Epilogue Stefan
ONE MONTH LATER
The garden looks like something out of a dream.
Ivory chairs stand regimented in flawless lines, their linen skirts brushing dewy grass.
Lining the rows are sprays of roses in crimson and cream.
Above me, fairy lights float like constellations brought within arms’ reach just for the day.
The breeze carries hints of jasmine and citrus, undercut by the green bite of crushed stems. My cufflink catches a stray sunbeam as I flex my hand.
It’s crazy, this hand. It’s tattooed and scarred, and for a long time—a very fucking long time—it knew only one thing: how to hurt.
It signed contracts that doomed my enemies to fail and it put guns to those same enemies’ heads and pulled the trigger.
It’s been blood-soaked. It’s been bruised and battered.
Now, it’s being put to a different purpose. It’ll wear a ring that means something more than everything else I’ve ever done put together.
I’m ready for that new life.
I stand at the altar and try not to fidget. Taras is beside me, dressed in a suit that actually fits for once. He catches me adjusting my cuffs for the third time and smirks.
“Nervous?”
“No.”
“You sure? You look a little nervous to me.”
“Shut up.”
He laughs. “Relax. She’s not going to run.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
I glare at him. “Yes.”
But the truth is, I’m not worried about Olivia running. I’m worried about everything else. The ceremony. The vows. I’m about to stand in front of people and promise forever to someone.
Forever used to be a threat. Now, it’s the only thing I want.
The music starts. A string quartet tucked into the corner of the garden stirs to life and the melodic voice of their instruments fills the air. Everyone stands and turns toward the house.
And then she appears.
My breath seizes in my chest.
She’s wearing a white dress that flows around her like liquid light. No veil, no train, no lace, nothing fancy. Just her, barefoot in the grass, one hand resting on her swollen belly.
It’s the most perfect fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Babushka walks beside her, arm linked through hers.
Elena is still recovering, still moving slower than she’d like, but she insisted on doing this.
“I’m walking my future granddaughter down the aisle,” she’d snapped when I suggested perhaps we find her a comfortable seat for the ceremony.
“Even if I have to crawl. Now, stop nagging me, or I’ll hit you with my cane and then we’ll see who’s crawling. ”
They make their way toward me. Olivia’s eyes never leave mine. And in that moment, nothing else exists. Not the guests. Not the flowers. Not the past or the future.
Just her.
When they reach the altar, Babushka kisses Olivia’s cheek, then mine. “Don’t screw this up,” she whispers in my ear. “I know where you live.”
Then, with a wink, she takes her seat. Olivia steps up beside me and I clasp her hands.
Taras clears his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—”
“Skip the formalities,” I interrupt.
He raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Did I fucking stutter?”
“Fine, sheesh. You think you’d be in a better mood today of all days, but I guess not...” He flips to a different page in the small book he’s holding. “Let’s see… skip that, skip that, skip… Here we go. Do you, Stefan Safonov, take Olivia Aster to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Olivia Aster, take Stefan Safonov to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
She smiles. “I do.”
“Rings?”
I pull the ring from my pocket. A simple gold band with tiny diamonds embedded in it. I slide it onto her finger, and she does the same with mine.
“By the power vested in me by the internet,” Taras says, grinning, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the—”
I don’t wait for him to finish. I pull Olivia into my arms and kiss her.
Her mouth opens beneath mine and I taste everything we’ve survived. The lies. The blood. The terror of almost losing each other a dozen times over.
I taste forgiveness.
I taste forever.
My hands frame her face and I pour every unspoken vow into this contact. Every promise I’m too damaged to say out loud but mean with every cell in my body. I’ll protect her. I’ll worship her. I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone hurt her again.
She kisses me back with the same intensity. Her fingers dig into my jacket and she pulls me closer, deeper, until there’s no space between us except our daughter.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathing hard. So is she.
Her eyes are wet. Mine probably are, too.
The guests cheer. Babushka dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. Camille wolf-whistles from the front row.
When we finally break apart, Olivia is laughing. “That was the shortest wedding ceremony in history.”
I grin. “I didn’t want to waste a single second making you my wife.”
We walk back down the aisle together, hand in hand. The guests hurl flower petals at us. Olivia catches one and tucks it into my jacket pocket.
“For luck,” she says.
“I don’t need luck,” I tell her. “I have you.”
