Epilogue - Menlow
Three months later, I watch my wife take down a Bratva empire with nothing but her memory and a laptop.
“There.” Kirsten points at the screen and traces a line of code that means nothing to me but apparently means everything to her.
“That’s the connection. Jovan’s been routing money through a shell company in Cyprus, then funneling it back through these three accounts.
” She pulls up another window. “And look at this. The dates match up perfectly with the shipments Pavel tracked last month.”
I lean over her shoulder and review the data. “You’re sure?”
“My brain doesn’t forget, remember?” She grins up at me.
“Those documents I accidentally accessed at work months ago—the ones that got me into this mess in the first place—had these same account numbers buried in the data. I didn’t know what they meant at the time, but now that we have the Cyprus connection… ”
“It all falls into place.”
“Exactly.”
Pavel whistles from his spot across the room. “That’s enough to bury him. Tax evasion, money laundering, racketeering. Even if the Bratva stuff doesn’t stick, the financial crimes will destroy his reputation.”
“And without his reputation, he’s got nothing.” Alexei crosses his arms, and a satisfied smile spreads across his face. “No one will work with him. No one will protect him. He’ll be finished.”
Kirsten saves the files and leans back in her chair. “So what happens now?”
“Now we hand this over to our contacts at the FBI,” I say. “Anonymously, of course. Let them take the credit for bringing down one of the city’s most elusive criminals.”
“You’re not going to handle it yourselves?”
“Some battles are better fought in courtrooms than warehouses.” I squeeze her shoulder. “Besides, watching Jovan rot in a federal prison for the next thirty years will be far more satisfying than a bullet to the head.”
She tilts her head, considering. “That’s surprisingly restrained of you.”
“I’m learning.”
Pavel snorts. “Since when?”
“Since my wife taught me that not every problem needs to be solved with violence.” I drop a kiss on the top of Kirsten’s head. “Some of them can be solved with paperwork.”
“I feel like I should be offended by that,” she comments.
“You shouldn’t. It’s a compliment.”
Alexei pushes off from the wall. “I’ll get the files to our contact tonight. By this time next week, Jovan Volkov will be yesterday’s news.”
“And the Karpov family will finally be safe,” Pavel adds.
I look around the room at my brothers, then down at the woman who made all of this possible. Three months ago, I almost lost her. I almost pushed her away in some misguided attempt to protect her from my world. Now she’s not just part of that world—she’s essential to it.
“Thank you,” I tell her after my brothers leave. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”
“I know.” She stands and stretches, working out the kinks from hours hunched over the computer. “I expect to be compensated accordingly.”
“Name your price.”
“Dinner. The good restaurant. The one with the view.”
“Done.”
“And dessert.”
“Obviously.”
“And…” She trails off with a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes. “We’ll discuss the rest later.”
I haul her against me, and my hands settle on her hips. “Why wait until later?”
“Because I’m hungry. And because anticipation makes everything better.” She pats my chest and slips out of my arms. “And wear the blue suit. I like you in the blue suit.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She disappears into the bedroom to change, and I stand there like an idiot, grinning at nothing.
In three months, she’s gone from a reluctant wife to a Bratva asset to the center of my entire universe. I don’t know how I ever thought I could live without her. The week she spent in that hotel room was the longest of my life.
Never again. I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it.
Dinner is perfect. The restaurant overlooks the city, and Kirsten looks stunning in a black dress that hugs every curve. We talk about everything and nothing—work, family, the trip to Italy she wants to take next spring. Normal couple of things. The kind of conversation I never thought I’d have.
“You’re staring,” she notes over the rim of her wine glass.
“I’m just admiring you.” I reach across the table and take her hand. “Staring implies I can’t look away. Admiring implies I don’t want to.”
“Smooth.”
“I have my moments.”
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest. It loosens something that’s been tight for years. Being with her is easy in a way that nothing else in my life has ever been. She doesn’t expect me to be perfect. She just expects me to try.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
“You.”
“That’s vague.”
“I’m thinking about how different my life is now. How different I am.” I rub my thumb across her knuckles. “A year ago, I would have handled Jovan myself. I would have tracked him down and put a bullet between his eyes and called it justice.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m handing evidence to the FBI and letting the legal system do its job.” I shake my head. “My father would be horrified.”
