Epilogue Anya
I rise on my toes and kiss Vladimir before he can say another word.
It’s soft at first, just a brush of my lips against his, but it carries everything I’m feeling—gratitude, relief, something deeper that still scares me if I think about it too long.
When I pull back, his eyes are dark and intent, fixed on me as if the rest of the world has ceased to exist.
“I just want to go upstairs and change,” I tell him quietly. “I’ll be back soon.”
His mouth curves into a smile that makes my stomach flutter. “Take your time,” he says, though his tone suggests he hopes I won’t.
I laugh softly and gesture for Skylar to follow me. She falls into step beside me as we head upstairs, her presence comforting in a way I didn’t realize I needed until now. My room feels like a sanctuary when I step inside—familiar, safe, untouched by everything that happened earlier today.
I cross straight to my wardrobe, pulling it open as I start talking, the words spilling out now that I finally can.
“Igor was waiting for me,” I say, my hands moving automatically as I push dresses aside. “He said he was taking me to the theater. I didn’t think anything of it at first. He was… nice. Too nice. He talked more in that car ride than he ever has.”
Skylar stays quiet behind me, and I take that as permission to continue.
“He told me he loved me,” I say, my voice tightening as I lift a dress from its hanger and then discard it.
“That he killed Oleg, Artem, and Pavel to protect me. That if I married him, my father would have to give him Alexi’s position.
” My fingers tremble slightly. “When I tried to get away, that’s when he drugged me. ”
I pause, drawing in a steadying breath, then force myself onward.
“Vladimir came,” I say softly. “He saved me. If he hadn’t—” I stop myself there, shaking my head. I don’t want to finish that sentence. Not ever.
I find a dress in pale blue silk and hold it up, studying my reflection in the mirror. It’s simple, elegant. Something Vladimir would like. Something that makes me feel like myself again—not a victim, not a bargaining chip.
I want to look beautiful for him.
As I set the dress on the bed, I finally notice the silence behind me isn’t the attentive kind anymore. I turn.
Skylar is standing near the door, her arms crossed loosely, her gaze unfocused. She looks… distant. Uneasy.
“Skylar?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
She blinks, as if startled out of her thoughts, and forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nothing. I just—something came up.”
My brow furrows. “Came up?”
“I need to go home,” she says quickly. Too quickly. “It’s important.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointment blooming in my chest. “I thought we could talk more later.”
“I know.” She steps closer and pulls me into a tight hug. “I’m so happy we became friends, Anya. Truly. I’ll keep in touch, I promise.”
Her words feel final in a way I don’t understand.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Are you sure you’re—”
“I have to go,” she repeats, already backing toward the door. “Tell Vladimir I said goodbye.”
Before I can respond, she turns and hurries out of the room, her footsteps quick and retreating down the hall.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, my dress still lying out on the bed behind me.
A strange, unsettled feeling curls in my stomach.
Eventually, I shake it off and undress. After sliding on the dress, I smooth my hands down the front and turn back to the mirror.
Whatever just happened with Skylar can wait.
Right now, all I want is to go back downstairs—to Vladimir—and hold on to the sense of safety he gives me, as if it’s something solid and unbreakable.
I take a deep breath as I head downstairs. My heart is light and hopeful, already picturing Vladimir waiting for me at the bottom. Each step feels easier than the last, as if shedding my costume upstairs also sheds the weight of everything that’s happened.
But when I reach the hall outside my father’s office, it isn’t Vladimir standing there.
It’s Alexi.
He’s leaning against the wall near the door, shoulders squared, his expression calm but determined. For a split second, I just stare at him, taking in the fact that he’s here, alive, whole in a way that still feels unreal.
“Alexi?” I call softly.
He looks up and smiles, a real one this time. “Hey, little sister.”
I hurry toward him and stop a few feet away. “What are you doing out here? I thought…” I trail off, glancing toward the office door.
“I’m taking back my life,” he says simply.
Something in his tone makes my chest tighten. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m done running,” he replies. “I’m done letting other people decide who I am.” He nods toward the door. “I have plans, Anya. Plans to fix the Bratva. To strip out the worst of it.”
“With Vladimir’s help?” I ask quietly.
