Epilogue
Calina
One month later…
The slow, sensual melody wraps around us as Maxim pulls me onto the dance floor for another dance.
We’ve already had our first dance as husband and wife, this time without any interruptions. I danced with my brothers too.
Now I’m back in Maxim’s arms, swaying slowly to a soft, romantic melody that seems written just for us.
Being back here, pressed against his chest, feels like coming home.
Earlier, we renewed our vows in the presence of our people watching, and this time it doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels protective. Safe.
My relationship with Maxim keeps growing stronger every single day. We’re in a better place now. It hasn’t been all roses, there are days I want to hit him with a frying pan, days we argue over little things that feel big in the moment.
But we always find our way back to each other. That’s the beauty of what we have. It’s not perfect. It’s real. It’s ours.
Maxim’s hand rests possessively on my lower back, his thumb tracing slow circles that send warmth through me. He leans down, lips brushing my temple.
“What are you thinking about, malyshka?” he murmurs, voice low and intimate. Every time he calls me the Russian endearment, it melts my heart.
I tilt my head up, smiling. “I’m thinking about where we’re going for our honeymoon.”
He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. “Nice try. I’m still not telling you.”
I pout, giving him my best pleading look. “Why not? We’re leaving in just a few hours. You could just tell me now.”
He’s been keeping this secret for weeks, and it’s driving me crazy. I’ve searched his study, gone through his things when he wasn’t home, even subtly asked Victor who stayed frustratingly tight-lipped.
He shakes his head, eyes sparkling with amusement. “If I tell you, it’s no longer a surprise.”
“You know I don’t like surprises,” I remind him, though I’m smiling.
“You do,” he counters, pulling me closer. “You’re just impatient.”
I laugh softly, resting my head on his shoulder again as we continue swaying. “Okay, fine. Can you at least give me a clue?”
He’s quiet for a moment, then whispers against my ear, “It’s on one of your bucket list places.”
My heart flips. I have so many places on that list. Places I’ve dreamed about since I was a girl, places I never thought I’d actually get to see.
The fact that he remembered, that he’s taking me to one of them… it makes me fall in love with him all over again.
I lift my head, looking up at him with shining eyes. “You’re really not going to tell me more?”
He smirks, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Not a chance. You’ll just have to trust me.”
I do. Completely.
The song shifts into something slower, more intimate, and Maxim pulls me even closer, his hand warm and steady on my lower back.
I rest my head against his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart as we sway together.
I try to think back to all the places I once told him about. The bucket list I shared with him late one night when I had opened up to him about my longing to travel the world.
I had never really been anywhere. The only place outside the US I’d ever visited was Russia, and that was when we were little kids, before our father became even more controlling.
After that, he never let me or Milana leave the country. Only my brothers were allowed that freedom.
When my brothers took over, they were too busy fighting wars and keeping us safe to let us out of their sight. So I stayed trapped, dreaming of places I might never see.
Now, I’m trying to remember every country I mentioned to Maxim, wondering which one he chose for our honeymoon. Paris? Santorini? The Maldives? My mind races with possibilities, excitement bubbling in my chest.
“Okay, tell me this,” I say, tilting my head up to look at him. “Do I need to pack warm clothes? Or light, breezy things? What kind of clothing should I bring?”
He looks down at me with that teasing smirk I’ve come to love. “I thought you already packed.”
“I did,” I huff, “but I packed blindly because I don’t even know where we’re going. If you just told me, I could pack properly.”
He chuckles, the sound low and warm against my ear. “Nice try. If you packed the wrong clothes, we can always go shopping when we get there.”
I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed. “But why waste time shopping when we could be exploring? Just give me one clue. What’s the city like? What do people do there?”
He shakes his head, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Nope.”
I let out a dramatic huff, but I’m smiling. I can’t stay mad at him when he looks at me like that.
I’m actually excited. Excited to be away with him. Even with security, it will feel like we’re truly alone for the first time. No Bratva business hanging over us. Just us.
Maxim pulls me out of my thoughts, nodding toward the bar area. “What’s going on with those two?”
I turn my head and see Milana arguing with Konstantin near the drinks table. She’s gesturing wildly, clearly irritated, while he leans against the bar with that smug, teasing grin of his.
I smile, shaking my head. “Oh, they’re always like that. Konstantin loves getting on Milana’s nerves, and she, bless her, always gives him exactly the reaction he wants. They’ve been like this for years.”
