Chapter 187 188

Chapter 187 188
Arkady shudders, never one to miss a bit. “You could’ve just said yes, you know. The vulgarity was rather unnecessary.”

“Don’t be such a prude,” I tease, poking him in the ribs.

He scowls and taps me on the shins with his cane. “Get thee away from me, wench.”

Vince snarls playfully and punches his friend in the shoulder. “Talk to my wife like that again and I’ll give you a limp on the other side to match.” Then his face eases. “Besides, you’ve got some business of your own to handle.”

Arkady’s face scrunches up. “Huh?”

In unison, Vince and I both turn and ogle Natalie, who’s standing at a bar across the room, glowing like a dime-piece with her hair in an elegant updo and her legs looking Playboy-worthy in her heels.

Understanding dawns on Arkady’s face, followed by confusion, then sheer glee. “Is that an order, boss?”

“Consider it a strong suggestion.” Vince winks. “From someone who knows how life-changing the right woman can be.”

His hand finds mine, squeezing tightly as we walk away into the night. Outside, our driver holds the door to the sleek black Bentley. Vince secures Sofiya in her car seat, then slides in beside me.

I nuzzle against him on the other side. “I love you,” he whispers into my ear. “You, Sofiya, this baby—you’re the only things I’ve ever truly loved.”

I touch his knuckles. “And we love you. All of you. Even the parts that terrify everyone else.”

He laughs softly, hands cradling my face with unexpected tenderness. “Especially those parts, if your pussy’s reaction is anything to go by.”

I smack his chest playfully. “Asshole.”

“Your asshole,” he corrects, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Forever.”

The car pulls up to our compound, the gates opening automatically to admit us.

Us. My monsters, my loves, my safe haven in a world that would destroy us if it could.

We look good together.

Later, as we lie in our sheets, Vince’s hand comes to rest over my stomach. “Do you ever regret it?” he asks out of nowhere. “Choosing this life? Choosing me?”

I consider my answer for a moment. “Sometimes,” I admit. “In the quiet moments when I remember who I used to be.”

His body tenses against mine.

“But then I look at you, at Sofiya, at everything we’ve built together…” I find his hand, interlacing our fingers. “And I realize that regret is for people who had choices.” I turn to face him, cupping his cheek. “We never did, Vince. We were always meant to find each other. Always meant to create this beautiful, terrible thing between us.”

He nods slowly, eyes simmering with that deep ocean blue. “Our children will never know what it cost us,” he whispers.

I touch his scarred knuckles. “They’ll never have to.”

As sleep claims him, I remain awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying in my head every sin, every sacrifice, every moment that led us here.

And I wonder, not for the first time, if the price we’ve paid—will continue to pay—is truly worth the life we’re building.

But then Vince murmurs my name in his sleep, arms tightening around me possessively, and I know my answer.

For him? For us? I’d burn the whole world down and make glitter from the ashes.

“Until the end,” I whisper into the darkness, “whatever it brings.”

EPILOGUE II: VINCE

FIVE YEARS LATER

The future is bright. So is the Costa Rican sun in my eyes.

But as we stand at a literal finish line, scissors in hand, all I can think is that the metaphors are hideously on the nose today.

The ribbon before us is a crimson slash against the pristine white facade of the resort—a deliberate choice. In my world, red has always represented power. Blood spilled. Debts paid. Enemies vanquished.

But today, it symbolizes something else. A rebirth.

I glance at Rowan beside me. Fucking hell, the years have only enhanced her. Pregnancy has sculpted her body into a weapon of mass destruction, fuller in the hips, tits that make my mouth water. Her caramel hair spills down her back, catching the light like melted gold. She’s traded her usual emerald dress for a white power suit that hugs her curves, but a flick of green silk at the collar pays homage to the color I’ll always associate with her.

The color she wore when I first noticed her. Really noticed her.

Our six-year-old Sofiya stands in front, her little brother Arkasha—nearly four and already a menace—perched on Arkady’s hip. My best friend who once held a gun to my head is now godfather to my son. The contradictions of our lives would be poetic if they weren’t so fucking twisted.

“You going to cut that ribbon or just eye-fuck your wife all day?” Arkady murmurs just loud enough for me to hear.

Rowan doesn’t miss a beat. “He can do both,” she returns with a savage little smile that goes straight to my cock.

It’s been five years since Andrei’s body was discovered in the Hudson, throat cut and cold. Five years of navigating the FBI’s watchful eye.

Five years of trying to become a man who deserves her.

But I’m not that man. I never will be. My hands are still stained with the blood of those who threatened what’s mine.

I’ve just gotten better at washing it off before coming home.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer booms over the microphone,

“please welcome Vincent and Rowan Akopov as they officially open Emerald Bay Resort!”

The crowd erupts in applause. Politicians, business leaders, celebrities—all eager to rub elbows with the wunderkind developers who transformed a stretch of undeveloped coastline into what Travel + Leisure has already dubbed “the crown jewel of luxury eco-resorts.”

We step forward in unison, scissors positioned at the ribbon. As the metal blades slice through, I lean close to Rowan’s ear.

“I still want to bend you over every surface of this fucking resort,” I growl low enough that only she can hear.

“Starting with the check-in desk?” she whispers back, green eyes dancing with mischief.

“That’s just the appetizer.”

The ribbon falls. Cameras flash. Our children cheer. And somewhere in the crowd, Agent Carver watches with his shark eyes.

He approaches as the crowd begins to flow inside for the champagne reception. He looks older, gray at the temples, but no less dangerous. A wolf in a fed’s clothing.

“Congratulations, Akopov,” he says, extending his hand. “The Bureau is impressed with your transition to legitimate enterprise.”

I shake his hand, my grip tighter than necessary. A reminder that the man who once executed enemies with his bare hands still lives.

“High praise coming from you,” I reply evenly. “I trust that means our monitoring period is officially over?”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s discuss that later, shall we? This is a celebration, after all.”

Rowan’s hand finds mine, her fingers digging slightly into my palm. A warning. Stand down.

“Of course,” I concede. “Please, enjoy the party.”

We separate to mingle. I watch Rowan work the room like she was born to it—charming investors, flattering politicians, her laughter floating across the space like the deadliest kind of music. She’s learned the game so well it’s easy to forget she once trembled in my presence.

Now, she’s the mother of my children, my partner in every sense, and sometimes—in moments like this—I wonder if she’s surpassed me.

An hour into the reception, I find myself cornered by the Costa Rican Minister of Tourism, a man whose enthusiasm for our resort is matched only by his enthusiasm for the kickbacks I’ve arranged to fatten his wallet.

“Mr. Akopov, this property will transform our entire coastline!” He claps me on the shoulder with uncomfortable familiarity. “You must tell me, what inspired such vision?”

What inspired it? Good question. The need to launder millions in blood money? The FBI breathing down my neck? The desire to give my children a legacy that doesn’t include weekly visits to prison?