Epilogue
Kirill - One Month Later
The ballroom overlooks the Hudson River through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Spring sunlight glints off the water, turning everything gold.
Ares spared no expense for Lourdes’s baby shower.
White roses. Crystal centerpieces. And crisp white linens cover every table.
A string quartet is somewhere playing classical music.
Then there’s the security.
My men stand along the perimeter in tailored suits. Ares’s seven guards are positioned throughout the venue with military precision. Any average guest would assume this is a normal amount of security for a billionaire’s wife.
Violet races past me in a pink dress, her dark curls bouncing against the perfect bow in her hair.
“Daddy, Mommy said we need another table for the gifts.”
Five years old and she’s already an expert at ordering people around. My daughter will either rule the world or burn it down if someone takes her crown.
I glance down, smiling. “I’ll get right on that.”
She twirls and points toward Lourdes. “And don’t forget to tell Aunt Lourdes she looks pretty.” She waves me to bend down so she can whisper something. “Even though she’s got a really big belly.”
A snort-laugh escapes me. “Your mommy was big like that, too, solnyshko.”
“No way,” she says, waving me off and running back to center stage where Lourdes sits on a chair with a hat made of paper plates and gift ribbon.
Sandrine catches my eye from across the room and smiles. The sight still hits me in the chest harder than it should. She’s standing beside Lourdes, handing her the wrapped gifts, while keeping one eye on Violet.
Ares appears beside me, a whiskey for him in one hand and vodka for me in the other. In a chilled glass.
I think he likes me.
“Your daughter is bossy as hell, Volkov,” he says and takes a sip.
“She learned that from me.”
He snorts. “You’re not bossy. You’re terrifying.”
“Back at ya, War,” I say and take a sip. “Did Scava confirm your meeting tomorrow?”
Ares nods. “He’ll be at the Aurelian.”
“I guess whatever was going on between him and the brunette—”
“Elodie,” Ares corrects, shaking his head. “Are you bad with names or are you just a jerk?”
“Both.” I smile behind my glass.
“I haven’t asked Elodie about Nico. It’s none of my business,” Ares affirms. “She’s an adult.”
“But he is now the head of the American Cosa Nostra. As we are. He’s not some guy she was shacking up with.”
“Again, none of my business.”
Elodie stands on the other side of Lourdes, laughing at something Violet just said.
Ares follows my gaze. “Then again, if Elodie was investigating Scava for a story, and has information on him…” He trails off.
“Then it will be your business?” I suggest. “I can care less what she knows about Scava.”
A laugh nearly escapes Ares, but the ballroom doors explode inward. The sound cracks through the room like gunfire. Everyone shuts the hell up, and the quartet stops playing.
Men in baseball caps and blue zip-up jackets with Kevlar vests and tactical gear pour inside. Federal Agents. Enemies we can’t kill. Not out in the open anyway.
That doesn’t mean I’ll let them take me.
Every guard in the room moves into position to protect their charges.
“Daddy!” Violet’s terrified voice cuts through everything.
I don't think. My instincts take over before my mind catches up. And I move. I reach my daughter and my wife in seconds. One arm scoops Violet against my chest, and she wraps her arms around my neck. Sandrine gets on the other side of me, and my free hand goes beneath my jacket. Ready.
My pulse pounds, watching. Waiting. What the hell is this?
Ares storms toward the agents before anyone else can, all seven of his guards now surrounding Lourdes.
The room practically parts around him. This is his city, so I let him deal with this mess. Watching smoke come out of his ears is hilarious.
“Are you out of your fucking minds?” he roars. “How dare you crash my wife’s baby shower. Where is Agent-in-Charge Underhill?”
The lead agent doesn’t even flinch. “We don’t report to Underhill.”
A realization strikes me. Shit. Maybe they are here for me. The Barinov transition wasn’t exactly bloodless. We took every precaution, but operated with the understanding that the Feds don’t care about dead gangsters.
Still, I step forward, Violet against my chest.
“If you're looking for me, you should have come to Chicago. Like my brother-in-law said, this is a private party.”
The agent turns toward me, his expression annoyingly calm. “We’re not here for you either, Mr. Volkov.”
That only makes me feel slightly better, but a few points less because this agent knows who I am.
Silence falls over the room as the agents look around. If they aren’t here for Ares and they aren’t here for me, then who the hell are they here for?
The lead agent walks straight past me. Past Ares. Past Sandrine. Past Lourdes.
And directly to…
“Elodie Vale?” the agent says, pointing a gun at her.
The color drains from her face, and my stomach sinks.
If something happens to her, you have to do something about it, right?
Sandrine’s words ring in my ears. Sure, I’ll gun someone down for her cousin. But Feds?
The agent removes a pair of handcuffs. Oh shit.
“Elodie Vale, you're under arrest.”
Ares looks genuinely confused for the first time in years. “What?”
Sandrine gasps as agents slap the cuffs on her cousin. Elodie doesn’t try to run, doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even look surprised.
The handcuffs click around her wrists, and the sound reverberates through the ballroom.
“Ares, do something!” Lourdes cries out.
“On what charges?” Ares demands.
The agent ignores him and starts reading Elodie her rights.
“Daddy!” Violet pipes up. “What’s happening?”
“Aunt Elodie needs to help these officers,” my wife says, standing next to me now that we know these men aren’t terrorists. “Kirill, do something!” she echoes her sister’s plea in my ear.
Aww, fuck.
I hand Violet to Sandrine with a kiss on both their foreheads. “I got this.”
I don’t wait for any kind of response. I’m already moving. Following the agents escorting Elodie toward the exit.
Ares comes up next to me. “Got a plan?”
“Nope. Just gathering intel and then I’ll get back to Chicago and handle it.”
“Why you?”
“Why not me? She’s my wife’s cousin.”
“Are you dense as well as bad with names? She’s my wife’s cousin, too.”
“I’ve been married longer.”
Ares rolls his eyes. “We’ll both deal with it and—”
He stops talking when we reach the street to see every federal vehicle outside has been boxed in. By black SUVs.
At least a dozen cars with flashing lights. And small red, white, and green tags on the windows.
Not Italian security. Italian mafia.
The back passenger door of the lead vehicle opens, and a man steps out in a perfectly tailored black suit. No tie and dark sunglasses.
Nico Scava.
The Borgias Don.
It’s not a surprise to see him in New York if he agreed to Ares’s meeting at the Aurelian tomorrow. But why would he be here during Elodie’s arrest?
The agents visibly tense, seeing him. And they don’t draw their guns.
Did he… Did he go to the Feds about her?
Fuck, I will have to kill him for that. Christ, I don’t want that war.
Nico swaggers with the confidence of someone who thinks he can control this clusterfuck. His gaze lands on Elodie. Not me. Not Ares. Just Elodie.
A slow smile touches his mouth, and she smiles back.
Then Scava looks at the lead agent. “Take your hands off her. She’s mine.”
To be continued…