The reception is exactly what Olivia wanted. Small. Intimate. Just our closest friends and family gathered in the garden under the lights. Her parents are nowhere to be found—Olivia decided that they will have to earn their way back into her life. Time will tell if that happens.
In the meantime, there’s a table piled high with food.
Babushka’s pirozhki, of course. Blinis with caviar.
Smoked salmon. Fresh bread. A cake that’s almost too beautiful to eat.
Music plays from speakers hidden in the bushes.
Soft and romantic at first, then louder and more raucous as the night goes on.
I watch Olivia move through the crowd, laughing and talking and glowing. She’s in her element. Happy. Free.
This is what I wanted for her. It’s more than I ever deserved, so I do my best to simply breathe and be appreciative of all the gifts she’s given me.
Taras appears at my side with two glasses of champagne. He hands me one. “To the happy couple.”
I clink my glass against his. “Thank you.”
“For what? Be specific. I’ve been waiting years for the gratitude I’m owed.”
“Don’t make me get all sappy, asshole,” I mutter with a punch of his shoulder. “Just accept the sentiment and move on.”
“C’mon,” he says, poking me back. “You gotta give me something, you big, grumpy bear.”
I roll my eyes and mumble something.
“Pardon? Didn’t catch that.” He cups an ear in my direction.
I swallow a mouthful of champagne. “I said, ‘I couldn’t have done any of this without you.’”
Taras instantly recoils with a horrified look on his face. “Jeez, dude, you don’t have to go vomiting your emotions all over me. Keep it manly, you know? It’s unbecoming.”
I roll my eyes for the second time and shove him hard enough to spill half the champagne glass in his hand. “Asshole. I was trying to be nice.”
He chuckles and, clapping me on the shoulder, says, “I get it. You love me. I love you, too, you miserable bastard.”
We stand there for a moment, watching the party unfold. Then he claps me on the shoulder once more and saunters away, probably to go terrorize one of the catering staff.
I scarcely get a minute to myself before I’m nearly tackled from behind. I look down to see familiar arms wrapped around my torso. It’s Camille, hugging me so tightly I can barely breathe.
“You better take care of her,” she warns as she releases me and walks around to point a warning finger in my face.
“I will.”
“I mean it. If you hurt her—”
“I will not.”
She scowls at me through squinted eyes for a second, then nods, seemingly satisfied. “Good. I actually believe you. But I’ll be watching, Mister. I’ll always be watching.”
I laugh and give her a playful push. “Go find Taras. He’s bothering the servers and they’re gonna charge me for the inconvenience of his ‘flirting’ if someone doesn’t intervene soon.”
Camille salutes. “Aye-aye, pakhan. Orders received. Off to war we go.”
“Don’t bother complaining,” I call after her as she leaves. “I see how you look at him!”
Chuckling, I go wandering off to find somewhere I can breathe for a moment unmolested. But as soon as I’ve identified a tempting patch of shadows near the fountain, a pair of silhouettes emerge from the path that leads up toward the manor. It’s Arielle and Iakov, hand in hand.
“Little brother,” I say as I approach.
He turns and smiles. “Big brother.”
We’ve been using those terms more and more lately. It still feels strange. But also right.
“Thank you for coming,” I say.
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Arielle beams up at me, as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever. “Congratulations, Stefan! The ceremony was gorgeous, and you two are perfect together. I may or may not have bawled hysterically the whole time. Spoiler: I absolutely did.”
Laughing, I point at a wet spot on Iakov’s jacket shoulder. “I can see that.”
I expect Iakov to join in the joking, but when I glance at his face, I notice that he looks almost pained. “Everything alright?” I ask.
He clears his throat. “I have some… news.”
“Oh?”
I’m braced for anything. FBI vengeance is incoming, some upstart mafia or another is infringing on our borders, my mother rose from the dead—at this point, nothing would surprise me.
Well, except for what he actually says.
“Arielle’s pregnant.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. She told me this morning.”
Arielle blushes as red as the rose bushes. “I wanted to wait until after the wedding to say anything to you guys, but Mr. Blabbermouth here insisted he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”
I pull Iakov into a bear hug. “Congratulations. That’s amazing.”
“Our kids won’t be far apart in age,” he says when we separate. “They can grow up together.”
The thought makes something warm spread through my chest. Family. Real family. Not the twisted, broken nightmare I grew up with, but something whole and good.
“I’d like that,” I say.