Epilogue – Ilya
One year after Nexum fell, the estate felt quieter than I ever expected.
The walls were still guarded.
The systems still ran the way they always had. Outside these doors, the Bratva still needed what it needed from me—meetings, decisions, the kind of work that left blood on someone else’s floor.
That part of my life hadn’t changed. But inside the house, nothing felt the same.
Iris moved through the rooms like she had always belonged in them. No hesitation in her steps. No checking over her shoulder.
The staff stopped watching her the way they used to, the careful distance gone. Even Ivan had stopped questioning her place. She was just there—steady, familiar, unavoidable in the best way.
I still worked the same hours. Same late nights. Same control in every room I walked into outside this house.
But when I came back, it dropped a little.
I noticed it more now. The way I looked for her without thinking. The way the silence in the house felt wrong when she wasn’t in it. The way my mind didn’t stay locked in survival mode the second the door closed behind me.
I never said it out loud. I didn’t need to. She had become the only part of my life that didn’t feel temporary.
Iris had become a more confident, powerful woman who knew her worth. Her bravery and intelligence earned the respect of other Bratva elites.
In the history of the Tarasov family, tales of her wisdom and strength would be told to generations to come. Personally, I’d never been prouder of anyone before in my whole life.
Iris was the light in my dark. She was my better half, the woman who taught me how to see the world through another lens. She taught me that compassion wasn’t a sign of weakness, and that love was worth trying.
My whole life revolved around this woman. I’d kill for her, go to hell and back for her. And if push ever came to shove, I would gladly lay down my life for her.
I couldn’t even imagine what my life would’ve looked like if we hadn’t crossed paths. This woman had transformed not just me, but also the mansion.
Before her arrival, it was just a beautiful structure with antiques and expensive furniture. But now, that same structure felt more like a home than a house.
She brought joy, peace, and fulfillment into my life, and I’d never felt more alive. She completed me in ways I didn’t know were possible.
I loved that woman to death. And although we started out on the wrong foot, we ended up in the place. Together. Forever.
That night, in the library, I was going through a stack of reports at the desk when she walked in, barefoot, sweater sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and sat on the edge of the desk like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“You’re going to ruin your eyes reading that late,” she said, legs dangling.
Even after a year, I still found her so sexy and gorgeous. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
“I’ve been ruining my eyes for years,” I replied to her previous statement, a smile perched on my lips.
She leaned over, glanced at the page, and made a face. “This is the boring kind of ruining. At least when I ruin my eyes, it’s because of something interesting.” She wiggled her brows.
I set the report down. “You calling my work boring?”
“I’m calling this particular stack boring.” She tapped the folder with one finger. “You’ve already read it twice. I watched you.”
“Really?” I leaned back in my chair, my gaze unwavering. “Are you spying on me now?”
“Occupational hazard of living with you.” She shifted closer, one hip against the desk. “Also, you mouth the words when you’re tired. It’s cute.”
I gave her a look. “I do not.”
“You do. A little.” She grinned. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Ivan. He’d never let you live it down.”
I reached out and hooked a finger in the hem of her sweater, tugging her closer until she hopped off the desk and settled on my lap.
My hand wrapped around her waist without thinking about it. Her shape had become familiar under my palm—something my body recognized before my mind caught up.
“You, my beautiful wife, can be a pain in my ass sometimes,” I said, staring at her face.
“That’s ironic coming from my handsome husband who literally fucks my ass at will.” She threw her arms around my neck, her gaze teasingly seductive.
The words stirred something primal within me, and my eyes dropped to her chest where her twin peaks poked from underneath her sweater.
She looked down at me, something soft moving behind her eyes. “God, you’re so hot.” She caressed my face, brushing my hair backward.
I huffed a short laugh. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“Maybe.” She casually lifted the hem of her sweater, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her soft thighs. “Maybe not.”
“Fuck.” I stared down at those alluring legs, my cock twitching in my pants. “You’re getting good at this.”
