Epilogue
MELANI
Three weeks later…
The bridal room hums with the voices of my team—my stylist, makeup artist, and the designer Vanya insisted on hiring. One of the best in the city, even though we’re keeping the ceremony small.
Mamma circles me again for what has to be the third time, tugging at lace that doesn’t need adjusting, smoothing fabric that doesn’t need smoothing.
“Stand still,” she urges, but her hands are trembling. She fusses with my veil, then my hair, then the necklace at my throat. When she finally steps back, her eyes are glassy. “Perfect.”
I swallow hard. “Mamma…”
She waves me off, dabbing at her face with the corner of a handkerchief. “Don’t start. You’ll ruin your makeup.”
The door creaks open, and one of Vanya’s men peeks in. “It’s time.”
My heart flutters. I take a deep breath to steady myself, then let it out slowly.
Mamma clasps my hands in hers, squeezing tight. “I didn’t think a man like him could possess the ability to… but he loves you,” she says in a low whisper so no one overhears her, voice breaking a little. “That’s all I ever wanted for you.”
I nod because if I try to speak, it will be over for both of us. She presses a kiss to my cheek, then lets me go.
The walk down the aisle feels endless, and I'm painfully aware that I'm walking alone.
Luciano should be here. I blink back my tears. Mamma, Dima—even Aleksei—offered to walk me, but I refused. If my brother can't be here to do it, then I'll do it alone. I'm not replacing him with anyone.
Every eye in the crowd follows me, but I fix my gaze on Vanya standing at the front of the makeshift altar, sharp and clean-shaven in his tux, his brothers at his side.
When our eyes meet, the corner of his mouth lifts in a soft smile that makes my chest ache. To think I could have lost this.
His hand finds mine the moment I step up beside him, warm and steady, grounding. And just like that, everything else melts away—the background noise, the guests, the nerves, even the sadness from missing Luciano—until it’s just us. Just this.
The officiator begins, and Vanya’s lips curve a little more.
There’s no reception—because, in Vanya’s own words: I’d rather spend that time with you, getting lost in you, than pose in a room with some fuckers who couldn’t give a shit about us or our marriage.
I didn’t argue. So, immediately after the ceremony, we get pictures taken with the family. I didn’t expect it, but Vanya’s family is the sweetest—especially his mom and his sister, Mira, who I’m beyond grateful didn’t get kidnapped like those bastards planned.
When it comes time to say goodbye, Mamma pulls me into her arms and doesn’t let go for a long moment.
“I’ll keep you updated with pictures and texts,” I promise, and she nods into my shoulder before pulling back.
“Have fun and don’t worry about me. I’ll be well protected at Korona.” She pats my hand and steps back.
We’d officially moved into the hotel a week after the warehouse incident.
Me into Vanya’s suite, into his bedroom, and Mamma into the suite she was already in.
It’s been fun and sweet to explore the different floors together.
She especially loved the café on the fifth floor.
I nudged her about opening that pastry shop she always wanted back in Pietrarossa, but she just waved me off and said she couldn’t possibly.
The way she said it, though, told me the conversation wasn’t over.
Our honeymoon is only for a week because the bastard behind the kidnappings is still out there, and with elections right around the corner, tensions are high. I even suggested skipping the trip altogether, but Vanya wouldn’t hear of it. We deserve this, he said fiercely, so we’re going.
One last wave, then we’re slipping into the back of his car, still in our wedding clothes. My dress billows out in every direction and takes up approximately two-thirds of the available space, but somehow Vanya still finds a way to crowd in close.
“Alone at last,” he whispers in my ear.
My eyes flick to the driver’s seat, where Luka is very pointedly ignoring us, then to the two cars behind us filled with his men. “Not fully alone,” I remind him, and he groans, burying his face in my neck, his arms banding tight around my waist.
The drive to the airport is quick—quicker than I expected. Then I realize it’s not the airport at all but a small private airstrip. Our cars roll to a stop right in front of a huge private jet waiting for us.
“Wow,” I breathe as the car engine cuts.
One of Vanya’s men opens his door, and he steps out and then offers me his hand.
I take it and let him help me navigate the door without stepping on the dress, which requires coordination from both of us and a brief negotiation with the fabric.
As soon as my feet touch the ground and the car door slams shut behind me, something whistles through the air and lands at my feet.
Vanya and his men form a protective shield around me, weapons raised. But I’m already crouching down, already reaching for the small paper plane on the ground, my heart panging before I’ve even unfolded it. Because I know what it is. I knew the moment it landed.
