Epilogue
EPILOGUE
Damir (Two Years Later)
T he sun is bright, warming my skin as I sit back in my chair. Laughter reverberates through our backyard, and sometimes, the sound still feels foreign to me even after two years in this place. Two years of peace. Two years without looking over my shoulder or sleeping with a gun under my pillow.
I watch my son chase bubbles across the grass, pumping his little legs furiously when he tries to catch the iridescent spheres floating just beyond his reach. Miran. My son. My future. I never thought I’d have one. Never thought I’d deserve one.
Elena steps beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. Her touch is familiar now but still sends electricity through me. I glance up at her, taking in the gentle curve of her smile.
“He’s going to sleep well tonight,” she says, her gaze following our boy.
“If we can get him to stop long enough to put him to bed.”
Across from us, Anton sits with a glass of vodka in his hand. The tattoos on his arms are visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves, reminders of our shared past. Beside him, Liv laughs at something he said, and her curls bounce with the movement when she leans against him with clear, unconscious affection.
The sight of them together still surprises me sometimes, and I wonder how a nurse reconciles being married to a bratva man. I suppose it’s how my doctor wife managed it when I was still in that life. Love keeps them together. It feels almost surreal to see Anton, my most loyal confidant, now running what remains of my empire while I enjoy a normal life.
I exhale slowly. This is contentment I never thought possible. Not for someone like me. I hope Anton has some semblance of it. He seems content with running the empire, which absorbed Nikolai’s share, and Liv seems happy with him, so I don’t question it.
Miran spots me watching him and changes direction, stumbling toward me with a squeal of delight. His dark curls bounce with each step, and his blue eyes—my eyes—are wide with excitement. He crashes into my legs, and I lift him easily, settling him on my lap.
“Papa,” he exclaims, patting my face with sticky hands.
I press a kiss to his curls, breathing in his scent of baby shampoo and sunshine. “Happy birthday, little man.”
Two years old today. Two years since I held him for the first time, this tiny boy, who showed me I was capable of more than one kind of love.
“Cake time?” he asks hopefully, his vocabulary still limited but growing every day.
Elena laughs, running her hand through his hair. “Yes, cake time. Should we call everyone over?”
Miran nods enthusiastically, wiggling to get down. I release him, and he runs to the table where Elena has set up his birthday spread. Anton and Liv join us, Anton clapping me on the shoulder as he passes. “He’s got your energy. God help us all when he’s a teenager.”
I snort. “If he has Elena’s brains and my stubbornness, we’re all in trouble.”
We gather around the table, watching as Elena lights the two candles on the cake. It’s shaped like a dinosaur, which is Miran’s current obsession. The boy claps his hands, bouncing in his booster seat as we sing to him. His world is safe and full of love. Everything mine wasn’t.
“Make a wish,” Elena tells him, though he’s too young to understand.
He blows with all his might, spraying more spit than air, but the candles flicker out. We cheer, and his face lights up with pride.
“Good job, buddy,” I say, stroking his hair.
We cut the cake, and he immediately plunges his hands into his slice, smearing frosting across his face. Elena tries to wipe him clean, but it’s a losing battle. I don’t mind the mess. It’s normal. It’s what children do.
After cake comes presents. Miran tears through the wrapping paper with abandon, more interested in the process than the gifts themselves. A stuffed dinosaur from Liv. Building blocks from Anton. Books and toys from Elena and me. Each new discovery brings fresh excitement, his joy infectious.
When the last present is opened, Miran crawls into my lap again, his energy finally beginning to fade. He leans against my chest, thumb in his mouth, and eyelids growing heavy.
“I think someone’s ready for his nap,” says Elena softly.
I nod, reluctant to let him go. I want to freeze these moments, when he’s small and trusting in my arms, to preserve them forever. Soon, he’ll be too big for this, too independent. The time goes too quickly.
She lifts him from my lap, and he goes willingly, resting his head on her shoulder. “Say bye-bye to everyone, Miran.”
“Bye-bye,” he mumbles, waving a chubby hand.
“Sleep well, little prince,” says Anton, his voice gentler than most would believe possible.
Liv stands, stretching, which shows her visibly pregnant belly. I don’t miss the way Anton gently strokes it for a second and remember those days with Elena. “We should head to our suite and let you guys have some peace.”
I nod as they move to follow Elena and Miran inside. Their guest suite is on the same floor but the opposite end of a long hallway. Anton hangs back, letting his wife proceed him before looking at me. “You did it,” he says quietly. “You got out.”
I glance around at our villa, which is a real home, not a fortress or a penthouse. “We both did.”
He shakes his head. “I’m still in it. Just...differently.”
“You could leave too.”
Anton’s gaze follows Liv, who’s waiting by the stairs. “Maybe someday. For now, I keep the peace, and I keep her separate.”
“When your baby comes?”
He gives me a smile, but his eyes are hard. “I’ll keep both of my girls safe.”
I nod, understanding what drives him. “I know you will. She knows it too.” I nod to Liv.
He gives his wife a loving look as she waggles her fingers at him. “I didn’t understand why you left before, but I do now. Maybe someday,” he says again as he nods to me before going to join his wife for the walk upstairs.
Once I’m alone, I spend a few minutes picking up discarded wrapping paper and plates to remove all signs of the outdoor party. We have household staff, since Elena works, but I prefer to do a lot of it myself. I relish the days our staff is gone because domesticity is so soothing and normal. The silence is comfortable.
I finish cleaning and move inside to pour a glass of water, leaning against the kitchen counter. From here, I can see the backyard through the window—the swing set I built last summer and the garden Elena planted. Normal things. Things I never thought I’d have.
Elena comes downstairs a few minutes later, her footsteps light on the stairs. She finds me in the kitchen and smiles, looking as tired as I feel. Hosting a toddler’s birthday party is its own kind of enervation.
“He’s out,” she says. “Didn’t even make it through one story.”
She walks to the living room and collapses onto the couch. I follow, sitting beside her. She immediately sinks into my warmth, her head resting against my chest. I pull her close, one arm around her shoulders, the other hand finding hers.
“Liv looked tired, so Anton took her up to bed.”
“Early night for all,” says Elena with a satisfied sigh.
For a long moment, we just sit there, bodies exhausted but fulfilled. The quiet house is our normal now. No gunshots. No sirens. No whispered threats.
Elena sighs once more, running a lazy hand over my stomach. “I have a full shift tomorrow.”
I brush my lips against her temple, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “And I have a Zoom meeting for the charitable clinic fund. I am still not sure how the governor’s wife persuaded me to take over your spot from thousands of miles away.”
She smiles against me. “She saw an opportunity and took it. You’re much better at intimidating donors into opening their wallets than I am even when it’s not in person.”
“I do not intimidate them,” I protest mildly. “I merely...encourage generous contributions.”
Elena laughs softly. “You stare at them until they write bigger checks. It works.”
I run my fingers through her hair, still amazed that I get to do this—touch her, hold her, and call her mine. Not as a possession, the way I once thought of people, but as a partner. An equal.
“We did well, did not we?” she asks, her voice quiet.
I tilt her chin so our gazes meet and hold. Her eyes are dark, questioning, as though she’s looking for reassurance that this life we’ve built is real and will last. I understand the fear and share it, but I don’t surrender to it or entertain thoughts of losing what we have.
“We did,” I murmur, before capturing her lips in one final, lingering kiss. “Forever.”
Mine.
Forever.