Epilogue
Six Months Later
Mireille
It's a rainy evening. Dmitri is standing by the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring something that smells incredible. The faint sound of jazz hums from the speaker on the counter, his preferred background whenever he’s cooking.
Our version of date night.
We sometimes dine out, but these are the best nights—the ones where we stay home, play soft music, and share quiet laughter. I'll take that over fancy, sometimes overcrowded restaurants any day.
I sit at the island, chin in my hand, watching him move around the kitchen shirtless, the defined muscles of his arms and chest flexing deliciously with each movement. I still can’t believe I live here now—in Dmitri's penthouse. It felt like a dream the first time I unpacked a box here.
Things couldn’t be any better. I’m in my final year at Fordham, counting down to graduation and LSAT prep. Law school is still the plan—criminal defense, if only because life has a dark sense of humor. Sometimes, Dmitri teases me, saying I just want to be ready to bail him out one day.
Maybe he’s right.
It took me time to accept what he does, who he is… But I've come to learn that love isn’t about reshaping someone into somethingsafer. It’s about knowing the truth and choosing them anyway. So I stopped asking for details. Like my mother, I decided I’d rather live in peace than in constant fear of answers I can’t unhear.
Dmitri looks up at me, his beautiful dark eyes warm as they search my face.
He always does this—trying to guess what I'm thinking.
“Penny for your thoughts, my love,” he finally says, his eyes still on mine.
“I'd rather have some of that amazing food,” I reply with a cheeky smile, gesturing at the pan on the stove.
He grins. “You can have it all,moya kukolka. And the world, if you desire it.”
My heart skips at his words, my cheeks heating up under his gaze. “I love you, Dima.”
His gaze softens, and for a moment, he gives me a glimpse of his soul through those beautiful eyes.
“And I love you,moya kukolka. Now, let me—oh, shit!” He curses as a burnt smell starts to fill the room. He turns around quickly to salvage our dinner while I watch with amusement.
Again, these are the best nights…
I'm so grateful for the peace I've found with Dmitri. And that's incredibly ironic, given the chaos of the world he lives in.
Dad's fears were unfounded, after all.
I feel a familiar knot in my chest at the thought of my father. Things haven't been the same between us since the incident with Sergei, although he kept his word. He got the Bureau to drop the investigation, then retired. He and my mom moved to Vermont,where things are quiet and green and far away from all the chaos of the city. They’re still rebuilding, still learning how to talk without walls between them. Dad’s learned to keep his opinions about Dmitri to himself, and honestly, that’s all I could ask for.
A few weeks after everything happened, Alexei told us the DNA results came back. Sergei wasn’t their brother. The truth was simpler…and sadder. His mother hadn’t been murdered. She abandoned him. She gave him up to the system, fled the state, and overdosed two years later.
I think about him sometimes—about how a man could lose himself in a lie because the truth hurt too much.
But tonight isn’t for ghosts.
It’s for us.
Dmitri comes to stand in front of me, crowding me with his broad frame. My pulse jumps in response, a familiar heat pooling between my legs.
“Tell me what's going through your beautiful head?” he murmurs, running the back of his hand lightly over my cheek.
My skin heats up under his touch. It's hard to think when he's standing this close. My hands itch to run over his warm skin and lean in to…
“Now, I really want to know what's going on in that pretty head,” Dmitri says with a knowing smirk, then leans in to give me a quick kiss. “But before that…” He trails off and turns off the stove, picks up a spoon, and scoops some of the soup from the saucepan. He holds it out to me. “Taste.”
