Epilogue
DAMIR
Two weeks after Grigori falls from the terrace, the house is still quieter than it used to be.
No one says his name unless there is a reason.
Irina has taken Maksim to the south wing while the doctors finish his treatment and while she decides whether she can remain under my roof without seeing the terrace every time she closes her eyes.
Maksim is recovering. The poison left his system faster than expected once Dr. Morozova’s team knew what to test for, but he still tires easily, and every time I see him asleep in his mother’s lap, I think of the clear tape on his wrist and the way Grigori planned even his own son’s pain.
Sergei has gone silent. Dmitri remains hidden. Arman sends information through Mikhail instead of coming near the house. Anya calls Sofia twice a day, sometimes more, and I let the calls go through because I said I would and because I have learned the hard way the price to say no to my wife.
Sofia’s door has not been locked since that night.
I gave the order myself and then stood in the corridor while every guard heard it.
No locked doors. No sealed corridors. No orders about my wife that don’t pass through her first unless there is a direct threat to her life and she’s unconscious or unable to answer.
The men listened. Sofia cried when Marina called her by name again.
I pretended not to see it because both of them deserved the dignity of that moment.
Sofia still sleeps in my room.
Not every night because she is stubborn, and some nights she says she wants space and takes it, but most nights I wake with her body turned toward mine, one hand under her cheek, the other resting over her stomach.
The pregnancy is still too early to show, but she touches herself there often.
Sometimes she does it when she thinks no one notices.
Sometimes she does it while looking right at me, as if daring me to be afraid again.
I am afraid.
I no longer hide it from myself.
That’s not the same as running from it.
Tonight, I find her in the music room. She’s sitting at the piano, frowning at the keys like they have personally offended her.
There is a beginner’s book open in front of her, and the melody she’s trying to play comes out wrong every third note.
She doesn’t stop when I enter. She only lifts one eyebrow and presses another key with enough aggression to make the sound sharper than necessary.
“You could hire me a teacher,” she says.
“I offered.”
“You offered a terrifying old woman who looked like she would slap my knuckles with a ruler.”
“She taught half the conservatory.”
“She looked like she hated happiness.”
“She probably does.”
Sofia presses the wrong key again, sighs, and shuts the book. “Good. Then we have nothing in common, because I’m trying very hard to enjoy my imprisonment piano.”
I lean against the doorframe. “You are not imprisoned.”
Her mouth twitches, but the almost-smile fades before it becomes real. That happens often now. She comes close to herself, then something pulls her back. Grigori’s gun. The terrace. The fall. The days locked in this room. The moment I walked out after she told me about the baby.
There are many things between us that desire alone can’t fix. I know that now.
She looks at the piano for a while, then says, “What made you come back?”
I don’t pretend not to understand.
She keeps her eyes on the keys. “That day. When you left the car. When everyone else was going to the hospital with Maksim. What made you know?”
I walk into the room slowly and sit beside her on the bench. She doesn’t move away, but she doesn’t lean into me either. That’s fair. Some things must be answered before the body can trust what the heart has already decided.
“Maksim had a puncture mark on his wrist,” I say. “It was hidden under clear tape. His fever came unnaturally first, and the bruise beside it looked like someone held him down.”
Her fingers curl against the edge of the bench. “Grigori did that to his own son.”
“Yes.”
Her face tightens. “I still can’t understand it. What kind of parent won’t protect their own child?”
Her hand moves to her stomach. I watch it because I can’t help myself.
“And the rest?” she asks quietly. “What made you see the rest?”
“Nikolai said Grigori gave him the information about the man from the club running to Sergei. I had ordered that kept inside the direct team. Grigori should not have had it unless he created the trail or controlled the person who saw it.”
Sofia’s face goes still.
I continue because this is the part I owe her, even if it cuts both of us. “Once I saw that, everything else changed. Grigori manipulated the facts and it became his story.”
Her mouth tightens. “And you believed him.”
“I know an apology isn’t going to fix this,” I say. “But he was my cousin, he was loyal to me, always.”
She looks down at the keys again. “I hated you for that,” she says.
“I know.”
