Epilogue II

ANTONIO

10 years later

I nod at Santi and Mia, who are flanking the entrance to the bride’s parlor at Santa Ana’s, protecting the young woman they’ve watched grow up, for the final time. After the ceremony, Valentina will be guarded by her husband’s men.

“Is it safe to go in?” I ask in jest.

“Do so at your own peril,” Santi replies, with a broad grin, as I knock and push open the door.

The room is buzzing with activity, much of it from the little girls who have been eagerly awaiting this day. Catarina Isabel, Anabela Vera, and Viviana Lydia—eight, seven, and five—have larger-than-life personalities, like their namesakes—especially the youngest.

Daniela works hard to make them less demanding and sassy, but I let a lot go. I’m hoping they become obnoxious enough to turn off the boys. It’s a pity I didn’t think of it when Valentina was younger.

While the little girls primp and bicker, Daniela fusses over her oldest daughter’s veil.

Valentina makes a beautiful bride, but her mother is hot as sin. My favorite kind of sin. We still fight like dogs and fuck like demons, and not a day goes by when I don’t feel like the luckiest bastard walking the earth.

There’s so much commotion in the room that they don’t notice me come in, except for Gabriel Manuel, who never misses a thing where I’m concerned.

“Papai,” my three-year-old son cries, as he leaps into my arms.

I press a kiss to his chubby cheek and inhale the sweet innocence.

“I have a tie like you, Papai.” He tips his head back so I can admire the red bow tie.

While the girls are sponges who soak up everything around them—good and bad—it’s this little boy in my arms who I worry most about. The child who looks to me for clues as he finds his own identity. It’s the most humbling responsibility I’ve ever known.

This is the boy who will one day wear the crown. It’s his legacy, just as it was mine. But it makes my heart pound to think about.

I want my son to wear it, just as I want his sisters to wear it, and Rafael, too. But when Gabriel was born, when I held him in my arms for the first time—so tiny, so vulnerable, so innocent—I ached for something better for him. A life that wouldn’t keep him awake at night, flirting with the devil.

I knew then that things had to change.

After much deliberation, I broke the crown into pieces, and forged those pieces into something powerful, but manageable, so that by the time my son wears it, the responsibilities won’t be quite so heavy.

It’s not a perfect solution, but I sleep better at night.

My sexy wife smiles at me from across the room. She’s wearing a sleeveless beige dress that dips in the back. Anyone who thinks beige is boring has never seen it on her.

The last time we were in this room together, I fucked her against that dressing table, and watched her come apart in the mirror. No chance of that happening today.

But I do need a moment with her. Maybe Rafael can help with this brood. We employ guards, and assistants, and all kinds of help, but aside from Victor and Alma, Daniela rarely allows anyone outside the family to watch the children alone. Some might say it’s hypervigilance from her childhood trauma. I say, Fuck them. She’s an amazing mother, and she can raise her children however the hell she wants.

I turn to Paula, who no longer jumps every time I open my mouth. “Have you seen Rafael?”

“Rafael is kissing a girl near the bathroom,” Anabela, the middle terror, blabs.

Of course he is. I guess I should be grateful that they were just kissing. “What girl?”

“It’s not your business,” Viviana Lydia D’Sousa Huntsman tells me with a hand on her hip.

“Did you see the kissing?” I ask, pointedly.

She nods.

“If it involves you and kissing, it’s my business.”

In response, I’m treated to an exaggerated eye roll from a child who just turned five.

My wife’s fingers are covering her mouth, hiding an impertinent smile. It’s not your business is one of my lines.

I kiss Gabriel’s little fist and put him on the floor, before I get down on my haunches in front of Vivi, as we call her. Unlike her two oldest sisters, she doesn’t understand that I can’t have that kind of disrespect in public.

“It’s not polite for little girls to roll their eyes at adults.”

“Or little boys,” Anabela pipes in.

I glance at her.

“It’s not polite for girls or boys to roll their eyes,” she clarifies in case I missed the point.

“It’s not polite for girls or boys to roll their eyes,” I tell Vivi. “And I know you’re a polite girl.”

She nods, with a smile. “Yes, Papai.”

This is my life now. Bossy know-it-all females everywhere I turn. The sparkle in my day.

Daniela comes over and presses her palms to my chest. “Are you here for the charm offensive, or do you need something?”

