Epilogue

Epilogue
Dominic’s Point of View

Three Years Later

The sound of laughter echoed through the garden even before I had fully stepped out of the office, and for a moment I stood still in the doorway, watching through the glass, as if that small space between me and the outside were an invisible line between two worlds that should never coexist… but that, somehow, did. Inside, there was silence, strategy, decisions that carried real consequences. Papers on the desk, numbers, territories, names that couldn’t be ignored; the constant weight of keeping everything running without leaving room for failure. The kind of world where hesitation wasn’t an option, and outside… there was life.

My life.

Jamie was running across the lawn as if he were being chased, his steps firm, quick, charged with that energy that never seemed to run out. He was shouting something I couldn’t quite make out from a distance, but the tone was all too familiar. Determined, competitive, stubborn… everything about him bore traces of me, even in the things I’d rather he hadn’t inherited. Behind him, smaller, lighter, but no less persistent, came Lilia, her dark hair flying as she tried to keep up with her brother, even though she knew she couldn’t; still, she didn’t slow down, didn’t hesitate, wouldn’t accept being left behind. There was something about her that wasn’t just childish innocence—it was strength, it was persistence… it was, in some way, a reflection of what she would grow up to be, and that definitely didn’t come only from me.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of my mouth before I realized it.

“If you keep just watching, you’ll miss half their lives.”

Maggie’s voice came from behind me with her usual precision, as if she knew exactly the moment my thoughts began pulling me back into that other world. I didn’t turn around immediately, still watching the children outside, maintaining that invisible line between what I needed to be and what I chose to be.

“I’m watching,” I replied, without taking my eyes off them.

“You’re analyzing,” she corrected, stepping closer. “It’s not the same thing.”

Now I turned; Maggie was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me in that way that never changed—firm, direct, fearless. She still saw more than I showed, more than I said, more than I admitted even to myself.

“Someone has to analyze,” I said, calmly. “The line has to stay in the right place, without crossing any of the boundaries.”

She raised her eyebrow slightly, without backing down.

“A fine line… I think you handle it well; you do a good job, Mr. Volkov.”

I smiled.

“Thank you, Mrs. Volkov,” I said, teasing her, watching her face twist; she hated being called that, even though most people did, because she was Mrs. Volkov.

I turned my gaze back to the garden. Jamie had slowed down now, looking back, clearly annoyed by the distance he’d created between himself and his sister. He stopped, waited, and then reached out his hand, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Come on, Yulia!”

The air seemed to shift for a second, not abruptly, but enough. He didn’t always call her that, but when he did, it always struck a chord in hearts that were no longer whole. Lilia immediately pulled a face, crossing her arms with that expression she always made when she felt wronged.

“It’s not Yulia!”

“It is,” he insisted, impatiently. “I already told you.”

“You’re not in charge!”

“I’m older!”

A low laugh escaped me before I could hold it back. Maggie watched me from the side, but said nothing, because she knew. She knew exactly what that name still carried; she knew it wasn’t just childish teasing, it wasn’t just Jamie’s provocation—it was the name of his aunt that none of us had made him forget, and for some reason, he really liked to remember her.

Yulia never ceased to exist. She just stopped being present.

I ran my hand slowly across my face, exhaling in a controlled manner before finally taking a step forward, crossing that invisible line that, for a long time, seemed impossible to cross without consequences. The sun hit my face directly, hot, real, anchoring everything in the present.

“If you don’t sort this out now, is it going to turn into a war?” I asked as I approached them, keeping my tone neutral but firm.

Jamie looked at me immediately, as he always did when he wanted validation.

“She won’t accept the name!”

“Because it’s not my name!” Lilia retorted, crossing her arms even tighter.

I crouched down to their level, watching them both closely, assessing not only what they said but how they reacted—a habit that never faded, even there, in that kind of situation.

“Jamie,” I began, my voice firm, “you can call her that.” His face lit up immediately. “But,” I continued before he could celebrate, “she doesn’t have to like it.”

He hesitated, not because he disagreed, but because he was learning something new. My son would be a great Boss one day.

“And you,” I turned to Lilia, softening my tone slightly, “can complain.” She nodded quickly. “But that doesn’t mean he’ll stop.”

She opened her mouth to reply… and closed it. Jamie smiled, satisfied, as if he’d just won something important. Maggie let out a sigh behind me.

“You’re impossible.”

I stood up, unhurried.

“I’m efficient.”

