Epilogue

EPILOGUE

OLIVE

A gasp soars through my throat as my head jerks upright, my eyes widening. I grip the edge of the bench I’m sitting on and look around the dressing room of the church, no one in sight.

The last thing I remember is the drive here, like it happened only a second ago. My nerves were wound taut, my hands slightly shaking. I remember wondering how I’d ever apply lipstick with my fingers trembling.

I’m not nervous to marry Alik. The day I woke up in Alik’s arms with Creeper’s blood covering me was the first day of the rest of our lives together.

We moved in together promptly, as in that night. My father wouldn’t make eye contact with me on the drive to the hospital to treat my hand, and he didn’t speak a word to me as he took me to get my things. A month went by before he called, asking to have lunch. We exchanged pleasantries and tried to make small talk, but it wasn’t until he walked me to my car, tears in his eyes as he hugged me close and told me he loves me and always would that I felt I could breathe again.

He told me Alik had asked for my hand in marriage and that he would support anything that made me happy. That he’d be honored to walk me down the aisle.

I couldn’t be mad at him for spoiling the surprise. That night, Alik took me onto the roof of the parking garage overlooking the Strip and offered me the most stunning sapphire ring that had belonged to his mother. There was no hesitation when I said, “yes.”

So I’m not nervous to marry Alik. I would’ve married him that night on the rooftop of the parking garage. I would’ve married him standing in a pool of Creeper’s blood.

But being the center of attention in front of all those people, many of them the same people who wanted me dead, is not for a girl like me. I almost requested we elope. If it hadn’t been for Alik’s promotion, maybe I would’ve. A lieutenant has certain expectations that a soldier doesn’t.

Despite Alik’s betrayal in saving me, he says Nikita feels he can trust Alik’s loyalty while he questions the loyalty of the other lieutenants. I can feel the tension there, even as an outsider, and from the things I’ve heard about Nikita, it’s a wonder he hasn’t simply started killing everyone he’s uncertain about. Or hasn’t had Alik do it. But I suppose that list would include just about everyone.

Blinking slowly, I bring my eyes to the words on the vanity mirror scribbled in lipstick.

You look beautiful. Deep breaths. It’ll be great.

I stand so I can lightly run my fingertips over my handwriting before moving my gaze to my reflection. The first thing that stands out to me is my bright red lipstick, perfectly applied with an expert hand that isn’t my own, and yet … is.

My lips tilt into a smile as I lift my hand to feel the curled hair, pinned on top of my head. My makeup is skillfully applied; my simple, cream wedding gown hugs me perfectly.

As I stare in the mirror, I imagine she’s looking back at me. I can’t hear her, but she’s always there. Always watching, waiting…

“Thanks,” I whisper, lowering my hands to my lap.

The door to the dressing room opens, and my dad pokes his head in. “Sweetheart, are you almost ready?”

I look at the clock on the wall. 6:05. The wedding was supposed to start at six.

She got me ready just in time.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” I bunch the skirt of my dress as I walk around the bench to my dad. “Ready.”

My heart thunders in my chest as we make our way to the nave, nearly colliding with a latecomer who steps through the door, a dark hood pulled over his head.

His amber eyes meet mine, and although I’m certain I’ve never met this man in my life, I get the strangest feeling I know him from somewhere. A photo, maybe.

He must be one of Alik’s friends.

“Excuse me,” he says in a deep Russian accent that confirms my theory before striding to the staircase that leads to the balcony overlooking the sanctuary. He has a confident, powerful gait that holds my stare, my eyes squinting as I try to recall where I’ve seen him. It isn’t as though Alik keeps photos of his friends in frames on the mantle, so maybe it wasn’t from a photo.

Strange.

“Honey?” Dad prompts.

I blink and turn back to the door of the nave. When my heart rate quickens, I realize my mind is probably just using that man to stall.

“I’m ready,” I say, breathless as I bob my head.

My dad interlocks my arm with his, and after a deep breath, we push through the doors.

I expect to panic. I expect fear. I expect to trip in this dress that feels too long and stutter when it’s time for me to speak. I expect to make an utter fool out of myself.

But when I find Alik with his hands cupped at the end of the aisle, his hair combed away from his unusual eyes for the first time, the tension releases from my shoulders, and the people in the room fade away. Everything goes silent, even though I know that isn’t possible because music is supposed to play.

I walk, my arm intertwined with Dad’s down the aisle with my eyes locked on Alik and only Alik while he smiles at me like he feels the love that overflows from my heart.

When we’re face-to-face, we take hands as the priest rattles on, but it’s Alik’s whisper that registers most clearly. “You look beautiful.”

You look beautiful . That’s what she said too.

I wonder if Alik knows it wasn’t me who put the makeup on, fixed my hair. Since that day with Creeper, my hatred for her has gradually waned. She’s fucked up my life in so many ways, but when it really counted, she was there. I don’t know what happened, but I know I’m alive, and I didn’t have to see the violence that ensured my continued existence.