Luciano.
Sicily flashes in my mind. Him folding paper, flicking them at me with that stupid grin. He stopped doing stuff like that when we came to the US, though. Like something in him… dimmed. Like he aged years in a matter of weeks.
My eyes sting as I recognize his familiar scrawl.
I’m fine. Stop looking. I’ll show myself when I’m ready.
P.S: You really had to marry that jerk, Soredda?
A broken laugh slips out of me as tears spill over. He’s alive. Without thinking, I shove past the protective wall of men.
“Lower your weapons,” I snap, already scanning the empty clearing. “Luciano!” I yell, turning in every direction. Nothing moves. If he was there before, he’s already gone.
My grip tightens around the note, my chest aching in a way that’s almost too much to hold. I’m vaguely aware of Vanya’s arms sliding around my shoulders as he steers me towards the jet. I glance back one last time—just in case—before letting him guide me inside.
The interior is massive and so beautiful, but I can’t bring myself to appreciate it.
Not when my mind is still out there.
Vanya seems to understand, because he takes me straight to the bedroom at the back, closes the door, and sits with me.
“Talk to me.” I hand him the note without saying anything. He reads it quickly, jaw tightening, and starts to get up. “I’ll have my men scour the area—”
“No.” I catch his arm. “Leave it. I’m just… I’m glad he’s fine.” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “If he doesn’t want to be found, he must have a reason. Call off the search on him.”
Vanya’s brows knit. “We don’t need to do that if you don’t want to.”
“No, I—” I pause to clear my throat when my voice cracks again. “I think it’s the right thing to do.”
He studies me for a second, then nods reluctantly and wraps me up in his arms.
We change into something more comfortable, the adrenaline finally bleeding out of me. By the time we settle into the seats and buckle in, the engines are already roaring to life.
I glance at him. “So… finally going to tell me where we're going?”
He smirks. “Crete, baby.”
My lips tug up in a wide smile. “I do vaguely recall you making a promise about that. Something about me in a bikini with the backdrop of deep blue sea and soaring mountains.”
“You’ll find I always keep my promises, devochka moya.” He winks, and I laugh.
Once the plane levels, we undo our belts, and I sink into the bed with a loud yawn, suddenly exhausted.
“Sleep,” Vanya says softly. “Fall asleep in New York airspace and wake up in Greece.”
“That sounds like heaven,” I murmur, my eyes already closing.
Not so long ago, I could never have imagined that this could be my life. Now, I wouldn’t trade it for anything else. I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.
Loud Russian yells rip me out of sleep. I blink up at the ceiling, disoriented, my heart already starting to race. For a second, I don’t know where I am—then the low hum of the jet settles it. I sit up and glance out the small oval window. Endless blue sky.
We’re still in the air.
The sound of rapid-fire Russian grabs my attention again, and my blood freezes. The voice is familiar and all wrong at the same time, tight with an urgency I’ve only heard from Vanya a handful of times.
I get out of bed and follow the voices to a large cabin that looks like a mini living room, complete with a fully stocked wet bar.
Then I see him. He’s seated in the middle of it all, surrounded by his men, grating Russian at someone on the phone.
His eyes, when they find mine across the cabin, are angry in the way that means something has happened that shouldn’t have.
Without hesitation, I walk towards him and sit on his lap.
His arms come around me, and his men disperse around us, finding somewhere else to be.
Vanya mutters something final into the phone, then ends the call.
“Is everything alright?” I ask, though it’s obvious it’s not.
His jaw tightens. “No. Dima was poisoned.”
I gasp, digging my fingers into his biceps. “What? How—”
“By the girl he brought to our wedding.”
His date? I frown, thinking back to the stunning redhead he brought with him. She had a reserved air about her, and even though I didn’t interact with her much since we didn’t have a reception, she didn’t strike me as the type to do something like that. She seemed too innocent.
“Are you sure it was her?”
“Before Dima lost consciousness, he triggered the emergency alarm and only gasped out a name in his voice message. Laura.”
Laura. That’s his date’s name. Shit. “We need to get back to New York,” I say, running a hand over his tense shoulder. “Do we know his condition?”
“Yes. We’ve already turned the plane around to go back to Manhattan.” He gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry… our honeymoon will have to be delayed.”
Offended, I smack his shoulder. “Are you serious? You think I care about that right now? Dima’s life matters more.”
He’s Vanya’s brother, someone he cares about deeply—and he saved us. Without him, we might not even be alive to have a honeymoon.
Family comes first. Always.