Epilogue
NALA
Five Years Later
“This reminds me of the first time I saw you.”
Roman chuckles. “You say that every time we come to one of these events.”
“That’s because it’s true,” I say, placing a hand on my stomach as the baby gives a not-so-subtle kick. “I couldn’t have said it that many times, since we hardly attend these fundraisers.”
“Because it’s all bullshit,” Roman mutters, both of watching the oligarchs and politicians move across the room pretending to care about topics and people they wouldn’t give the time of day to. “When was the last one,” Roman asked under his breath.
“Last November.”
He looks over at me, “How do you even remember that?”
“Roman, I remember because our daughter was born the next morning.”
“Shit,” he mutters. “You’re right.” He glances at my belly and grins. “Think you can make it through tonight?”
“Funny.”
He opens his mouth to say something else when a man in a black suit approaches us, his smile widening with every step. It’s obvious from his overly friendly demeanor that he knows exactly who Roman is—businessman and reputed Pakhan of the most powerful criminal organization in Russia.
“Mr. Ivanov,” the man says, grinning, ready to rush into whatever favor plan he wants Roman to approve or be a part of because of his connections. “Wonderful evening, isn’t it? Parking was a mess outside, wasn’t it?”
Roman says nothing, but the man continues. Inside my head, I count the seconds until he mentions what he’s really after. “If that new parking garage—”
“No.” Roman cuts him off.
The man turns red, looking confused. “Ah, did I say something wrong?”
I glance at Roman to see exactly what I expect. No emotion, his gaze, one of pure ice.
The man looks around to see if maybe someone else was the reason for Roman’s disdain.
“I’m not discussing business tonight,” Roman says. He looks over at me. “Maybe my wife is in the mood to do so… if you figure out how to properly acknowledge and greet her.”
The man blinks, swings his gaze at me, his face turning beet red. “Oh Mrs. Ivanov, I didn’t realize…” He lets his voice trail, knowing there’s just no excuse.
“She’s been here the entire time,” Roman bites out.
The man coughs into his fist and the first sprinkling of sweat dots his forehead. “Well, I um. I suppose I was too eager to start talking. Forgive me, Mrs. Ivanov. Mr. Ivanov.”
Roman ignores him, turning to me. “Nala, do you want to discuss business with this man who didn’t see you standing there?”
“No, I’d rather have a drink.”
Roman takes my hand. “Then let’s go.”
We end up on the other side, scanning the room for the real reason we’re even here.
A few weeks ago, a special task force agent on Roman’s payroll, tipped him off that two other agents had begun asking questions about the existence of Volchya and digging for information.
Roman’s solution was to have both men handled, as he puts it, but I convinced him to attend this party where one of the agents was supposed to be, so I could do a reading.
“One hour,” Roman announces. “I’m losing patience and I don’t care anymore if he’s innocent. He was digging, that’s enough for me.”
“One hour,” I agree.
Another half an hour passes, and my eyes catch sight of the agent mingling in the room. He must’ve been here for some time, because the glass inside his hand is already half empty. I tap Roman on the shoulder. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
He looks across the room. “Yeah. That’s him. Stay here.”
I nod, knowing the drill.
I watch Roman cross the room and minutes later, he returns with the agent’s empty glass and hands it over.
“How’d you get it?”
“The bartender gave it to me.”
I laugh quietly. Leave it to Roman to make it sound so simple. We leave the crowded room and step into a quiet hallway. I hold the glass and the images come, much easier than they did years ago.
“It’s not him,” I let Roman know, opening my eyes again.
“He doesn’t want anything to do with you or Volchya.
It’s his superior that’s pushing it. He begged him not to.
Said going after you was suicide. The other agent wants to make a name for himself because a position is opening up with higher pay and higher rank.
He thinks if he gets solid evidence that Volchya exists he’ll get recognition. ”
“He should thank you,” Roman says. “You just spared his life. As for the other one…”
“Should we go back in there?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.
Roman shakes his head. “No. Let’s go home.”
By home, he means The Fortress, the former home of Grigori Ivanov that we moved into so many years ago.
When we arrive at the house is silent but not empty. There are multiple guards around the compound and inside too. I’ve gotten used to it, so much that it would probably feel strange not having them. Our three children have only known life with these guards around and think nothing of it.
We head inside and I wave to Elena, one of the two nannies who help with the children when Roman and I are out or I’m just too exhausted from being seven months pregnant and having to deal with three children under the age of five.
“Come here,” Roman says, lifting me off the ground before I can even respond.
"Roman, I'm seven months pregnant—"
“I know. That’s why I’m being nice and carrying you up the stairs.”
“If you make us fall…”
He laughs. “You’re still just a little bee, Nala. I can carry you.”
“Fine, the heels were killing me anyway.”
“Toss them.”
I kick my feet in the air, pushing one heel against the other until they both fall to the stairs. “That feels so much better.”
At the top of the stairs, Roman sets me down and we immediately go to the first room down the hall.
Our eldest son, Nikolai. He’s four years old and for the life of him, can’t seem to keep the blankets on himself or the bed at nights.
He’s sprawled across the bed, with his head almost dangling off the edge of the bed and his legs sideways.
“You fix him,” I say to Roman. “I tried last night and almost got hit in the face.”
“Hmm.” Roman smirks. “Looks a lot like how you sleep sometimes.”
I give him a light, playful kick. “Try getting comfortable with a baby kicking your ribs in the night. Then we can talk, Ivanov.”
He chuckles and kisses me, whispering, “You did that without the baby.”
“Liar.”
I watch him fix our son, then plant a kiss on our eldest’s cheek, closing the door behind us. "Sweet dreams, Kolya," I whisper in Russian, using his nickname.
Next, we check in on our two-and-a-half-year-old son Luka. Unlike his older brother, he’s still tucked under his blanket, also fast asleep. He’s a light sleeper, so Roman and I quickly inch away from the door in fear of waking him.
Next, we reach our sweet little baby’s room. Our one-year-old, Ekaterina, Katya for short. Roman and I breathe a sigh of relief to see that she too is fast asleep in her crib.
“We got lucky,” I whisper.
Roman nods, holding out his hand for me. “Come to bed, pchyolka.”
We leave the nursery quietly and head to our bedroom, He closes the door behind us, drawing me into his arms. “You have any idea, how fucking hot you looked tonight. Right now in that dress?”
“I don’t. Tell me.”
He chuckles low. Instead of telling, Roman shows me. He pulls me close, his hands sliding down to my hips, kissing me deep. “This is why I wanted to leave so quickly. I can’t get enough of you.”
"Turn around."
I do as he says, sighing when his fingers find the zipper of my dress, sliding it down slowly.
The fabric falls away, pooling at my feet.
He undresses me, taking me to the mattress with him, his hands kneading my swollen breasts then traveling down the curve of my belly and hips.
“You get prettier every year. Especially like this, pregnant with my children.”
His hand caresses my stomach, before guiding me into a comfortable position, ready and waiting for his cock.
He undresses fast, not keeping me waiting.
I feel him behind me, pushing into me, slow at first then faster, but never rough when I’m pregnant.
I rock my hips, grinding back on him, listening to his voice tinged with possession, low and harsh.
"After this one is born. I'm putting another baby in you. "
I moan at his words as we move together, as we always do, connected and forever in love.