Maxim chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “She looks like she’s about to rip his head off.”
“She probably is,” I laugh. “But that’s just their thing.”
As the song comes to a gentle end, Maxim leans down, lips brushing my ear. “Do you think we can ditch the party now?”
I glance around, we’ve cut the cake, I’ve thrown the bouquet, danced with everyone who matters. Everything feels complete.
“I don’t see why not,” I say, smiling up at him.
He kisses my forehead, then takes my hand. “Good. Because I can’t wait to have you all to myself.”
“Me neither.”
A few hours later, we’re on Maxim’s private jet, preparing for takeoff to wherever mysterious location he’s chosen for our honeymoon.
The captain’s voice comes over the speakers, announcing we’re ready for takeoff. I buckle my seatbelt, glancing at Maxim beside me. He’s relaxed in his seat, one hand resting possessively on my thigh, thumb tracing slow circles that send little sparks through me.
The plane accelerates down the runway, pressing me back into my seat as we lift into the sky.
Once we’re safely in the air and the seatbelt sign turns off, I unbuckle and lean across the small space between our seats, my hand resting on his chest.
“I’ve always wanted to be part of the mile-high club,” I whisper, my voice low and a little breathless.
Maxim turns his head, dark eyes meeting mine with a slow, heated smirk. “My naughty girl.”
I smile, biting my lip. “Well?”
“Let’s make your dream come true.”
His hands are already on me, unbuckling my seatbelt and pulling me toward him. I glance quickly toward the front of the cabin where his men are still seated, trying to give us privacy but still very much present.
“Maxim,” I whisper, tapping his hand. “Your men…”
He doesn’t even look away from me. He snaps his fingers sharply. “Out.”
The men file out immediately, disappearing toward the back of the jet without a word. The moment the door closes behind them, Maxim pulls me onto his lap, my knees straddling his thighs.
I’ve already changed out of my wedding dress into a soft, flowing cream-colored sundress that falls just above my knees.
His hands slide under the hem of the dress, pushing it up to my waist. His fingers hook into the lace of my panties, tugging them aside as he groans low in his throat.
“Already so wet for me,” he murmurs, voice rough. “How long have you been thinking about this, baby?”
“For a while,” I admit, gasping as he slides one thick finger inside me, curling it just right.
He works me slowly at first, pumping his finger in and out while his thumb circles my clit. The pleasure builds steadily, my hips rocking against his hand as I cling to his shoulders, trying not to be loud.
He adds a second finger, stretching me, stroking that perfect spot inside me until I’m whimpering, my forehead pressed against his.
Thirty minutes later, I’m a trembling, satisfied mess in his lap, officially a member of the mile-high club. He holds me close as I come down, pressing soft kisses to my neck and shoulder while I catch my breath.
When I finally slide back into my own seat, my legs are shaky and my body feels deliciously used. I lean my head against the window, the exhaustion from the long day and the intense pleasure catching up to me.
My eyes grow heavy, and before I know it, I drift off into a peaceful sleep, the steady hum of the jet lulling me under.
I wake up to the pilot’s calm voice over the speakers announcing our arrival.
My eyes flutter open slowly, still heavy with sleep. The cabin is softly lit, and the first thing I see is Maxim watching me with a gentle smile on his face. He looks relaxed, content, one arm resting along the back of my seat.
I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess. “Have we landed?”
“Not yet,” he says softly, “but we’re about to. You slept through most of the flight.”
I turn my head toward the window. Bright morning light streams in, the sky a soft blue with streaks of gold from the rising sun.
The time difference hits me, we left New York at night, and now it’s already morning in this city. The city sprawls below us as we descend.
I look back at him, heart racing with sudden realization. “Where are we?”
He leans in, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his voice warm and full of affection. “Paris, baby.”
I let out a sharp, delighted scream of excitement, covering my mouth immediately after as I bounce slightly in my seat. “Paris? Oh my God, Maxim!”
I should have known. Paris was the very first place I told him about. The city I’d dreamed of visiting since I was a little girl.
The Eiffel Tower at sunset, a kiss underneath it, wandering through the Louvre, strolling along the Seine… I had gushed about it, never imagining he would actually take me there.
He chuckles, clearly pleased with my reaction. “Welcome to Paris, malyshka.”
Calina and Maxim survived the blood debt, the betrayal, and the war that tried to destroy them before their marriage could truly begin. But Adrian’s death has awakened something far more dangerous.