I don’t hate her anymore. In fact, I think I can grow to like her.

“Thanks,” I whisper. “You look incredible too.”

He leans toward me, and for a moment, I think he’ll kiss me before it’s time. But he stops himself. His head turns toward the people for a moment, and I follow his eyes to the balcony. The man’s face is shadowed by his hood, but with the way Alik’s eyes narrow, I wonder if he can see him.

He blinks then comes back to me, smiling even though he appears flustered.

When it’s time for me to repeat my traditional vows after the priest, my voice doesn’t waiver like I thought it would. I don’t feel nervous. I feel certain.

Because I mean every single word.

In sickness and in health…

For richer or poorer…

As long as we both shall live…

I do .

Thank you so much for your interest in Alik ! I hope you enjoyed getting to meet my favorite weirdos :)

The next book up is VITALY , Alik’s old best friend who brings alll the drama to the Bratva. He’s been imprisoned for the last nine years, but a week ago he was miraculously freed. Now he’s back in Vegas for one thing… Mila Alekseev, the girl he was supposed to marry before he left.

Vitaly is a story of redemption, so it seems counterintuitive that it has an enemies-to-lovers vibe. But just wait until Mila gives you the tea. She has plenty of reasons to hate the young, would-be Pakhan.

And if you’ve been sitting back waiting for someone to shut Nikita up, well… We’ll see ;)

Here’s a teaser from the book to show that enemies-to-lovers vibe I mentioned:

His reflection smiles at me like he finds me amusing or cute . I could kill him.

“I was just wondering how you do that.” He points to the target and nods that way as if I need the extra help figuring out what he’s referring to. “Make the knife stick every time, I mean. It’s impressive.”

I move my eyes to the target, the knife wielded, and pretend to ignore him standing there. A pleasant warmth spreads in my shoulders, up my neck and fills my ears.

I rear back and throw the knife with a roar, landing a few inches right of the bulls-eye.

“Practice,” I reply with every bit the pride that I feel.

“Hmm.” I catch Vitaly in the mirror watching me with his head tilted while I go to retrieve the blade. “It’s a neat trick.”

That falters my steps. My feet catches on the floor, and I pause for half a second before continuing.

A neat trick.

Trick.

Trick .

I rip the knife from the target and walk back to my post with a swing to my shoulders. Except I don’t stop at my post. I continue to Vitaly, the knife in my burning my palm with the intensity to release it right into his heart, which would be such a fitting death for him.

I stop only a foot inches away, the smell of his sweat coming into my senses. It isn’t unpleasant, and I hate that.

“Do you remember when you saw me the other night in Naked City? I was doing a job , like a soldier would, which is the same title you have by the way. And in case you didn’t notice, I fought off several of those goons with strength, stamina, and agility I built in this gym. My ability to throw a knife is not a trick , it’s a skill, and a deadly one useful not only to me, but to the Bratva.”

He nods, but the blank look on his face makes it clear he’s unconvinced. If he watched a man do what I do, he would see a killer. But me? Oh, I’m just a girl.

Anger so hot bubbles my blood to the point I shudder with it, my jaw clamping down so tight, my teeth protest. The knife clangs on the hard floor when I drop it, and Vitaly’s eyes are there while I raise my fists, planting one foot back to get in a fighting stance.

His brows shoot up. “You can’t be serious.”

“Humor me.”

He blinks, a startled laugh skittering out his mouth. “Mila, you’re wounded . You shouldn’t even be in here. You should be resting. And your face…” He gestures to my cheek. Last night, I covered the bruise with makeup so he wouldn’t ask, but now I couldn’t give a shit what he thinks about it. “You look like a rag doll as it is. Does Nikita spar with?—”

My fist connects with his mouth in a jab, and I bounce back on my toes, feeling powerful from the surprised look he gives. It was a sucker punch, but it sent the message I wanted.

Shut the fuck up.

When he doesn’t put his hands up, I lunge forward with two jabs to his abdomen, and an uppercut that he takes without lifting his hands. I fall back and bounce on my toes, a rush of endorphins giving me a surge of energy.

“Fight, you pussy,” I sneer, my fists in front of my face, watching carefully for his to raise so I can wait for the best possible moment to deflect. All I have to do is deflect and get that big bundle of muscle on the floor. From there, I won’t stop. I’ll kick and kick and kick until he tells me to stop. That I’ve won.

I was too angry when we were back at his cabin. I couldn’t think straight. I had no plan of attack, no brain power .

Now I’ve got this motherfucker.

He keeps his hands down and eyes me like I’m a strange animal he doesn’t know how to approach. I hop in close, ready to catch him off guard, and instead of landing the punch he’s expecting, I swing my leg toward his kidneys with a howl.

His hand moves so fast, I don’t know how to register it. Confusion sets for a split second when he grasps my ankle, and I widen my eyes as he flips my left over, thus me , and sends me to the ground. I catch myself by my palms, but it’s still a hard land on my sore ribs. I cringe in pain but bite back the groan, planting my forehead to the cold floor.