“You just encouraged that! You didn’t end a war; you gave them more ammunition.”

“I taught negotiation.”

She walked past me toward Lilia, bending down to gently smooth her hair, with that kind of attention that always made me realize how much better she was than me at this parenting thing, no matter how hard I tried.

“You don’t have to accept everything he says, okay?”

“I know,” Lilia replied, more quietly this time, but then added, mischievously, with a smile playing on her lips, as she murmured: “But I like it when he calls, and I like teasing him about it even more.”

Maggie stopped and stared at her; I knew what was going through her mind, without her even saying a word. That little girl didn’t just carry her aunt’s name… she had so much of her in her, even though the two had never had the chance to meet.

Maggie saw Yulia in our daughter. She kissed her forehead.

“Your name suits you perfectly, little rascal.”

The house was silent when I went upstairs, but it wasn’t the kind of empty silence. It was the kind that came after a busy day, when everything finally slowed down and, for a few hours, the world stopped demanding immediate answers. I stopped by Jamie’s room first, as I always did, pushing the door open gently. He was sprawled across the bed, half his body uncovered, the blanket completely useless at his feet; I stood there for a few seconds, watching. There was something almost irritating about the way he slept so carefree, as if nothing could reach him. I adjusted the blanket with an automatic gesture, firm enough not to wake him, but precise like everything I did. In the next room, Lilia was curled up, hugging one of her toys tightly, her face partially hidden in the pillow. Unlike him, she had always been like that—quieter, more reserved, but with an intensity that didn’t need to be shown all the time. I stayed there a little longer than I had in Jamie’s room.

My Yulia…

The name still existed inside me in a way that wouldn’t fade, not with the weight of before, not with that feeling of constant loss… but as something that had found another place to stay. It wasn’t absence, not anymore; it was a mark.

I closed the door slowly and walked down the hallway. When I entered the room, Maggie was already there. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, barefoot, unfastening the clasp of her dress in the back with a bit of difficulty, her hair falling over one shoulder. The soft light from the lamp made everything feel warmer, closer, as if that space were isolated from the rest of the world. I closed the door behind me, unhurried, and watched for a few seconds before approaching. She tried to reach the clasp again and let out a small, frustrated sigh.

“Let me,” I said, already moving closer.

She didn’t argue, just brushed her hair to the side, exposing the nape of her neck. My fingers found the clasp easily, opening it slowly, but I didn’t pull away immediately; I left my hand there for a second longer than necessary, feeling the warm skin, the slight shiver that ran through her body when my fingers slid a little beyond the edge of the fabric.

“You took your time,” she remarked, adjusting the dress on her shoulders without turning completely.

“I didn’t think you were waiting for me.”

“I wasn’t,” she agreed, calmly. “But you were down there for far too long.”

I took off my watch and placed it on the nightstand.

“Things to take care of.”

“You always have things to take care of. Mafia business never ends; mobsters should get paid vacation—it’s too much work.”

I let out a snort; it was good that she was now comfortable enough to joke about these things. I watched her in the mirror’s reflection as she took off her dress naturally, without hesitation, without hiding anything.

“Are you planning a vacation with your husband, Mrs. Volkov? I can make an exception for you,”

She picked up a T-shirt from the chair beside her, putting it on without haste.

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing, to go somewhere truly sunny,” she said, simply.

That made me exhale softly through my nose, almost a humorless laugh.

“Italy?” I teased, and she smiled, turning her face and looking directly at me. I stepped closer, stopping a few steps away from her—close enough not to be intrusive, but not keeping my distance either.

“A belated honeymoon wouldn’t be a bad thing.” I said, resting my face against her neck and kissing the line from her shoulder down to her neck, then lifting her hand—which I knew held her wedding and engagement rings—and bringing my mouth to them to kiss them.

The dim light reflected off the metal discreetly, but still… impossible to ignore. Holding her hand, I gently spun the ring on her finger with my thumb. Maggie watched the movement but said nothing.

We hadn’t revoked our divorce. That marriage started off on the wrong foot and ended the wrong way; I didn’t want it in our present or future—it fit perfectly in the past. At the time, it was an agreement. The way I organized everything, how I handled it just as I would handle any other important negotiation, even though I already loved Maggie and wanted her to be my wife. She accepted… setting a way out. I remember the way she said it—firmly, without knowing exactly where she was placing herself, but still making it clear that she wouldn’t be trapped if she ever decided to leave. At that moment, I accepted it, without understanding, without really considering what it would mean. Because, back then… nothing seemed permanent.

