Drew’s voice crackled through my earpiece. “Clean?”
“Clean,” I confirmed.
Timur grunted from the SUV behind me. “Vladimir will be pleased.”
He would be. The money was returned. The traitor was punished. Barbara was safe. Our child would grow up without Sebastian’s shadow hanging over them. No blackmail. No threats. No poison.
Just us.
I drove through the empty streets, Chicago’s skyline glittering in the distance like a promise. Somewhere in thatsprawl of light and steel, my wife was sleeping. Our future was growing. Everything I’d fought for, everything I’d sacrificed, had led to this moment.
Douglas—Sebastian—whatever name he’d worn when he’d betrayed me—was finally paying the price. And I was going home.
The smile stayed on my face the entire drive.
Epilogue – Barbara
Three Months Later
The morning light came soft through the kitchen windows, no sirens cutting through it, no city chaos bleeding into the quiet. Just birds. Just wind moving through the apple trees. Just the kind of peace I used to think was a myth people told themselves to sleep better at night.
I’d woken up an hour ago to find Kirill’s side of the bed already cold, the sheets barely disturbed. Three months in this mansion outside Chicago, and I still wasn’t used to the silence. No traffic. No distant gunshots. No screaming neighbors or police helicopters circling overhead. Out here, the loudest thing was the wind through the fields and the occasional crow calling from the fence line.
It was unsettling at first. The quiet. I’d spent so long living in noise, in chaos, that peace felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Kirill had been patient with me. On the nights I couldn’t sleep, when I’d wake up reaching for a gun that wasn’t there anymore, he’d pull me close and whisper in Russian until my heartbeat slowed. I didn’t understand most of the words, but I understood the meaning.You’re safe. We’re safe. This is real.
I stood at the counter now, one hand pressed to the curve of my belly, always there now, like my palm had learned a new resting place. The baby moved beneath my touch, a flutter that still startled me every time. A reminder. A promise. A future I’d almost thrown away for revenge.
Six months pregnant, and I was glowing. That’s what everyone said. Illyana told me I looked like I’d swallowed the sun. Hailey said I looked disgustingly happy. Kirill just looked at me like I’d hung the moon and didn’t bother hiding it anymore.
The kitchen was massive, all white marble and stainless steel, with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. I couldsee the entire property from here: the rolling fields dotted with wildflowers, the white fencing marking the boundaries, the apple trees in full bloom near the gazebo. It looked like something out of a magazine. A life I’d never thought I’d deserve.
But here I was. Barefoot in my own kitchen, wearing one of Kirill’s shirts because nothing else fit anymore, carrying his baby and planning a goddamn baby shower.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Three months ago, I’d still been looking over my shoulder, still flinching at loud noises, still wondering if the peace was real or just another setup.
Now? Now I stood in a kitchen that smelled like coffee and vanilla, watching the sun climb over fields that belonged to us, carrying a baby that shouldn’t exist but did anyway.
Miracles came in strange packages.
“You’re staring at nothing again.”
Kirill’s voice pulled me back. He stood in the doorway, barefoot, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, looking more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. No gun. No holster visible beneath his clothes. No tension coiled in his shoulders like a predator ready to strike. Just a man in his kitchen, watching his woman carry his child.
He’d changed too, in these three months. Not completely; Kirill would always be Kirill, dangerous and lethal and too smart for his own good. But out here, away from the city, away from the violence that had defined us, he’d softened. Just a little. Just enough.
His hair was longer now, curling slightly at the nape of his neck because he kept forgetting to cut it. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. Out here, there was no one to impress. No rivals to intimidate. No image to maintain.
Just us.
“I’m staring at everything,” I corrected, turning to face him fully. “The view. The quiet. The life we somehow didn’t die building.”
His mouth curved into that rare smile that made something warm unfurl in my chest. It still caught me off guard sometimes, that smile. For so long, Kirill’s expressions had been weapons, designed to unsettle or intimidate. But this? This was real.
He crossed to me, barefoot steps silent on the kitchen tile, and slid his arms around my waist from behind. His hands settled over mine on my belly, warm and possessive, and I felt the baby kick in response. Like he recognized his father’s touch already.
“Our son is restless today,” Kirill murmured against my ear, his accent thicker in the morning. “He takes after his mother.”
