’s radiant with joy, and it hits me. I finally did it; I made her happy. No, it’s better than that; she did it herself. I gave her the means, but her hard work, diligence, perseverance, and, crucially, self-belief got her here.
“I have a surprise announcement,” Quinn continues to a chorus of murmurs. She catches my eye, a flash of mischief crossing her face, and I tilt my head at her.
“In partnership with the Hungry Hearts homeless relief charity of New York City, I have committed to opening a training restaurant next door. My dear friend Katrina and I will teach vulnerable young people the art of patisserie, front of house, hospitality, and business management. All profits will fund subsidized housing, education, and social support for runaways and kids at risk on the streets.”
“What made you want to take on a project like that?” a journalist asks.
Quinn pauses, and I see an almost imperceptible shimmer of sadness in her eyes. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Not all kids have someone who cares for them, and they need a leg up if they’re gonna make it.”
I didn’t know anything about this—she kept it to herself. It’s the kind of secret I can forgive; I’m just the bankroll, and money can’t buy heart, talent, or drive. She has it all and more.
I’m so proud of her.
Around the room, heads nod in unison. The sentiment has struck a chord.
“One last question,” a man asks, holding a microphone. “What’s the story behind the name?”
“Ah, the name.” She smiles. “Let’s say it’s my way of honoring the person whose love saved my life.”
Leon leans closer. “Tell me she hasn’t named the place after you ?” he whispers. I shake my head.
“So please,” Quinn continues, “ladies and gentlemen, take a seat, and my wonderful wait staff will take your orders.” She throws her arms wide. “Welcome to Carrie’s.”
All I want to do is kiss her. I’m about to make my way through the crowd when Viktor’s hand lands on my shoulder.
“Oh, great, you made it.” I turn to face him. “Where the fuck have you been? Even Kolya doesn’t usually talk for this long.”
His expression is grave. “Roman, we gotta talk about Quinn’s parents.”
A couple of busy hours went by in a whirlwind of high spirits and celebration. The guests received Quinn’s creations with rapturous acclaim, and Katrina and the other staff were excited to make beautiful desserts for such appreciative diners.
The last critic kisses Quinn’s cheek as she leaves and implores her to keep a day free next week for lunch.
The restaurant is finally empty, and my wife looks tired but happier than ever. She sits on the plush seat in one of the booths and slips off her high-heeled shoe, massaging the ball of her foot.
I catch her eye as she looks up, and beckons me to her side.
I don’t want to do this. I have no idea how she’ll take the news. Viktor rocked me to my core with the information, and I have to share it, but I can’t, not tonight of all nights.
“Hey!” she says brightly, clutching my hand. “It went well, don’t you think? The baklava was a real knockout, but that’s all on Katrina. My girl outdid herself.” She pauses, the smile dripping off her face. “Oh my God. What’s wrong?”
Fuck. I tried, but I could never hide from her. She’s too empathic, and loves me too much. She can always tell when I’m keeping something close to my chest, and it never stays a secret for long.
I sit beside her. “You know I’ve been looking for info about your parent’s murders?” I ask. She nods, her face draining of color. “A man contacted Viktor. He’d heard the Kazanov bratva were asking around and figured he’d better confess before someone snitches on him. Apparently he was stupid enough to boast about the killings to a few people at the time.”
“Who?” Quinn asks. I feel her hand shaking. “Some mafia guy, right?”
“No.” I draw a deep breath. “Julian lied to you. He probably figured the police wouldn’t investigate too much if they thought the mob was involved, so he told them your mom and dad had debts to the mafia when the truth was far simpler. Julian had a lot of horrible friends, right?”
She’s crying now, and it breaks my heart. “Yes. They were disgusting.”
“Do you remember a guy named Nathan McKay?”
Her eyes widen, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Kinda? He came around a few times, but I didn’t see him again after that. Don’t tell me he?—”
“He was a tweaker and a good friend of your uncle.” I wipe her wet cheek with my thumb. “Julian told him about your father’s drug stash and led him to believe there’d be money too, knowing the guy was unstable. I doubt he expected Nathan to kill your parents, but he sure as fuck wasn’t remorseful for his part in it.”
