Epilogue
NINA—TWO YEARS LATER
After my father died and the Baltimore mansion burned down to its rotten foundation, Kinsley closed the Golden Skies Gallery and moved to Brooklyn.
With Hailey’s help she found a warehouse space in a trendier part of Brooklyn than Brighton Beach, where we live, and where the Volkov bratva faction rules.
Andrei established his dominance over the Kotov faction, although not until after a lot of infighting and jockeying had taken out the more ruthless members.
Rafail was content to let him run the newly formed branch as an offshoot of the main family’s operation once he had proved he could handle it.
We welcomed our daughter, Yelizaveta—Liza for short—less than a year after our extremely questionable wedding, and decided to hold a proper ceremony for our vow renewal a few months after she was born. We wanted to make our union feel like something we had chosen together.
In quiet moments I stare at the ocean and think of my mother. How she would have liked this life of quiet luxury and relative peace. My heart aches, but I feel her spirit watching over us as we build this new life.
But there remains the question of what to do with the damned house in Baltimore. What’s left of it. Finally, after two years of navigating permits, the last damaged scraps of the foundation are being cleared. Nothing was salvageable. Andrei made sure of that.
When my husband calls and asks me to come to Baltimore, I know instantly it has to do with the stupid house. Melor left it to me alone. Andrei has a claim to the property being my husband but it’s always my signature that needs to go on the paperwork.
“Anghel, you will want to come and see this,” he says.
“What is it? I can’t drop everything and rush down there. Papers can wait.” I give Liza a sliced banana. She throws it on the floor and points at it, screaming. I sigh and give her another. This one, she eats.
“It’s not about the paperwork. Bring Liza and take the train. Valerian can come with you for protection.”
“He’s the money manager, not a bodyguard. Does the bookkeeper know you’re volunteering him for guard duty?”
Andrei doesn’t chuckle. He is unusually quiet, and that afternoon when I disembark from the train station and get into his car with a sleeping Liza and a grumpy Valerian in tow, I find out why.
“There was a corner of the original foundation that had been damaged. When the workers were clearing away the rubble, they found a grave.” He glances at our baby. “The police have identified the body as a woman’s. They’re running DNA tests. They think it’s a murder.”
“My mother,” I gasp. All the tiredness leaves my body.
I’m all but vibrating with nerves and excitement.
When we get to the house where a police car is waiting, I don’t bother to question Andrei’s connections to the local cops.
Corruption is not my affair. In this case, they might be able to finally solve the mystery that has haunted my whole life.
I welcome their presence at the burned-out shell of what was once my home.
“Are you Nina Kotov?” the policewoman asks me.
“That was my maiden name. I’m Nina Volkov now.”
She waves me past the tape and takes me into the dark pit that would once have been our basement floor. In one forgotten corner, beside a pile of old stones, lie partially buried bones, pale ivory against the dirt. Her head sits at a strange angle.
“Forensics will tell us how she died. We’re running DNA tests. Do you mind if we take a swab?” says the officer.
I glance at my husband. He shrugs. I suppose there’s little chance that I’ll ever end up charged with a crime, even as a bratva wife, so I let them swab me while Andrei hangs back with the baby.
While the officer is distracted, I squat beside the body and reach down to touch one long bone.
“Don’t disturb the scene,” the policewoman chides. I ignore her and squint at a tiny flash of gold buried in the dirt.
“There’s a metal object near her arm,” I call out. My pulse quickens. “Can I see it? I think I recognize it.”
Eventually, they dig it out of the dirt, following procedures that test my patience.
The thin gold chain has a plate engraved with my name and birthdate.
She never took it off. My mother could have run.
She had been planning her exit carefully.
But taking me would have made her escape impossible to pull off.
In the end she stayed for me, and that hesitation cost her everything.
When I come out of the ruins of my family home, tears are streaming down my cheeks. Andrei wraps me in a tight hug and lets me cry.
“All along, she was in this house,” he says.
“I never suspected. I thought he had tossed her into the ocean or cut her up or burned her or something. I genuinely never would have guessed that he buried her here.”
The house had been her tombstone. When her remains are released, I’m going to have her cremated and set her free on the winds near the ocean. She would have liked that.
“Did you get the closure you wanted, anghel?” Andrei asks when I’ve finally calmed myself.
“Yes. I did.” I sniffle. “I may have to stop painting ghosts,” I laugh, but I’m weeping, too.
“What will you paint instead?”
I kiss our daughter’s chubby round cheeks and say, “Happy things.”
Valerian
My footfalls echo on the empty second-floor Tribeca loft.
The place is too motherfucking big and far too expensive to justify for a fancy-ass gallery.
I’m only here on pakhan's orders. Ever since Andrei took over the ragtag bratva faction formerly run by a real piece of shit named Melor Kotov, I’ve been tasked with merging our factions’ finances without attracting scrutiny.
Cleaning up the mess, in other words. My specialty.
I glare around the space. Wood floors. Original tin ceiling. Floor-to-wall windows on either end, though the side of the building overlooking the alleyway is closed off by walls to create a sunny office space. The smell of fresh paint permeates the stale air.
No furniture. No computers. No fucking art, which is a real problem considering this is supposed to be a gallery selling weird pictures to people with more money than sense.
“She could’ve made do with a place half this size, in Brooklyn,” I mutter.
Sunlight doesn’t penetrate into the gloomy center of the loft.
My eyes adjust to the dimness a few seconds before I throw open the door to the office space and blind myself with an accidental hit of bright afternoon light. I recoil like a vampire.
“Hello?”
A woman’s heels tap on hardwood floors.
“Is someone here?”
Grumpily, I slam the door closed and head back the way I just came from.
This must be the gallery owner who’s been busting my balls—with Nina and Hailey’s help and support—for months.
I’m going to give that woman a talking to about financial responsibility.
It’s not that the bratva can’t afford to rent a space like this, it’s the monthly rent looks ridiculous compared to the income and that’s a great way to attract scrutiny—
With my eyes still trying to adjust to the change in light, at first, all I see is her outline.
Kinsley Sager strides across the gallery space on long, gorgeous legs with her mane of auburn hair brushing her narrow shoulders, and I instantly forget the lecture I planned to deliver.
I forget about the money, which I never do.
I forget my own fucking name.
She tips her head to one side, peering at me. “Oh. I didn’t expect anyone else to be here. I thought I was the only one with the key, Mr.…”
“Valerian.” I hold out my hand, stunned stupid by her green eyes.
“Kinsley,” she smiles, carefully placing her perfectly manicured fingertips in my palm. Seeing the tattoos sticking out of my sleeve, her smile fades.
That’s right, Kinsley Sager. You should be scared. From this day forth, you’re mine.
You just don’t know it yet.
Thank you for reading Bought & Bred by the Bratva!