epilogue
“You good?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
His brown eyes soften with understanding. It’s a while before he speaks again, and the air between us seems empty.
“Why did you stay?”
I consider his question for a moment. Any sane person would’ve taken the chance to get on that jet. Would’ve ran far away from this life. So why did I stay?
I know the answer. It’s simple.
“He asked me to.”
Luca glances at the ring on my finger, and a faint light enters his eyes.
“Your stepmother wants to talk to you,” he says.
My brows furrow. “She’s here? Now?”
He nods. “I can tell her to leave if you want.”
I pause, considering his offer for a moment, but I know that avoiding her would only prolong the inevitable.
“It’s fine,” I murmur, “I’ll speak to her.”
Just as I’m about to leave, his voice stops me. “Freya.”
I pause and turn.
Luca’s eyes settle on me. “You had the right to play on the offense. But only once. That’s over now. If you stay, you’re one of us. I care about you, but Torren’s like my brother. If you betray him again…”
His unspoken warning hangs in the air like a sharpened blade, and for a second, I’m reminded that Luca is still a Costa, and that’s where his loyalties will always lie. Behind his seemingly carefree smile lies a lethal predator.
I meet his gaze with unwavering resolve. “It won’t happen again.”
“In that case,” Luca murmurs, pulling me in as he cups the crown of my head, pressing his lips to my temple. “Welcome to the family.”
With hesitant steps, I turn and make my way down the hospital corridor.
The weight of the situation presses upon me, my shoulders tense and my breath shallow.
And there, standing amidst the bustling hospital staff, I spot her.
The distinct platinum blonde of Greta Morozov’s short hair catches my eye.
She glances down at the blood and dirt that mar my arms, her gaze detached, almost clinical.
“It was going to happen sooner or later,” she says, breaking the silence. “Your father was careless. He should have killed the boy five years ago. Do you know what happens when you don’t kill roaches?” She meets my gaze. “They breed.”
I absorb her words, a fiery anger coursing through my veins. “What do you want from me?”
“Your father had many enemies,” she says, “Even if I want to take Ana and leave, I can’t. I want to live under protection.”
I frown. “And you think you can get it from me?”
She reaches for my hand, and I flinch, pulling away. She sighs. “I want you to speak to Torren. He has control over Russian turf now, but he won’t be able to keep it. The Russian soldiers will never listen to an Italian, and Torren won’t stand for it.”
“Are you not going to ask if I’m happy to stay with him?”
My stepmother purses her lips, and I get the answer to my question. She doesn’t care.
She frowns. “Freya, think about your sister.”
“Ana will be free to leave,” I say, “I’ll speak to Torren about handing control to Rune Volkov instead. If Ana chooses to stay, she’ll be under Rune’s protection. He’ll take over Staten Island and any other Russian territory.” Then, I meet her gaze evenly. “I’ll make no such provisions for you.”
There’s shock in her eyes. I’ve never refused her before. “Freya.”
I remain silent, my gaze fixed on her, my expression guarded.
Her expression falls, and there’s a crack in her armor. “I made a mistake. It was easier to blame you than to admit that it was his fault. It was his fault all along. I…” She pauses as if searching for the right words. “I’m sorry.”
An apology. “You know, I always wanted you to apologize. What a shame it had to come so late. At a time when it’s convenient to you.” I pause, the question scraping at my mind. “Why did you unlock the door?”
Her gaze is icy. “He got what was coming to him for being unfaithful to me all those years ago. In the end, it was his revenge and the daughter he loved most that killed him,” she says, “I unlocked the door to that possibility.”
Everything seems to freeze as her words sink into my mind.
She wants me to feel guilty. She wants me to blame myself for what happened.
And a part of me always will, but right now, in this moment, I need to walk away.
I’m done begging for her love, and I’m done allowing myself to be manipulated by her.
I turn and I don’t look back, only slowing my steps as I enter Torren’s room.
He reclines on the hospital bed, his limbs casually sprawled, as if he were lounging on a throne instead of a hospital mattress. There’s a nurse checking something on the monitor he’s hooked up to. His dark hair is tousled, falling in a disheveled cascade over his forehead.
“Ma’am,” the nurse says, diverting my attention. “You’re not allowed to be here now.”
I take a step back. “Oh, uh—”
“She’s my wife,” Torren snaps, “She can go wherever she wants.”
“Right.” The nurse flushes. “Sorry sir.” She scurries out the room, leaving us alone in the quiet space. Torren’s gaze rises to meet me, and the air crackles with an electric charge, and the room feels suffocatingly hot.
“Freya,” he says, slowly, “You need to understand that I?ll never apologize for what I did.”
I never expected him to. He wouldn?t mean it, and the last thing I want is for him to lie to me. He killed my father. I betrayed him. We both did what we felt was the right thing to do. It?s as simple as that. And if he won?t apologize—
“Neither will I,” I say, my jaw tight. I brace myself for what I’m about to propose next. “I want something.”
His gaze narrows slightly. “What?”
I swallow. “Control. Of my father’s territories. I’ll work with someone to manage them. Someone the Russian associates will be more willing to listen to.”
