Epilogue Pasha
ONE YEAR LATER
“Who gives this woman away?”
I glance at my siblings, who each nod. “No one, actually,” I say.
Murmurs stir in the crowd. Typical.
“We can’t give our mother away because she’s always been his. We’re just…” I look at Arlo as I guide Mama toward him. “We’re simply returning her.”
Mama dabs at her eyes before she turns to me and kisses my cheek. I make sure she successfully hands off her large bouquet to Sofiya, doing my best to tamper down the heat rising in my cheeks.
I’m the pakhan of our Family.
But I’m also a loving son dedicated to seeing his mother happy.
I’m about to return to my seat next to Daphne when Arlo suddenly reaches for my hand. He shakes it, and then he pulls me into a tight embrace.
I don’t…
I don’t know what to say. What to do.
I’ve never had a father figure demonstrate this kind of affection toward me.
Shit. I’ve never really had a father.
Since my brain is more or less shut down in the face of the new and unusual, I do as he does. I hug him back, against all odds and all reason and everything I’ve ever been taught.
Arlo was an unexpected change in our family dynamic that we never knew we needed. Sure, we wanted him to love and cherish our mother like she deserves. That’s always been given.
We just never expected him to love and cherish us as well.
Daphne slips her arm through mine when I finally return to my seat. “Are you happy?” she whispers, soft enough that no one can hear but me.
I give it a moment to truly consider everything. Am I happy?
My mother is glowing. She has been ever since the day this man walked back into her life. It was like watching her breathe again for the first time in decades. Really, for the first time in my whole entire life.
It’s been confirmed I’m not remotely biologically related to Kostya Chekhov. That’s a weight off my chest, because how can I ever become someone I’m genuinely not? I’m no longer haunted by shadows that don’t belong to me.
My empire is strong. My soldiers are loyal. My businesses are flourishing. My family is growing.
I turn to look at my wife. She’s wrangling our squirming flower girl daughter in her other arm with expertise, a calm smile on her face despite the tiny chaos.
“Yeah.” I press a warm kiss to Daphne’s brow. “I’m happy.”
The reception hall is a cacophony of laughter and music, shouts for more champagne and cake, and the periodic wailing of a tired child. My child, more often than not.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Lev, my man!” I call when I spot him strolling toward my table with his wife. “So glad you could make it!”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sir.” He shakes my hand and peers around. “I never thought I’d see this day, that’s for sure.”
“We’ve come a long way. Brighter times are ahead.”
His wife furrows her brow. “Aren’t you worried about the backlash from that horrible scandal? They’re still talking about it in the news. The senator and his… hobbies.”
“Nora—”
“No, it’s a fair question,” I say to my newest vor before he can reprimand his wife for overstepping. “I like to think I’m a good judge of character, but sadly, I’m not perfect.”
“Can I get that in writing?” my wife suddenly calls out from where her nosy ass is seated.
We share a laugh as I roll my eyes. “As I told the agents investigating, some people are just really good at hiding their darkest selves. Fortunately, we’ve been able to undo his damage. With our help, the feds have uncovered three trafficking rings thus far.”
Nora’s eyes widen. “Really? That’s amazing!” She turns on her husband and thwacks him on the shoulder. “Lev, honey, you never mentioned this before! Have you been helping with this?”
The poor man looks flustered. He knows better than to divulge Bratva business to a civilian like his wife.
I decide to give him a break. He saved my wife’s life, after all. Many times. “Lev has been one of my best. I’m sure you understand the nature of this work means he can’t exactly tell you the details about it.”
She grins and squeezes his arm. “I’m so proud of you! My man. My Lev.”
I bow out to continue making the rounds as the co-host, ensuring everyone is having the best time at my mother’s—no, wait—my parents’ wedding.
The other host is Arlo, who damn near wrestled me over who got to pay for the celebration.
“And how are we enjoying our evening?” I ask the couple I find sucking each other’s faces in a not-so-discreet corner of the room.
Sofi pries herself away from her new boyfriend and blushes. “Pasha! Hey there… big bro…”
“We were just talking about how perfect today has been.” Derek, said boyfriend, flashes a grin that would probably disarm anyone else. Unluckily for him, I’m way too protective of my baby sister to buy it. “The weather, you know. Not a cloud in the sky.”
“Yes, it has been perfectly clear.” I adjust the cuff links in my tuxedo while my smile grows wolfish. “Like my instructions were when I said to keep this a ‘family-friendly’ affair.”
“Oh, give us a break.” My saucy sister shoves a champagne flute at me. “It’s not our fault you went with the expensive wine. This stuff goes straight to the head.”
“You have our new father to thank for that.”
She grins. “I should’ve known you two were the same person.”
Chuckling, I take the champagne and leave them to their game of tonsil hockey. I’m giving them a pass mainly because Derek happens to be Hazel’s brother, and I don’t need my wife’s anger if she hears I considered punching him in the face.
The man I’m looking for is telling a table of vors and visiting allies some joke he heard back in the Old Country. It doesn’t translate well, but it involves several animal parts being inserted in several human orifices where they don’t belong.
“Pasha, darling, perfect timing!” Mama fans her blushing face with a napkin and tugs me to her. “I’m pretty sure the alcohol has gone to your father’s head. Keep an eye on him? I need to freshen up.”
Arlo delivers the punchline to uproarious laughter, then winks at her and steals a searing kiss that makes half the table whistle and cheer. “Freshen up now, lyubov moya. We’re going to get so dirty later?—”
“And that’s enough of this,” I scold as I pluck the half-drunk vodka from his hand.