“So Julian lied to the police and me just to keep himself and his buddy out of trouble?” Quinn says, her voice rising in anger. “I’m glad he’s dead, the self-serving piece of shit! Where’s Nathan McKay now?”
“Rikers.” I pull her head onto my shoulder. “He’s doing a sequential stretch for possession and a bunch of felonies that finally caught up with him.”
She’s silent for a minute, her breathing slowing as she calms down. Then she sits up and looks at me, steely determination etched on her face.
“I want to see him.” She stands, pulling me with her. “Right now.”
Walk-ins are not allowed in Rikers Island jail, but such rules don’t apply to the likes of me. A quick call is all it takes, and within the hour, we’re outside a room specially set up to receive visitors.
A guard lets us in. Nathan is handcuffed to the table, drumming his fingers on the metal surface.
I can tell he’s clean. Although meth and heroin have ravaged him—his track marks and scarred face attest to that—his eyes are bright and clear.
I can’t get a read on Quinn. She has said little since we left the restaurant, and I have no idea what she’s thinking.
All I know for sure is that this is her story, not mine. I have the power to make anything happen to this guy, but it’s not up to me. I’m here to support my wife, and what she says goes.
We sit opposite Nathan. He’s been staring at Quinn since we walked on; he can’t take his eyes off her.
“You look like your mother,” he says.
“Why did you do it?” Quinn leans forward to stare at him, and he shrinks away. “You killed my mom and dad. I was so alone and afraid after that. Do you understand what you did?”
“I have no defense.” He glances at her before looking away, as though it’s too hard to meet her gaze. “I was strung out and desperate for my fix. Julian told me your father had a treasure trove of stuff, and all I had to do was take it, but when I broke in, things got ugly.”
I watch Quinn’s face, ready to swoop in and rescue her the instant it becomes too much, but she’s showing no signs of breaking, and I marvel at her resilience.
“Your dad fought me,” Nathan continues. “Came at me like a fucking demon. I only had a gun to threaten people; I’d never even fired it before. I panicked, and the next thing I knew, he was down. I heard your mom scream, wheeled around, and fired again. Then I ran. Didn’t even look for the stash.”
I clench my fists. I want to smash his face in, and I’d probably get away with it, but Quinn’s hand on my knee brings me down to Earth.
“I distanced myself from Julian after that.” Nathan puts his head in his hands. “I wanted to kill myself, but I didn’t have the guts, so I got messed up, did some dumb shit, and the cops picked me up.
I got sober in here, got my GDE, too, and now I don’t recognize the worthless loser I was. I’m meant to be getting out in a few months, but that’s over now, right?”
Quinn nods. “Yes. You can keep your life, but you have to admit what you did and face the consequences.”
Nathan’s eyes shine. “It’s fair. I got nothing out there anyway, and I deserve no better.” He drags his eyes to hers. “Is an apology worth anything?”
Quinn’s voice is steady. “Always.”
“Then I’m sorry, kid.” He squeezes his eyes shut, the tears running down his face. “Your mom and dad had reasons to live, but I didn’t. Not a single day passed that I didn’t curse myself for what I did. I’ll confess, and thank you for sparing me.”
She looks at him for a moment before standing. “Thank you,” she says. “It was a tragedy for a lot of reasons. I don’t wish you any ill will.”
Her compassion humbles me.
I’ve always dealt with people who wronged me by killing them at the first opportunity, and the one time I didn’t do that, it almost cost me and Quinn our lives. Even my sick world and all its soul-corrupting qualities couldn’t blacken my rusalka’s sweet heart.
“You’re a damn good person, ma’am.” Nathan nods at me. “I’ll play nice, Mr. Kazanov. You don’t gotta worry about that.”
“You’d better.” I take Quinn’s hand. “My wife is a far better person than me. The situation would have gone differently if I’d been in charge.”
“I know.” Nathan smiles for the first time. “Truth is, it’s a weight off my mind. I’ll see out my time behind these walls and be grateful for it.”
Quinn holds her head high as we walk away.