Epilogue
Anya
Five months later
Maksim’s mouth trails down my neck while one hand works my heavy, sensitive breasts. The other sinks between my legs, his quick fingers stroking my clit. My wetness drips down his hand, the slick sounds growing louder with every stroke.
“Fuck me already,” I demand, desperate to feel him inside me.
“Stay still.”
In one swift motion, his shirt is gone and his pants follow. Maksim’s cock is huge and hard, ready to fuck me, a drop of pre-cum pooling at the tip that makes my mouth water.
He kneels between my legs, rubbing the head against my entrance and sending a shiver through me, but when he leans forward, it’s impossible. My nearly eight-month belly gets in the way. I huff in frustration—this has been happening a lot lately.
When I hit six months, it was like the baby decided to announce its presence to the world. My belly grew overnight and has only gotten bigger since.
Maksim looks down, rubbing against me a few more times, building my arousal.
“We’re not going to manage like this…”
“Yes we will,” he assures me.
Carefully, he places his hands on my waist, turns me onto my side, and positions himself behind me. His hot, broad chest presses against my back. His kisses start at my ear and trail down my neck while his large hand slides up my thigh, lifting my leg high.
Slowly, the head of his cock slides inside me until I’m completely full.
“See?” he whispers in my ear as he buries himself to the hilt, drawing a long moan from me. “I always find a way.”
“Shut up and move.”
I moan, rolling my eyes at the delicious sensation of being so full.
Maksim obeys, thrusting deep—slow at first, then faster and faster.
With each stroke, a shiver runs through me, signaling my approaching orgasm.
At this late stage of pregnancy, I’ve become so sensitive I don’t need much to get there.
“You’re going to come already, Solnyshko?” he asks hoarsely in my ear. “But I just started…”
“Yes, yes…”
He doesn’t even need to work my clit like he used to. Maksim just grabs one of my breasts and pinches the nipple lightly, and I see stars immediately.
“That’s it, Solnyshko,” he growls. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”
I come with his name caught in my throat, my mouth open to muffle the cry of ecstasy as a tremor runs through my body.
The orgasm stretches on for several seconds, sending the most delicious spasms through me.
Maksim keeps thrusting fast, erratic and hungry, until he lets himself go and comes right after, resting his forehead on my shoulder with a hoarse grunt.
We stay there for a while, pressed together, sweaty and catching our breath. Maksim strokes my belly gently, and when he finally stops, a strong kick hits his palm.
“He’s kicking harder and harder,” Maksim comments quietly, poking the stretched skin to make the baby kick again.
“This boy is huge, just like his father.”
I give a sleepy laugh as I adjust my position to get more comfortable. Maksim gets up, drops a kiss on my belly, and then offers me every pillow in the room.
“More protection for his mother.”
I roll my eyes.
“His mother doesn’t need more protection—the overprotective father is plenty.”
After getting me settled, Maksim offers me a glass of water and sits beside me.
Of everything we’ve been through since we got married, this is definitely my favorite part: the quiet, domestic moments we share. I pick up a book from the nightstand while Maksim types furiously on his phone. Work always follows him into the night—I’ve gotten used to it.
“Yelena?”
I ask the question that weighs on me every day. It’s been just over a month since she moved permanently to Moscow, and she only keeps in brief contact with us.
“She got the job at Orlov’s son’s art gallery and is settled in the new apartment. Everything is going according to plan.”
“Will it take long?”
“As long as necessary…” He sets down the phone and rests his hand on my belly. “I know you worry, and so do I. It could take years before she manages to get close to him, but Yelena is smart and will act when she’s certain. She’ll put a knife to Viktor Orlov’s throat when he least expects it.”
I stay silent, processing his words.
The war brewing against Moscow is becoming more and more evident. The silent truce that held for some time no longer exists. The territorial fights are getting bloodier, and after Demidov’s death, Orlov made it clear that any ally of St. Petersburg was his enemy.
“I like that you don’t hide anything from me anymore,” I say quietly, placing my hand over his.
He leans in and kisses my hair.
“It's good to have someone to count on... besides, the mask is gone. Moscow already knows who I am—everyone knows now. You're undeniably part of this world.”
I think about our son.
The boy who will be born into a family of criminals, surrounded by people who kill, lie, steal, and settle things by their own laws. Even with their questionable morals, I'm grateful for this family and wouldn't trade it for anything.
Olga is already crocheting little booties.
Igor keeps asking us what we'll name him—which we still haven't decided—and has already declared he'll be the favorite uncle.
Vladimir bought a house and moved out to give us more space and privacy.
Yuri ordered high-contrast books online because he read they're important for vision development in the first few months.
These criminals, these mafiosos, are loyal and already love my son before he's even born. Here, he'll have everything I never could: a loving family that cares about him.
“They already know who I am now.”
“You just said that...”
“And everyone needs to know who you are too.”
I raise an eyebrow, smiling crookedly, not knowing where this is going.
“Are you planning a debutante ball for me, Maksim?” I tease. “Like that series where the young ladies are presented to society?”
“I'm thinking of something more real... more eternal.”
I hold my breath. The humor dies in my throat when I meet his intense gaze.
“Our marriage was a contract,” he continues, his voice low, his eyes locked on mine.
“You were bought and dragged into it without any choice. I want to do it right this time. A real marriage, in front of everyone who matters.” His thumb traces the line of my chin.
“I want every person who fears me to look at you and understand that the woman at my side isn't decoration. She's the Queen of the Bratva.”
I stare at him wordlessly, remembering the first day he called me Queen on the dance studio floor. Back then, it seemed like a title that didn't fit me, but over these past months, everything I've learned about myself has shown me I belong to this world.
I belong to Maksim.
I belong to the Bratva.
I cup his face in my hands, covering the smooth cheek and the scar at the same time, doing what I love: running my fingers along the thick line before pressing a kiss there.
“Okay then.”
I say, breaking into a smile. Maksim smiles back, looking a bit surprised by my unconditional agreement.
“Let's have this wedding... And let the whole world meet the Queen of the Bratva.”
Maksim kisses me hungrily, like a man who spent his entire life convinced he didn't deserve anything good and now can't believe what he has. I kiss him back just as hungrily because I'm the same way.
I entered this marriage sold, with nothing to lose, believing my life was over.
And he transformed me into Svetlana Anastasia Nikiforova.
The Queen of the St. Petersburg Bratva.
THE END