by Nicole Fox
“My wife has just pleaded for your lives,” I announce. “It makes me wonder: does that make her naïve or wise?”
I see hope blaze on a few faces, but the rest remain black with hopelessness.
“I’m inclined to believe the latter,” I finish.
I feel a collective sigh rise into the air, but the atmosphere is still tense and expectant.
“There will be consequences,” I tell them all. “But you have your lives at the very least, and you have my wife to thank for that.”
I turn to Adrik. “Take them to the garage,” I instruct him. “Make sure they’re contained there until I decide what to do.”
“Got it, boss.”
I turn back to Esme and she walks into my arms.
“Thank you,” she says into my chest.
“No,” I say. “Thank you. You’re stronger than you look, my love. Isn’t that right?”
She laughs, and when she does, the laughter seems to break open her face and melt away the fissures of worry and fear.
She looks like my wife again. Strong, brave, beautiful.
And I feel my heart expand.
I can breathe again.
Epilogue: Artem
The Regency Hotel—Six Months Later
“We’re glad to have you back, Don Kovalyov,” Maggadino says. He clasps my hand just before he walks out of the hotel suite.
I watch the elevator doors close on him.
When he’s gone, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Well, that’s done. Order has been restored. Alliances have been re-established.
I’d purposefully postponed a don’s council meeting until I had the Bratva fully back in hand. It took me almost six months to get everything in order, but I wasn’t about to rush it.
Budimir had done a lot of damage in the short time he’d been in charge. It cost me endless time, effort, and money to undo his stunted, brutal legacy.
Choosing underbosses and reorganizing the Bratva hierarchy.
Distributing businesses and assigning territories.
The never-ending work of the don. All the things I once despised doing. The things I told my father I didn’t give a flying fuck about.
That’s what makes up my days now.
I couldn’t be more grateful.
I’ve had help, of course.
The O’Sullivan clan’s assistance in the takeover had not only shifted the balance of power back to me, but it had also taken out two underworld mob bosses whose men had been scattered to the wind after their deaths.
I don’t have to worry about Kovar or Bufalino anymore. Neither does anyone else in the city.
Thank fucking God.
True to my word, I haven’t brought down the hammer on the remaining rats quite as brutally as I would’ve expected.
They have Esme to thank for that.
Most chose exile. Some reneged on their betrayal and were reassigned to low ranks. They’ll never hold true power in my Bratva again. But they have their lives and a change to remake their legacies.
We all deserve that kind of mercy.
I know that better than anyone.
The only other project that occupies some of my time—but mostly Esme’s—is the renovation of my father’s mansion.
Once all the damages sustained in the fight had been dealt with, Esme threw herself into re-decorating it. Most of the rooms were transformed within weeks, so much so that sometimes I walk into rooms and fail to recognize a single thing in there.
“Do you hate it?” Esme had asked me when I’d looked around at my father’s old office that she had converted into a family sitting room.
“No, I don’t hate it at all,” I’d told her. “It’s just so different.”
“I wanted the space to be warmer,” she explained. “It was so… austere.”
I’d laughed at that. If only she knew how right she was. “My father was austere, so that would explain it.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind all the changes I’m making here?”
“I’m sure. This is your home now. I just want you to be comfortable here.”
We’d ended up having sex on the wide sofa that occupied the space where my father’s desk once sat.
Pure fucking bliss.
That is probably the best part of my new reality.
Esme.
Phoenix.
Our family.
Being don wouldn’t be so sweet if I didn’t have the two of them with me.
“The cars are out front, boss,” Adrik says, snapping me out of my idle thoughts.
I nod. “Before we leave, sit down for a moment,” I say, looking towards Vasyl and Alexei. “You two as well.”
The three of them sit down, forming a lose circle around me. I open a fresh bottle of whiskey and pour out four glasses.
It’s the first drink I’ve had in months. These days, my drinking has become sporadic. It’s something I engage in on special occasions.
The last time I was drunk was when I’d been in the mountains. Almost a year ago now, drinking away my losses, drowning my demons.
I don’t need to do that anymore.
“We’ve got our shit together,” I tell my underbosses. I pick up my glass of whiskey. “We’ve solidified control of the West Coast and we’ve eliminated threats to the Bratva. But we’ve got more to accomplish. I have plans for all of us.”
Adrik smiles and raises his glass. “To the future of the Bratva.”
We raise our glasses and I take a sip of the rich, bitter whiskey.
“Our future would not have been possible without the sacrifices of others,” I say. “So I propose another toast. To Stanislav,” I say, raising my glass.
My men murmur and toast to Stanislav.
“To Maxim,” I continue.
“To Maxim!”
“To Cillian.”
“To Cillian!”
“You’re really going to toast to me without me?” comes a familiar voice from the doorway. “Pretty damn rude, I’d say.”
I turn.
And the whiskey glass falls from my hand.
It hits the ground and shatters, but I don’t notice. Don’t give a damn.
