Epilogue
It’s been six months.
The city skyline is a jagged silhouette against the deep purple twilight, the windows of the skyscrapers flickering to life like stars coming out in reverse.
I stand on the balcony of the penthouse, a tumbler of whiskey resting on the railing.
The glass is cool, but the air is biting, the kind of crisp autumn cold that nips at your ears and smells faintly of woodsmoke and exhaust.
It’s quiet. For the first time in years, the city feels… still. The sirens are distant background noise, just the heartbeat of a functioning metropolis rather than the screaming soundtrack of a war zone. We scoured the East Coast.
We hunted down every last associate, every warehouse, every safe house Lorenzo ever touched. We didn’t just defeat him; we erased him. His name is a whisper now, a cautionary tale told in dark corners.
I turn the glass in my hand, watching the amber liquid swirl. I did what I set out to do. I secured the legacy. The Bratva is stronger than it’s been in a generation, the internal dissent silenced, the borders firmly under my control.
Looking out at the kingdom I built, I realize the victory feels hollow without her to share it.
The sliding glass door opens behind me.
“Aren’t you coming back inside? It’s freezing.”
Her voice wraps around me, warmer than the scotch, richer than the view.
I turn. Freya stands in the doorway, wrapped in a cream-colored wool sweater that looks soft enough to sleep on.
Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few stray strands framing her face.
She looks… settled. Content. It’s a look I never thought I’d see on her face when I dragged her into this world, and it’s the most beautiful thing I own.
“In a minute,” I say. “Just enjoying the silence.”
She walks over, sliding her arm around my waist. She fits against my side perfectly, her head resting on my shoulder.
“It’s nice, isn’t it? Not having to look over your shoulder every five seconds.”
“It is.” I wrap my arm around her, pulling her tighter against me to share my warmth. “Although, I still check the exits everywhere we go. Old habits.”
“I know.” She laughs softly, the vibration humming against my chest. “You can relax, Nikita. Lorenzo is gone. Ayaan is safe. We’re safe.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo—jasmine and vanilla. It’s a stark contrast to the metallic tang of gunpowder that used to linger in my nostrils.
“We are,” I agree.
She pulls back slightly, looking up at me. Her eyes are green, bright, and there’s a nervous energy buzzing beneath the surface that I haven’t seen in months. She’s twisting a loose thread on her sweater, her fingers fidgeting.
“What is it?” I ask, my instincts sharpening immediately. “Is it Ayaan, did he call?”
“No, Ayaan is fine. He’s with Rhonda, probably showing off that new motorcycle she insists he doesn’t need.”
“Then what? You’re trembling.”
She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “I went to the doctor today.”
My stomach tightens. “Are you hurt? Are you sick?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” She shakes her head quickly, her eyes widening. “I’m healthy. We’re healthy.”
“We?”
Her hand moves from my waist, sliding down to rest flat against her lower abdomen.
“I’m pregnant, Nikita.”
The words hang in the cold air between us. For a second, the world tilts on its axis. The traffic noise below fades into a dull roar. I stare at her hand, resting on the soft fabric of her sweater.
Pregnant.
A rush of emotion so violent it nearly brings me to my knees crashes into me. It’s not just joy. It’s terrifying. It’s immense.
It’s the realization that everything I have fought for, every life I have taken, every drop of blood I have spilled, has led to this singular moment.
I release the whiskey on the railing with a clatter. My hands are shaking, just a fraction.
“Say something,” she whispers, searching my face.
I reach out, covering her hand with mine. My palm is large, rough, scarred. It looks violent against her delicate skin. I press it gently, feeling the warmth beneath the fabric, trying to imagine the life growing inside her.
“A baby,” I manage to croak. “You’re… carrying my child.”
“I am.”
I look at her, really look at her. There’s a glow to her skin, a vitality that wasn’t there before. “Are you… happy?”
“I am,” she says, her voice gaining strength. “I know it’s crazy. I know the timing isn’t perfect. But yes. I’m so happy.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Happy doesn’t cover it.”
“Is it a good happy or a bad happy?”
I pull her into my arms, crushing her against me. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in. “It’s a terrified happy,” I admit against her skin. “I’m terrified I won’t be enough. That the world is too dark for something this pure.”
She wraps her arms around my neck, holding me just as tight. “Hey. Listen to me. You are the most dangerous man in New York City. You took down a crime syndicate to keep me safe. You think you can’t handle a baby?”
“I can handle enemies, Freya. I can handle traitors. But this…” I pull back, resting my forehead against hers. “This is fragile.”
“You won’t break it.” She reaches up, brushing her thumb along my jawline. “You protected me when I was a stranger. You protected me when I was your prisoner. You’re going to protect this baby with everything you have. I know it.”
“I don’t know how to be a father,” I whisper. “My father was… he wasn’t a good man.”
“Then you’ll be a better one,” she says firmly. “You’ll be the father you needed. That’s how it works.”
I stare into her eyes, seeing the absolute faith she has in me. It humbles me. It grounds me.
“I love you,” I say, the words rough, scraping my throat. “I love you so much it hurts.”
“I know.”
I kiss her. It’s not a frantic kiss, or a desperate one. It’s slow, deep, full of promise. I pour everything I have into it—the gratitude, the awe, the fierce, burning protectiveness. She melts against me, her hands tangling in my coat, pulling me closer.
“Come inside,” she murmurs against my lips. “It’s too cold.”
I chuckle, a low rumble in my chest.
I scoop her up, cradling her against my chest. She laughs, startled, wrapping her legs around my waist. I carry her inside, kicking the door shut with my heel, sealing out the cold.
The living room is bathed in the warm glow of the fireplace. I set her down on the rug, sinking down to sit beside her with my back against the sofa. She curls into my side, her head resting on my chest.
I rest my hand on her stomach again, gently this time. “Have you thought about names?”
“We haven’t even bought a crib yet, Nikita.”
“I’ll buy ten cribs. Twenty. Whatever you want. The best security system money can buy. A nursery wing.”
She laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Let’s just make sure the kid knows how to walk first.”
“I’m going to teach him how to shoot too.”
“She,” she corrects, poking me in the ribs. “I have a feeling it’s a girl.”
“A girl,” I say, testing the word. It sounds foreign. Dangerous. Wonderful. “She’s going to be stubborn.”
“Just like her mother.”
“And possessive,” I add, kissing her temple. “Just like her father.”
“Hopefully not too possessive.”
“I don’t know. I think I like having things that are mine.”
She shifts, turning to face me. She straddles my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You have me,” she whispers. “You have us.”
I look up at her, silhouetted against the firelight. I think about the blood on my hands, the sins I’ve committed. I think about the darkness that lives in my soul.
Then I look at her, and I know that none of it matters. As long as I have her, the darkness can never win.
*****
THE END