Epilogue
Maksim
Autumn
September softened the city.
Summer’s boisterous chaos faded into a heat-hazed memory, and autumn came in quieter.
Cool mornings, longer shadows, a promise of change carried on the wind. I stood by the window with my son cradled against my chest, his weight solid and warm, his breath puffing softly against my collarbone.
A boy.
Dark hair. My eyes. Sofia’s mouth.
He slept like he trusted the world and everything in it. That still startled me.
Sofia moved through the kitchen behind me, barefoot, humming under her breath as she made coffee. She looked different now—not hardened, not softened. Settled. Like a woman who had survived something terrible and come out the other side knowing exactly who she was.
The doorbell rang.
We looked at each other. “Are you expecting someone?” she asked as she eyed the door.
I shifted the baby instinctively before I even moved. It appeared old habits didn’t die; they evolved.
“Come and take him. I’ll see who it is,” I softly instructed. We had moved into the house that she had first gone to as a safe house. The one with the escape tunnel. We decided we needed more room and a place that we wouldn’t get trapped in.
“I can look through the peephole, you know,” she shot back as she rolled her eyes.
She moved like a cat, and I was unusually proud of her as I watched her cross the room. Her large smile told me it was not a threat. When she swung the door wide, I smiled as well.
Dima stood on the threshold, travel bag slung over his shoulder, suit jacket abandoned in favor of something more practical. He smiled when he saw the baby.
“So,” he quietly jested, “this is the little tyrant.”
“He is sleeping,” I replied. “Say nothing that might change that.”
Dima laughed under his breath and stepped inside. He looked around—really looked. The light. The softness. The absence of men with guns.
“You remodeled,” he observed with a smirk.
“Yes.” We’d had to. The other men Boris had hired to go after Sofia had trashed the house looking for clues to where they’d gone. Thankfully, they never uncovered the secret escape passage.
Sofia handed him a mug without ceremony. “You look tired,” she said as her brows arched. “Where were you?”
“Chicago,” he replied with a grin. “Konstantin runs a tight ship.” Then he turned to me. "He wants me with him. Permanent.”
When he paused with his mouth open, I felt the shift immediately. The way pieces on the board moved without sound.
“And you,” Dima added as his eyes locked with mine, “he wants you too.”
The old answer rose easily. No. This is my territory. This is my responsibility. But then Sofia met my eyes over the rim of her cup as she took a sip. When she lowered it and swallowed, the corner of her mouth kicked up.
“Maybe,” she murmured gently, “it wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
I turned to fully face her, surprised.
She shrugged one slender shoulder.
“A new start,” she continued. “Somewhere fresh. Different. Somewhere our son can grow up without ghosts on every corner.”
Dima watched us carefully, understanding more than he let on. “Chicago isn’t clean,” he said. “But it’s… rebuilding.”
I looked down at my son. At the tiny fist curled into my shirt like it belonged there. For the first time in my life, loyalty didn’t feel like a chain. It felt like a choice made freely and without pressure.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally conceded.
Dima nodded. “That’s all Konstantin asked.”
We visited for a while until Misha began to fuss.
Sofia took him to feed him and change him while Dima and I discussed the possibility.
He was leaving in two days after he gathered what he wanted to bring with him.
After we said our goodbyes, the house settled again into a peaceful quiet.
Sofia crossed the room and rested her head against my shoulder, her hand covering our son’s back.
“You don’t have to decide today,” she whispered.
“I know.”
She smiled softly as she tilted her head back and looked up at me. “But you could.”
Outside, leaves skittered along the sidewalk. Somewhere, a child laughed. Somewhere else, a car honked.
I kissed the top of my son’s head, then Sofia’s.
For the first time, the future didn’t feel like something I had to merely survive.
It felt like something filled with hope.