Because there’s a ghost in the room.
Or at least, I thought it was a ghost.
But Cillian O’Sullivan looks very, very real.
He’s Flesh and bone. Warm. Living.
He’s got a cane in his hand and he leans on it a bit as he crosses the distance between us.
He’s got scars I don’t recognize.
Those blue eyes, though—stubborn, laughing, alive—those haven’t changed one bit.
And when he takes the final step forward and embraces me, I realize just how damn much I missed my best friend.
“You’re not getting all soft and sentimental on me, are ya?” he mumbles in my ear.
I release him from the hug and step away.
“You look like shit,” I comment wryly.
“Still better looking than you’ll ever be,” he fires right back.
I laugh, he laughs, and the men looking on from the table laugh. It’s a soul-cleansing laugh, the kind that only happens a few times in a man’s life. When something truly takes him by surprise.
“Now,” Cillian says, eyes sparkling, “can we finish that toast? I’m fucking dying for a drink.”
I find a pair of fresh glasses and pour us each one. Adrik, Alexei, and Vasyl all stand to join us. We clink glasses and drink deeply.
It tastes like salvation.
It tastes like redemption.
It tastes like the future I’ve shed blood, sweat and tears for.
It tastes really fucking good.
Once we’ve all drained our glasses, my lieutenants make mumbled excuses and slip out of the room.
It’s just Cillian and me.
I feel like a fool—I keep looking at him, wondering if he’s real or if I maybe just sustained a traumatic brain injury and this is all a sick hallucination.
B
ut he’s real. He’s here.
“So?” I say after a minute of silence.
He glances back at me curiously. “So what?”
Jesus—all these months later and it takes him no time at all to infuriate me again.
I slam my hand on the table and roar, “So are you going to tell me how the fuck you got here?!”
He laughs again at that. That infuriating Irishman’s laugh that drives me up the wall the same way it always has.
He reaches out for the whiskey bottle and refills our glasses.
“Yeah, I’ll tell you,” he says mirthfully. “And boy, I promise you this—it’s one hell of a story.”
A few hours later, Cillian and I head downstairs. He promises me that he’ll be at the club opening tonight—he just has to go take care of a few things first.
We hug again and then he limps away, still leaning on that silver-tipped cane.
I can’t believe the story he told me. But it makes sense, in the end.
And something tells me there’s more of it yet to be written.
I make my way to the curb out front, where my Jeep is waiting for me. Adrik is constantly suggesting I use a driver, like Stanislav and Budimir had done, but I refuse every time.
I may be the don now.
But I’m going to do it my way.
It takes me only fifteen minutes to drive from the hotel to my new investment and business venture. It’s a huge plot of land that I bought only four and a half months ago.
The building that stood on the plot was dilapidated to say the least, but with money and manpower, I have transformed it into the night club it is now.
The façade is sleek and simple, almost understates. Then you walk inside and realize just how huge it is. The dancefloor is the central focus, but there’s a separate area for the DJ and a whole section devoted to the bar.
The private rooms are spacious, luxurious, and they’re hidden behind the VIP section.
I hand my car over to the valet and head inside.
The place is quiet when I walk in. Only the staff is present, bustling around as they prepare for opening night.
“Hello, handsome.”
I turn and see Svetlana walking towards me. She looks the part in her figure-hugging gold sheath dress and four-inch heels. The perfect hostess.
“‘Lana,” I greet with a courteous smile.
She kisses me politely on the cheek. “I didn’t expect you here so early.”
“I wanted to make sure everything was ready for the big night.”
“Of course you did,” Svetlana says, rolling her eyes. “The two of you are made for each other.”
I frown. “Is Esme here?”
Svetlana smiles and nods. “She’s in your private rooms right now, changing that little Casanova you have for a son,” she confirms. “She came early to make sure everything was ready for the big night. Sound familiar?.”
My smile gets wider. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Svetlana just winks.
I leave her and walk through the VIP section towards the private rooms, but I veer right from there and keep walking. I hit a black wall that looks like a dead end, but I make a sharp right and find a black door that blends into the wall.
I walk inside and lock the door behind me.
My quarters are meant to function as a meeting area as well as a lounge area. I enter into the office space, and then walk through the trellis partitions to the lounge that I had constructed with Esme and Phoenix in mind.
There are large sofas and recliners in the spacious room. I’ve even had a play space set up for Phoenix. That’s where I find Esme.
She’s got her back to me, as she leans over the cot in the corner, her fingers entwining with Phoenix’s as the two of them coo back and forth at each other.
I stand there silently, admiring the two of them together. Esme looks like a modern-day Aphrodite with her dark hair in smooth waves that fall down to her middle back.
The dress she’s wearing is made of champagne silk, fitted at the bust and held together by a halter neckline that ends in a dramatic side bow. It fans out at the waist, flowing down her soft curves with ease.
“Wow,” I breathe.
She gasps and turns to me with a start. The moment she sees me, her face relaxes and she smiles widely, lifting her skirt a little and twirling around for me.
