“That’s not what happiness feels like,” I say, lifting my brows in mock-seriousness.
“No?” he asks, leaning forward, elbows on the table, eyes warm in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“No,” I repeat, picking up my fork. “Happiness is finally eating before I pass out in your arms and ruin your dramatic declarations.”
He laughs—truly laughs—the kind that shakes his shoulders and lights up his entire face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this unguarded. This boyish. This alive.
He wipes a hand over his jaw, still grinning. “I’m never living that down, am I?”
“Never,” I say, popping a piece of food into my mouth.
He watches me with so much affection it almost hurts. “You waited for me,” he murmurs, voice dipped in wonder.
I shrug, suddenly shy. “Of course I did.”
He reaches across the table, taking my free hand, thumb brushing circles on my skin. “I’ll be home for dinner every night,” he says quietly. “Even if I come back covered in blood, I’ll wash it off and come home to you. I promise.”
My chest tightens. “Dimitri….”
He squeezes my fingers. “Don’t shake your head at me,” he whispers, smiling again. “Let me say it. Let me have this.”
I look at him—really look at him—and the truth hits me all over again:
This man, who has walked through hell, is sitting across from me like he’s finally found something worth living for.
“Fine,” I say softly. “You can have it.”
He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, slow and reverent.
“Then yes,” he murmurs. “This…this is what happiness feels like.”
His eyes meet mine, hungry and soft.
“And when we’re done eating,” he adds, voice dropping, “I’m going to give you the rest.”
Epilogue – Dimitri
Two Years Later
I stand at the window overlooking the sea, sunlight spilling over the marble terraces. It’s a quiet spring morning in the south of France, the air warm and fragrant with blooming lavender and sea salt. My vineyard stretches out below, rows of green bathed in gold.
She glances up, catches my eye, and waves, her hair catching the sunlight like fire. I lift a hand in return, feeling the weight of everything we survived, everything we lost, everything we built.
I turn back to the window and let the breeze brush against my face. For the first time in forever, I don’t feel the edge of the world pressing in. For the first time, I feel peace—not the lie I once chased, but something real, fragile, and ours.
Vivian’s laughter drifts up again, and I know that whatever comes next, we face it together. Always.
I turn to look inside the room, my gaze catching my reflection in the mirror across the room. My hair is longer now, pulled back loosely at the nape of my neck. These days, my eyes hold a calm I never thought I’d see in myself, and my smiles come easily, unguarded.
I walk slowly over to the laptop, the weight of purpose in my step. On the screen is a business expansion plan—charts, projections, and strategies. I type, adjust numbers, and watch ideas take shape with the same meticulous focus I once reserved for survival and vengeance.
We’re far from New York now, running a legitimate business under an alias—a private art foundation dedicated to restoring stolen cultural pieces. Each piece we recover feels likea small victory, a reclaiming of what was lost, a way to leave the darkness of our past behind and build something meaningful.
I glance at the wall, at the framed news clippings tracing the Rusnak family’s public life—Roman’s covert ops transformed into legitimate security ventures, Lev’s empire expanding globally, Niko’s philanthropy reshaping communities. And then there’s me—or rather, the absence of me. My name appears nowhere, by my own design. I live like Sebastian now. A ghost. And for two years, I’ve moved through the world like this, unseen, unheard, and I’ve learned to savor it.
Footsteps patter behind me, light and excited, and before I can turn fully, Vivian bursts into the room, breathless and glowing.
“Look at Erik!” she says, thrusting her phone up to my face. “He had his birthday yesterday and took some pictures. He’s so handsome, Dimitri.”