The subsequent boos and good-natured ribbing give her a window of opportunity to flee to the powder room, to which she takes alongside Daphne for the added help. I drape an arm around Arlo’s shoulders and salute the table with the stolen tumbler.
“To the happy couple!”
Everyone roars and drinks up.
With the rabble satisfied, I steer my father—I’m still getting used to that term—back to the bridal table. “Time for some cake.”
“I’ve had cake?—”
“Then more cake. Anything to soak up the alcohol.”
“Sit with me, son.” He pats the chair next to him. “We should talk.”
Sighing, I lower myself into the chair, uncertain as to where this is suddenly coming from. We’ve been talking, a lot, ever since he helped save Daphne from her parents and Brennan. Frankly, I’ve had enough talking for a lifetime.
“What’s going on?”
“A wedding. Didn’t you notice?”
I grimace. “You are clearly drunk, so I’m gonna go?—”
“No.” Arlo stabs a finger on the table. “You stay. Listen to your father.”
I glance over to where Mak is spoon-feeding his date and Sofi is once more practically dry-humping hers. “I haven’t spoken with anyone about… us. You. Yet. So we should keep that under wraps.”
He hiccups mid-chuckle. “You told half the Bratva.”
“But Sofi and Mak don’t know. I don’t want them overhearing something they shouldn’t.”
“So tell them.”
He says it so easily, like it wouldn’t completely rock our world and raise a wall between me and my two closest friends. My own flesh and blood—even if only by half. “I can’t just?—”
“Sure you can. Or I can. Either way, I’m good with it.”
“I’m not,” I growl. “What will they think when they find out the truth?”
Arlo knocks back a nearby flute of champagne in one gulp. “‘Oh, thank God’?”
“Be serious.”
“I am.”
“You want me to just go over there and tell my siblings that we’re only halfway related?”
Now, he’s the one frowning. “No. I want you to go over there and tell them congratulations.”
“They’re Kostya’s kids, Arlo.”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “Yeah. In that bastard’s wildest dreams.”
I do a double-take. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”
“You heard me.” He shovels a forkful of cake into his mouth. “The man was shooting blanks. How do you think he got away with fucking around for so long?”
“How… how do you know this?”
“Riding accident when we were young. Got kicked in the balls. Crushed his nuts. Told no one.” He hiccups again and swipes another glass off a passing waiter’s tray. “And I can count.”
Maybe I need to lay off the drinks, too, because none of this is computing for me. “Explain,” I finally request after several minutes of mental static.
Arlo rolls his sloshed head to blink at me. “I told you: we were allies. So I visited. Often.”
I flag down one of the bartenders and order the strongest shot they have on tap.
I’m too sober to handle this information.
I’m also too empty-handed. We’re at a wedding, for fuck’s sake. I should be laughing and dancing with my wife, not finding out world-rocking shit that can wait until forever.
With the burn of whiskey sliding down my throat and calming my frayed nerves, I give Arlo a pat on the shoulder and congratulate him once more. Then I rise and stride away from him as fast as I can.
“There you are,” I purr into my wife’s neck when I find her talking to Mel and Jameson. My hands work their way around her waist. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Daphne flushes a pretty shade of pink and glances between her sister and brother-in-law. “It smells like you found the open bar first.”
“I did. But you taste better.”
She laughs and lets me pull her back against me. “My love, we were just talking about scheduling a playdate for the kids. Maybe a weekend away? Find a cabin somewhere?”
“Sounds like a plan. You’re always welcome to move into the manor, you know.”
Jameson chuckles. “We know. We’re still getting used to penthouse life, so baby steps, yeah?”
“Baby steps” is all Tatyanna has been taking since she discovered the power of shoes. Baby steps, at high speed, with an unlimited battery.
It’s good she’s got this energy, though. She’ll need it when her new baby brother or sister is born.
I spread my fingers over Daphne’s stomach and try to feel for any signs of a swell. It’s too early, I know, but I can’t help it. I love the way she glows when she’s growing with my child inside her.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
“Ginger ale is my best friend.” She salutes Melanie with her glass. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I’ll remember that when you’re sick of seeing my face all the time,” Mel laughs.
I doubt that’s possible. It’s been an amazing few months since moving Melanie, Jameson, and their kids into our old penthouse.
With Stewart Hamish dead and Ophelia presumed the same, all titles and deeds officially shifted to Daphne. She tried to give their childhood home to her sister, but Mel adamantly refused and shoved the paperwork at me. I tried getting Jameson to take the place, but he sided with his wife and assured me that he’s more comfortable in smaller spaces.
To be fair, Daphne and I will need the larger estate.
Once I scrub every last trace of her parents’ existence from the place, that is.
“I think I like this,” I murmur in her ear when we’re finally alone on the dance floor.
She grins at me. “What? Dancing with your wife?”
“My pregnant wife.”
Again the blush kisses her cheeks. “Oh? Is there something particularly special about me carrying your little spawn?”
“Extremely special.” I lean in to kiss her, slow and sweet. “Extremely hot, too. I was thinking: I’m going to keep you pregnant, over and over again. Call it my insurance so I know you won’t up and leave me.”
At this, Daphne tips her head back and laughs. It’s a full-bodied, deep-from-the-soul kind of laugh.
“Oh, my love. If you think I’m ever going to leave you? You’re definitely drunk. I’m not going anywhere.”