EPILOGUE
SOFIA
Another car’s arrived. Our driveway looks more like a parking lot with every car that shows up. I’m starting to think that there are more than just Archangels at this party.
Around this time a year ago, I was in another bedroom in another house, belonging to another family.
My brother and father were still alive and I thought I knew exactly who I was, even if I didn’t have any realistic prospects for the future.
I didn’t know then that I was just an ornament for my father.
Something for him to brag to his friends about—the daughter as skilled in combat as any byki or boevik.
I seem to recall some of them even calling me the female version of him.
What I didn’t know then was that I was never going to be more than that.
Oh, I suppose I understood that being that I was not only female but also the daughter of the Pakhan, I had no real place in the Bratva.
My father’s worldview was an old one and there just wasn’t any room for me to be who I really am in it.
I live with the irony of that every day. If I had not been who I am, I wouldn’t have survived… and I would never have married the love of my life.
This is good… I keep telling myself that as I watch another car pull up. I am the queen of this Bratva. I am respected now, or at least I am supposed to be respected.
I’m not fool. Rumors don’t just go away because the boss says so.
I know there are still some of his men who think I shouldn’t be on his arm, and then others who think that I’m just a trophy for him to parade around.
A symbol of that one time that Titus Malkin went scorched earth on the Penza Bratva.
For every one who approves of our union, I’m willing to bet there are two who don’t.
And my being at this party tonight is going to ruffle feathers and I don’t want to cause any trouble.
There’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I say.
The door opens and Titus comes in. He’s dressed in that far too expensive suit that he bought the other day.
It’s embossed with a curving vine design that only shows up when the light hits it a certain way.
His dress shirt is the same shade of black as the rest of his suit, his beard is trimmed and his shoulder-length silver hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
And he smells like heaven. As he walks over the threshold, the room fills with his scent as well as his presence. He smiles at me and with a tilt of his head, he asks, “What are you still doing up here, Sofia? The party’s started. Just about everyone’s here.”
I smile at him, trying not to let the sadness show through. “I was just watching the cars come in,” I tell him. “I, uh, I’ll be down soon.”
The joy in his face fades slightly and he narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Why does there have to be something wrong?”
“There doesn’t, but there is, isn’t there?”
I sigh and look down at the dress I’m in. Gold sequins, form fitting, and worth an obscene amount of money. He sees me looking at my dress and he says, “You look beautiful, by the way.”
“Thank you,” I say politely.
He walks up to me and takes my hand. “What is it, Sofia?”
I’m trying to find the right way to put this. To not sound ungrateful for this life that we share. “What are people saying about me?”
He arches an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”
“I know that people talk and my past isn’t exactly perfect and today of all days, I want to be perfect for you. This is technically the second time you’ll be entering Bratva society with me on your arm and—”
“Stop.” He steps up to me and puts a finger on my lips. “Shh. Don’t say any more.”
I listen and stop talking, but there’s so much more on my heart I need to say. He caresses my face and engages me with his soft amber eyes.
“You are my queen,” he says slowly, making every word count. “The only way you could possibly make this night any less perfect for me is if you were not by my side.”
“But Titus—”
“And I don’t care what anyone else has to say about it. Neither should you. By rank, file, and the corners of my heart, you are above anyone who doesn’t approve.”
He kisses me, and all the apprehension washes away. At the end of the day, he is my heart and I’m his. We can’t exist without one another.
“Oh, gross!”
Titus and I turn to see Luka standing in the doorway. He’s almost a foot taller than he was when we first met, and even at eight, his father’s features are starting to bleed through. He leans against the door in his little black suit and white shirt, his bowtie slightly crooked.
Scowling at us, he adds, “Can we please go downstairs now?”
I walk up to him and kneel down, adjusting his bowtie. “Not until we get you together. Hold still.”
He does. And as annoyed as he’s trying to look about being manhandled, he’s also got a bright sparkle in his eye. The same sparkle he’s had since the day we met.
“There’s my handsome little man,” I say as I stand up, brushing a few of his curls to the side. I look over my shoulder at Titus. He’s beaming as he looks at us both.
“Shall we?”
“We shall,” he says.
We three walk out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Just before we get to the landing, I take his hand and squeeze it. “Happy birthday.”
He smiles down at me and says, “Thank you… For everything.” He kisses me, and I hear Luka make a little groan.
“Now, let’s make our entrance together. As a family.”
Hand in hand, we walk to the landing.