Torren tilts his head as he studies me intently. “Who?”
I take a deep breath before answering. “Rune.”
A flicker of anger flashes in his eyes, but it dulls slowly. He sighs. “This is what you want?”
I nod briefly. “Yes.”
He’s silent. “Fine,” he says. “It’ll be done.”
For a second, I think he’s going to tell me to get out. But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze softens. His voice is a low, gravelly whisper that sends a shiver down my spine. “Come here.”
I walk over to him, my steps hesitant. As I approach him, he reaches out and pulls me to his side, his strong arm wrapping around my waist, drawing me into his warmth. I frown as I notice his half-lidded gaze. “Did they give you something?”
“Morphine,” he says. “Can’t feel a damn thing.”
He tugs me over him so that I land over his body. I gasp, my heart fluttering in my chest as I find myself nestled against him. “Torren.”
I lift myself off him as I glance down at him. “Are you sure I’m not hurting you?”
He makes a soft sound of amusement. “You can hurt me all you want, baby.”
He trails his hand from up my hips to my back, until his arms are wrapped around me, pressing me into him. I lean into his embrace, resting my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my ear. I cautiously break the silence.
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” I say quietly.
He stiffens.
He’s quiet for a while, and I almost regret asking. But then, after what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks.
“My father didn’t care enough to make it known.
When he realized he’d fucked up with me, he wanted another son.
My ma had a difficult pregnancy.” His eyes gloss over.
“He was there for her. Until he found out he was getting a daughter. Then he stopped giving a fuck and was forced to let me take charge.”
“I was taking over the business around that time. Your father hated the changes I was bringing—hated that he was being outsmarted by a sixteen-year-old boy. He ordered a hit on the car that I was meant to be in, not Sof.”
A sinking feeling creeps its way into the pit of my stomach.
“Death would be too quick, too easy for what your father had done,” he says, something twitching in his jaw.
“It was unfair. It was fucking unfair. How could he kill my sister but safeguard his own daughters? I wanted revenge. For five years, it was the only thing that kept me going. I promised to ruin his daughter. To give her a life worse than death. And then I found you.”
He reaches out, his touch feather-light as his fingertips graze against my skin, gently tucking my hair behind my ear. “Daddy’s favorite. But I couldn’t hurt you, so I ended up with a fucked-up, watered down version of it.”
My heart melts. The question swarms my mind. I’d asked him before, at the beach, but he hadn’t answered me then.
“Why did you give me a different ring?”
His features are impassive. “The day I took you to the jeweler, you looked…sad. I didn’t like it, even then. So I replaced the ring you chose with my mother’s ring.”
I rear back. “What?”
The ring I’ve been wearing isn’t just any ring—it belonged to his mother. It’s undoubtably far more valuable to him than just the weight of the diamonds embedded in the metal. I glance at him, my eyes wide. “Why?”
“Whatever it was going be between us,” he says, “It was going to be forever.”
My breath catches in my throat. Forever.
“That day,” I say, “At my sister’s engagement. Why did you choose me?”
“Rhaegar liked you,” he says, “And Rhaegar doesn’t like anyone.”
A laugh escapes me. “You chose me because your dog liked me?”
“I chose you because you were mine,” he says, his grip on my waist tightening. “You were always mine.”
“One second of seeing you, of my dog kneeling beside you like some lovesick puppy, and just the prospect of one conversation with you was already better than the countless I’d already had with your sister over the years.”
“Ana’s interesting, you know.”
“I never said she wasn’t,” he says, “She’s probably some man’s wet dream.”
“Just not yours?”
He nods, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. “Just not mine.”
My lips curve. “But I am? Your wet dream?”
“You’re a pain in my ass.”
I roll my eyes, the smile still on my lips.
“Marriage has never meant anything to me,” I murmur.
“Love has never meant anything to me. But somewhere along the way…It started to become something I wanted. It started to become real. You made it real. And I need more time to convince myself that it’s real.
It’s overwhelming, you know? I spent months hating that I had to be your fiancée. I want to spend months loving it.”
“I wanted to take my sister’s place to give her a chance at getting true love.
Because I didn’t believe in it. But it turns out.
..I want it just as much as she does. I want the flowers.
I want the chocolates,” I say, “I want the fairytale.” I cast him a look that’s only half serious. “You haven’t taken me on any dates.”
His eyes light up with faint amusement. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go,” he says, “Every day.”
I chew back a smile, something impossibly sweet blooming inside me.
He presses me against his chest. “Don’t ever leave my side again.”
“I won’t,” I murmur, the sound muffled.
Maybe it’s twisted, but I love him. I don’t feel alone when he’s around. It’s as if all the jagged pieces of my existence find their place, and I finally feel like I belong.
When I was five years old, my father warned me to stay away from his office.
But I’d never been very obedient. I heard things.
Terrible, horrible things. At night, I often dreamed of waking up on a blood-soaked carpet, only to be chased by a hound.
No matter what I did, how many times the dream replayed, the hound never shook off my scent.
And I hope he never will.