“You like it?”
The dress’s bodice is worked in the front with tiny seed pearls, and I notice the pearl earrings I’d bought her earlier that month dangling from her ears.
“You look breathtaking.”
She beams at me before walking right into my arms. “You look handsome.”
“I try.”
“How did the meeting go?” she asks cautiously.
“It went well,” I say. “I’ve reforged a few old alliances and new oaths of fealty have been pledged to the Bratva.”
“My peacemaker. I never thought I’d see the day.”
I roll my eyes and grumble, “Don’t think I won’t get a little handsy with anyone who tests my limits. You most of all.”
Phoenix gurgles a little as he turns on his chest and catches sight of me. He’s not sounding out words yet, but he has just started recognizing faces. Another reason why he’s always attached to Esme.
“Hey little bird,” I say, adopting the moniker that Esme uses on him all the time. Half the time, I don’t even realize I’m doing it.
I pick my son up and plant a kiss on his forehead. He smells like baby powder and fresh soap. He’s also wearing a long-sleeved shirt with little black suspenders.
“Someone just had a bath,” I observe.
Esme laughs. “I gave him one just now.”
“Why the fuck am I paying Talia if you’re the one doing all the work?” I ask.
Esme laughs. “Because Talia’s his nanny, but I’m his mother,” she says. “I’m still the one in charge of taking care of him and raising him.”
“And I have no problems with that,” I say. “But it’s not necessary for you to be washing him when you’re all decked out like this.”
She smiles patiently at me, as she runs her hand over Phoenix’s downy hair. “I got dressed after I washed him.”
“Not the point.”
She laughs. “Will you stop being so grumpy?” she demands, patting my arm. “It’s the grand opening tonight. You should be excited.”
“And I am,” I say. “In more ways than one.”
I paw at her ass. She yelps and ducks away from me laughing. “No tocas! Keep those filthy hands to yourself, Mr. Kovalyov,” she exclaims. “Talia could walk in at any moment.”
“Let her walk in. We’ll show her a thing or two.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “We’ve had this conversation before—you cannot grope me in front of the nanny. It took her a week to look me in the eye the last time she walked in on you pawing at me like a horny teenager.”
“That was her fault,” I point out. “She was the one who just pranced into our private quarters.”
“If I recall, it was the main sitting room.”
“Still my house.”
Esme laughs and shakes her head at me. “Some things never change.”
She turns her attention to our son in my arms. He’s playing with my lapel, little fingers grasping and tugging.
“Doesn’t he look amazing?” she asks.
“He always does,” I reply. “As do you, my beauty.”
“Ah-hem!”
I turn to see Talia standing awkwardly by the trellis partition.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she says with a blush.
“You didn’t, Talia,” Esme stammers quickly. “Why don’t you take Phoenix for a walk…? Once the party gets going, I’d prefer him to stay in here.”
“Of course, Mrs. Kovalyov,” she says.
I see Esme’s nose scrunch up. She makes the same expression every time anyone addresses her in a remotely formal way.
Svetl
ana is the only one who’s comfortable addressing Esme by name, and that’s mostly because the two of them have formed a close friendship in the last few months.
Talia’s wearing nicer clothes today. She’s dressed in black pants and a white blouse. She’s even put her hair up in a tasteful chignon.
She still looks uncomfortable as hell though, but that probably has more to do with me than what she’s wearing.
She’s in her early twenties and came highly recommended. But the deciding factor was the fact that Esme warmed to her immediately.
“I can trust her with my son.”
That’s what Esme had said after our second interview with her. I felt the same.
I watch as Talia scoops Phoenix up in her arms and exits the room quickly. The moment we’re alone, I grab my wife and press my lips down on hers.
“Boy,” she gasps, when I pull back, “you don’t waste any time, do you?”
“You dress like that and expect me to keep my hands to myself?” I ask. “Keep dreaming, woman.”
I find her mouth again, and her lips part for me immediately. I push her up against the nearest wall and my hand starts sliding up her dress—just as I hear the click of the door on the other side of the room.
“Fuck,” I growl, just as Esme pushes me away from her and adjusts the skirt of her dress. “Why didn’t I lock the fucking door?”
Esme suppresses a smile just as Svetlana appears between the trellis partition. “Sorry to disturb you two,” she says, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “But we need you out there, boss. A line is starting to form already.”
“Today is invited guests only,” I say impatiently. “Tell the rest to fuck off and come back tomorrow.”
“He’s a real people person, isn’t he?” Esme teases.
“Such a charmer,” Svetlana chimes in.
I roll my eyes as the two of them laugh at my expense. Maybe I’m not such a fan of this friendship after all. Two against one is unfair odds.
“Shall we, husband?” Esme asks, extending her hand out to me.
I take her hand, a swell of pride rising inside me.
I’ve accomplished a lot in the last six months. I’ve taken back the Bratva, saved my father’s legacy, and established my own at the same time.