My thumb was still running over the ring when the memory shifted.

When I proposed to Maggie again, there was no calculation, no preparation. It was the only time I did something without structuring every word beforehand, and yet… it was the only time it truly made sense.

I remember her standing in front of me, that silence that didn’t need to be filled, and the way she looked at me when she realized what I was doing for the second time.

She made a demand again, but this time it was that I never let go of her and let her go, and again… I promised her I would, and I would keep that promise until the end of my damn life.

My gaze returned to the present, to her hand still in mine, to the ring that no longer represented an agreement, but a choice. I pulled her a little closer without letting go, my other hand naturally resting on her waist.

“You still look at it as if it were something new on my hand,” she remarked, softly, without taking her eyes off mine.

“It’s not the same.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Not at all.” We weren’t just talking about the ring; we were talking about our relationship, our marriage, maybe even ourselves.

When we decided to start over in that hospital room right after our daughter was born, that’s exactly what we did.

The past was behind us both.

I slid my hand around her waist, pulling her closer, until I felt her body press against mine naturally, without resistance.

“You changed the rules of my life so that it would become our lives,” I murmured.

“You accepted it obediently, Bratva Boss,” she replied, with a slight hint of teasing.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

She let out a small laugh.

“You always have a choice.”

I brought my face closer to hers, stopping close enough to feel her breath.

“Not always. When it comes to you and our children, I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

This time she didn’t answer, but she didn’t pull away either. My hand slid up her back, steady, unhurried, while the other still held hers, my thumb running over the ring one last time before intertwining our fingers.

When I kissed her, there was no urgency, but there was everything.

Time.

History.

Weight… and choice.

She responded in kind, her free hand moving up to the nape of my neck, holding me, pulling me slightly, without hesitation, as it always was between us when it really mattered. When we pulled apart, it wasn’t immediate; we stayed close, our breaths still mingling, the space between us too small for anything beyond what was already there.

“To think that for a moment, I had chosen to let you go,” I murmured, more softly.

She let out a soft breath, almost a laugh.

“I never fully believed that, you know… I always thought… hoped that at some point you’d try to stop me from going.”

“I wouldn’t try.”

She raised her eyebrow slightly.

“No?”

I moved a little closer, resting my forehead against hers.

“I wouldn’t let you. Despite everything, I was still ready to fight for you. I’ll always be ready to fight for you—that’s the only certainty I have.”

She held my gaze for a long second, smiled, then pressed her lips against mine, pushing me straight toward our bed.

Later, when the light was already off and the room was plunged into silence, I lay awake for a few minutes, with Maggie’s naked body half on top of me, her face buried in my neck, her arm wrapped around me, and her steady breath against my chest. My still-awake mind wandered to something darker, the other thread of my life.

I was still the Boss.

I was still carrying the weight of an empire built on decisions no one should ever have to make. The Bratva remained what it always was; wars continued to exist, even when they weren’t happening; enemies like the Famiglia were still out there, even though Russia was much more mine now; with all the power I had amassed for my organization, which was stronger than ever, more powerful than it had ever been before. But when I look at her… at our children… at what we managed to build even while surrounded by everything that should have broken us…

I understand.

There is no perfect balance; there never was. What exists is a choice, and I chose this.

I chose them.

Because, in the end… it’s not about the power I’ve conquered. It’s about what I managed to hold onto… even with everything to lose.

When the doorbell rang the next morning, the sound cut through the silence of the house too sharply to be ignored. I was already awake; Maggie stirred beside me, still half-asleep, muttering something I didn’t need to fully understand.

“I see,” I said quietly, already getting up.

I walked down the stairs without haste, but without carelessness, my whole body automatically on alert, even inside my own home.

When I opened the door… I stopped.

He never ceased to exist in my life during those years he was gone; he just changed form.

Postcards.

Short phone calls.

Long silences.

He never spoke much.

He never explained anything, and I never asked, because some things don’t need to be said to be understood; I understood that he needed time and was far away. He had been gone for a long time, but now he was right there in front of me.

Nicolai.

His eyes met mine without hesitation, and this time… there was no distance in them, not like before. The silence between us lasted a second longer than necessary, but it wasn’t awkward; it was recognition.

“Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to keep analyzing?” he said, with that light tone that had disappeared the last time I spoke to him in person, looking him in the face.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, and I made room. Because some things… didn’t start over.

They just returned to where they belonged.