“No, I really hated you. Not in the pretty angry-wife way that turns into sex ten minutes later. I sat in this room and thought, he believes them. He believes I’m capable of that.
He believes I came here to ruin him.” Her voice shakes slightly, but she keeps going.
“And then when I told you I was pregnant, you walked out, and all I could think was maybe he thinks I did that on purpose too.”
My chest tightens. “I didn’t think that.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“I know.”
“You left me with silence, Damir. You keep doing that when things get too big for you, and I am supposed to stand there and guess whether you are angry, disgusted, grieving, or planning to lock another door.”
She’s right. I hate hearing it, but she is right.
“I was afraid,” I say.
Her eyes lift to mine. The word is not one I give easily, but she deserves it without negotiation.
“When you told me about the baby, I didn’t know how to hold the news.
After my parents, my sisters, my brother, Elena, I stopped imagining that life would give me anything new without taking payment in advance.
You said pregnant, and for one second, I saw everything at once.
You. The child. A future I hadn’t allowed myself to want. ”
Her face softens, but she doesn’t rescue me from the confession.
“I walked out because I was overwhelmed, not because I rejected you. It was still wrong. I should have stayed, and I should have told you that I was afraid and happy and not ready to be either.”
Her eyes shine now, but she doesn’t cry. “What about the day you came back?” she asks. Her throat moves.
“I came back because I understood Grigori had cleared the house for you,” I say. “But before that, before the proof, I came back because I couldn’t breathe with you alone there.”
She looks at me for a long moment. Then she asks, “Because of the baby?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Her fingers tighten in her lap.
I turn fully toward her on the bench. “Because I love you.”
The room goes very still. Sofia stares at me like she has heard the words in a language she knows but didn’t expect from my mouth.
“I loved you before I knew about the baby,” I say.
“I loved you when I stood in Sergei’s home with my hand around his throat and didn’t kill him because I thought of what you would see when I came back.
I loved you when I let Anya lie because you looked too shaken to have your truth dragged out in public.
I loved you when you were gone, and I tore the city apart pretending it was only duty. ”
She breathes in once, unsteadily.
I don’t touch her.
I want to. I don’t. Not until she chooses it.
She looks down at the black thread still tied around her finger, the ring too large for her hand resting against her skin. She turns it once with her thumb, then looks back at me.
“I loved you when I should have been planning another escape,” she says.
My chest goes tight.
Her mouth trembles, but she forces the words out. “I think I started loving you before I understood what it was. Maybe in the car. Maybe when you asked instead of ordered. Maybe earlier, and I was just too angry to admit it. But I love you, Damir, and I hate that you made it so difficult.”
I let out a breath that feels like it has been trapped in my chest for two weeks. “I will do better.”
“You will do much better.”
“Yes.”
“And if you ever lock me in a room again, I will leave you.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
She studies my face, searching for the part of me that wants to argue. She doesn’t find it because it’s not there.
Then she reaches for me.
That’s all it takes.
I pull her into my lap, and her mouth meets mine before I can say her name.
The kiss is soft for half a second, then not soft at all.
Sofia kisses with her whole body when she stops pretending she wants distance.
Her hands slide into my hair, her knees settle on either side of my thighs, and the small sound she makes against my mouth turns the last of my restraint into something useless.
Still, I keep my hands careful. Her waist. Her back. Her hips.
She notices. Her mouth curves against mine. “You’re thinking too much,” she whispers.
“I’m trying not to make mistakes.”
“Make different ones.”
That almost makes me laugh, but then she rolls her hips over me, and the laugh becomes a low sound in my throat. She feels it and does it again, slower this time, watching my face while my body hardens under her.
“Sofia.”
“Yes?”
“You are pregnant.”
“I noticed.”
“You are still recovering.”
“I’m also sitting on your cock through too many clothes, so choose which concern matters more right now.”
I grip her hips and stand with her in my arms. She gasps, then laughs once against my mouth, and the sound does more to heal this house than any order I have given since Grigori died.
I carry her to the long sofa near the window instead of my room because I don’t want to lose the moment to corridors, guards, or anyone asking for me before I can get her under my hands.
I lay her down carefully, then follow her down.