“What can I say?” She rested her hand on the print of my cock. “I’ve had time to practice.”
I slid my hand higher under the sweater, just enough to feel warm skin. “So smooth.”
“So hard,” she whispered in my ear while rubbing my boner.
She leaned down and kissed me, slow and unhurried. When she pulled back, she stayed close. “You know, if you keep looking at me like that, these reports are never gonna get finished.”
“They can wait.” I tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Dangerous words from a man who once made me wait three hours while he finished a call.”
“That was work.”
“This is also work,” she said, gesturing between us. “Domestic maintenance. Very important.”
I pinched her thigh lightly. She yelped and laughed, swatting my hand.
“You’re lucky I like you,” she said.
“I’m lucky you married me.”
“You didn’t exactly give me a choice.”
“True,” I said. “But when you had the chance to leave, you chose to stay.”
She went quiet for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I did.”
I pulled her fully into my lap. She settled there as if she’d done it a hundred times, which she had.
My arm stayed around her waist. The house was silent except for the low tick of the clock on the shelf and the occasional shift of weight from the guards outside.
“You’ve been different,” she said after a while. “Since everything ended. Lighter, maybe. Or just less like you’re waiting for the next thing to go wrong.”
“It’s hard to stay wound tight when the biggest problem in the house is you stealing the covers.”
“I do not steal the covers.” She playfully slapped my shoulder.
“You do. Every night. I’ve started sleeping with one foot on the floor so I don’t get dragged off the mattress.”
She laughed against my neck. “Liar.”
“Try me tonight.”
“Maybe I will.” She shifted, deliberately, and I felt the smile in her voice when she added, “Or maybe I’ll just sit on your face until you stop complaining.”
I groaned. “Jesus, Iris.”
“What? You’re the one who started the domestic maintenance talk.”
“I was being romantic.”
“You were being handsy. There’s a difference.”
“Not from where I’m sitting.”
She kissed the corner of my jaw and then reached behind her to the desk. When she turned back, she had a small folder in her hands. Plain. Unmarked. She set it on the desk in front of me without saying anything.
I looked at it, then at her.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
I expected more of the same—updated routes, residual accounts, the endless small fires that never fully went out. I opened the folder.
It wasn’t work-related.
I stared at the first page longer than I needed to. Then I turned to the next. The information was simple. Clear. Dated. My name next to hers in a context that had nothing to do with the Bratva or Nexum or any of the blood that had gotten us here.
Everything in me stopped for a second.
Iris watched me quietly. Not scared. Just waiting.
I set the folder down carefully, like it might disappear if I moved too fast. Then I pulled her into me, both arms locked around her, face pressed to her hair.
My grip was tight, but not hard—more like I needed the proof that she was solid and real and still here after everything.
She held on just as tightly.
I didn’t have the right words for what sat in my chest. Gratitude felt too small. Relief felt incomplete. It was something closer to disbelief that the life I had built out of force and fear had somehow left room for this.
After a long minute, I eased back enough to see her face. Her eyes were wet, but she was smiling.
“I’m gonna be a father?” I asked, my voice low but filled with a kind of joy I couldn’t explain.
She nodded, her eyes shining with excitement.
“I love you, Iris Tarasov.” I meant every single word.
“And I love you.” She cupped my face in her palms.
I kissed her. Properly this time. When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers and breathed her in.
Outside, the estate kept its usual watch. Guards changed shifts. Systems ran their quiet checks.
The world beyond the walls still needed the version of me that made hard calls and didn’t flinch. But inside this room, with her in my lap and this child in her womb, I was someone else. Someone affectionate.
I kept my arms around her and let the quiet hold.
For the first time in longer than I could measure, I didn’t feel the need to look over my shoulder. The future wasn’t a threat anymore. It was something we were already building, one ordinary night at a time.
And I intended to keep it for the sake of our unborn child.