“Your father was an abusive monster who didn’t deserve you or your siblings.”
“True. But he was also a traditionalist. Bratva problems stay in the Bratva. That’s how it’s always been done.”
“Maybe it’s time for a new way. You’re not your father, Menlow. You never were.”
I lift her hand to my lips and press a kiss to her fingers. “I know. You remind me every day.”
After dinner, I take her home. Our home. The apartment that used to feel empty now feels full, every corner touched by her presence. Her books on the shelves. Her shoes by the door. Her scent on everything.
“Thank you for tonight,” she says as I help her out of her coat.
“The evening’s not over yet.”
“Oh?” She turns to face me with one eyebrow raised. “And what else did you have in mind?”
Instead of answering, I kiss her.
She melts into me, and I wrap my arms around her as I back her toward the bedroom. We’ve done this dozens of times now, but it never gets old. Every kiss still feels like the first. Every touch still sets my blood on fire.
I find her zipper and tug it down as we walk, and she lets the dress pool at her feet when we cross the threshold into the bedroom. She’s wearing black lace underneath—a matching set that makes my mouth go dry.
“You planned this,” I accuse.
“Maybe.” She tugs at my tie, loosening the knot. “Is that a problem?”
“Not even slightly.”
She pushes my jacket off my shoulders, then goes to work on my shirt buttons. I let her take the lead, content to watch as she undresses me piece by piece. There’s something intoxicating about the way she looks at me. Like I’m something worth having. Something worth keeping.
When she finishes with my shirt, she drags her nails down my chest, leaving faint red lines in their wake. I hiss at the sensation.
“Lie down,” she orders.
I raise an eyebrow. “Giving orders now?”
“You said I could name my price.” She presses her palm flat against my sternum and pushes. “This is it.”
I let her guide me backward until my knees hit the mattress. Then I sit and slide back until I’m lying against the pillows. Kirsten climbs onto the bed after me, crawling up my body until she’s hovering above me with her knees bracketing my hips.
“I like this view,” I tell her.
“I hope so. It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”
She kisses me before I can respond. Her tongue sweeps into my mouth as she lowers her weight onto me. I grip her hips and try to pull her closer, but she resists.
“Patience.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Learn some.”
She kisses along my jaw, then down my neck, scraping her teeth against the sensitive spot where my pulse beats. I groan and tilt my head to give her better access. She takes full advantage, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
“Claiming me?” I ask.
“Someone has to.” She moves lower, trailing kisses across my collarbone, down my chest. When she reaches my nipple, she flicks her tongue across it, and I jerk beneath her.
“Kirsten.”
“Shh.” She does it again, then bites down gently. “I’m busy.”
She continues her path downward, pausing to trace the ridges of my stomach with her tongue. I watch her through heavy-lidded eyes with my hands fisted in the sheets to keep from grabbing her and flipping her onto her back.
When she reaches the waistband of my pants, she looks up at me with a wicked smile.
“These need to go.”
“Then take them off.”
She undoes my belt with nimble fingers, then pops the button and drags the zipper down. I lift my hips so she can pull my pants and boxer briefs off together, and then I’m naked underneath her while she’s still in that black lace.
“Not fair,” I complain.
“Life isn’t fair.” She wraps her hand around my cock and strokes slowly. “You’ll survive.”
I groan as she works me over. She knows exactly how to touch me by now, exactly how much pressure I like, exactly when to speed up and when to slow down. It’s maddening.
“I want to taste you,” she announces.
“Be my guest.”
She lowers her head and drags her tongue along my length from base to tip. I curse under my breath. Then she takes me into her mouth, and I stop thinking altogether.
She sucks me slowly at first, taking her time, savoring the way I twitch and groan. Her hand works what her mouth can’t reach, and the dual sensation has me gripping the headboard to keep from thrusting up into her throat.
“Look at me,” she demands after pulling off with an obscene pop.
I force my eyes open and meet her gaze. She holds it as she takes me back into her mouth, sinking down until I hit the back of her throat. The sight of her like this—lips stretched around me, eyes dark with want—is almost enough to push me over the edge.
“Stop,” I grit out. “I’m too close.”
She releases me with one last swirl of her tongue. “Good. I want you desperately.”
“Mission accomplished.”