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “He’s not doing this for power. He’s doing it because it’s the right thing. And because of you.”
My cheeks warm, and I look down at my hands, suddenly shy. “I think… I’m falling for him,” I admit. Saying it out loud makes it feel terrifyingly real.
Alexi chuckles softly. “I know.”
I glance up, startled. “You do?”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” he says. “And the way you look at him.” His expression turns serious. “You picked well, Anya. You have my full support. Always.”
Emotion swells in my throat, and I step forward to hug him. He wraps his arms around me briefly, solid and reassuring.
“Wish me luck,” he says as he pulls back, turning toward the door.
“Good luck,” I whisper. “Be careful.”
He nods once, then raises his hand and knocks.
The door opens almost immediately.
“Alexi?” my father’s voice rings out, sharp with disbelief.
Alexi steps inside, closing the door behind him before I can hear anything more.
I stand there in the quiet hallway, my heart pounding—not with fear this time, but with hope—as I wait to see what kind of future my brother is brave enough to claim.
The door to my father’s office opens, and my breath catches before I even see who steps out.
Vladimir.
He pauses when he spots me waiting in the hallway, and the tension in his shoulders eases. A slow smile spreads across his face—warm, unmistakably real—and something inside my chest loosens in response. For a moment, the world narrows to just us, as if everything else is background noise.
“There you are,” he says, walking toward me.
“There you are,” I echo softly, unable to stop myself.
His gaze flicks briefly down the hall, then back to me. “Where’s Skylar?”
“She had to go home,” I reply. “She said something came up.”
The smile on his face fades, replaced by a thoughtful frown. I watch his jaw tighten, the way his eyes sharpen with concern. I’ve seen that look before—onstage in dramatic ballets, on my father’s men when business turns dangerous. It doesn’t belong in this quiet moment.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I need to make a call,” he says after a beat. “Would you mind waiting for me in the garden?”
Something about his tone makes me nod without hesitation. “Of course.”
I head outside, the cool evening air brushing against my skin as I step into the garden.
The soft lighting illuminates winding paths and carefully tended hedges.
I walk slowly, letting my thoughts drift, listening to the distant hum of the city beyond the walls.
My life feels like it’s balanced on a narrow edge—between what it was and what it could become.
I don’t have long to wait.
Footsteps sound behind me, and when I turn, Vladimir is there, his phone no longer in his hand. His expression is serious now, but his eyes soften when they meet mine.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey,” I reply.
We stand there for a moment, neither of us speaking, as if both afraid to disturb something fragile.
Finally, he exhales. “Anya, I need to tell you something.”
My heart begins to race. “Okay.”
“I care about you,” he says. “More than I intended to. More than I was prepared for.” He steps closer, close enough that I can feel his warmth. “I want to be with you. Not as an obligation. Not because your father offered me anything. Because I choose you.”
Emotion swells in my chest, thick and overwhelming.
“But,” he continues, “I don’t want to force you into a life you didn’t choose. I won’t drag you to New Orleans just because it’s familiar to me. If you need to stay here—if Russia is where you belong—I’ll stay too. I’ll move here.”
I stare at him, stunned. “You would do that?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “Though I do have some business in NOLA I need to finish first. Things I can’t walk away from just yet.”
I take a step toward him, my heart lightening even as my thoughts settle into clarity. “Vladimir… I don’t need you to give up everything for me.”
He tilts his head, listening.
“If you can wait,” I say, my voice steady despite the emotion rushing through me, “until the end of the run of The Sleeping Beauty, I’ll go with you.”
His eyes widen slightly. “You will?”
I nod, smiling now. “I’ve always wanted to see New Orleans. And I’ve heard they have an incredible ballet troupe.” I laugh softly. “Besides, I think I’d like to see who I can become there—with you.”
He reaches for me then, one hand cupping my face as if I might disappear. “You have no idea what that means to me.”
“I think I do,” I whisper.
He leans down, and I meet him halfway, our lips coming together in a kiss that feels like a promise—gentle, certain, full of hope. The garden fades away, the future stretching open before us like a stage waiting for its next act.
And for the first time in a long while, I’m not afraid to step into it.