There’s a touch of sass in her voice that makes my dick twitch.

“Princesa, you’re raising mouthy daughters,” I tease. “What are we going to do about it?”

Her lips are pressed together, eyes glittering. Any lesson she can’t teach me, her daughters surely will. Lydia Huntsman is cheering them on from heaven.

We converted my mother’s house into a shelter for survivors of domestic violence. Sonia chairs the board, and Daniela is heavily involved, although her work is strictly behind the scenes and anonymous. That’s the most I was willing to compromise. I’ve been taught some new tricks, but I haven’t learned to roll over—even for my sexy wife.

“I came for you.” I take her hand. “I need a private word.”

“Is everything okay?”

“More than okay.”

She studies my face for any sign of trouble. “We need to take the children to the bathroom one more time before the ceremony starts.”

“This will only take a few minutes. We’ll be just across the hall. Someone else can take them, or they can wait. They’ll be fine until we get back.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Catarina, who is almost nine, pursing her painted lips in the mirror. Jesus Christ. “What is that shiny shit on Catarina’s mouth?”

“Shhh!” Daniela hisses. “It’s just a little pink-tinted gloss.”

“I don’t like it.”

She rolls her eyes. No secret where Vivi gets it from. “It makes her feel special. By the time the ceremony starts, it’ll be gone. If you make a big deal about it, she’ll start sneaking makeup out of the house when we’re not watching.”

“I’m always watching.”

Daniela glares at me.

“I still don’t like it.”

“I only have a few minutes,” she says, warily, redirecting my attention like she does with the kids.

“Let me just say hello to Valentina.”

The bride is having her makeup done, which I’m not crazy about, either. But she’s a grown woman and it’s her wedding day, so I keep my mouth shut, as I intrude for a moment.

“You’re a gorgeous bride, menina.” I squeeze her hand, and the girl who I adopted when she was thirteen—the young woman—gifts me a brilliant smile. “I’m borrowing your mother for ten minutes. We’ll be in the bride’s chapel if you need us.”

“Saying a prayer for world peace, or trying to hide from the children?” she asks, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” I reply dryly, taking Daniela’s hand, again, and dragging her out before one of the kids needs something. Because someone always needs something from her. Usually me.

“The chapel?” my wife asks, when Mia and Santi are out of hearing range. “I’m not having sex with you in the chapel.”

I laugh. “Don’t put ideas in my head, Princesa. You know how much I love a challenge.”

Several of my guards are outside the chapel when we arrive. “Is our guest inside?”

“Yes, senhor,” the most senior replies.

“Antonio,” Daniela sighs, as I open the heavy doors. “Valentina’s getting married today. What’s this all about?”

It’s a surprise that I promised not to ruin, and I won’t. “You’ll see.”

When we walk in, an old man is sitting on a bench, with a nurse beside him. He stands with the help of a walker as we approach.

He’s had a lot of plastic surgery, and even his eye color is different now. Daniela doesn’t seem to recognize him. It’s been more than ten years since they last spoke.

It was a time when our life was hell. Oligarchs, and traitors, and Abel Huntsman who masterminded most of the terror, pulling the strings from what we believed was his deathbed. My uncle was a psychopath, who had everyone fooled. In the end, he was a worse human being than my father.

“It’s been a long time, but I couldn’t resist Rosa’s granddaughter’s wedding,” the man says, through misty eyes. His body might be weak, but his voice is still strong.

“Dimitri,” Daniela gushes, taking his hands and placing a kiss on each sunken cheek. “I think about you often. Each time I visit my parents’ grave, there are roses. I prayed you were still alive, but—I assumed you had an arrangement with the florist.”

Dimitri Fedorov, former Pakhan, smiles at her, with great affection. “I was touched each time you left roses at my grave, and heartbroken that I couldn’t tell you I wasn’t in the car when it exploded.”

She turns to me, brow raised. “Did you know?”

“Not immediately. Although I’ve known for years. The stakes were high, and it wasn’t my secret to share.”

“I am forever in your debt, Huntsman. I’ve watched your career from afar. You’ve aged well. Earned your arrogance.” He turns to my wife, who is still holding his hands. “And you, my dear, are even more lovely than I remember.”

“Will you join us this evening at Quinta Rosa do Vale?”

My wife just invited the former leader of the European Bratva to a family party, without checking with me. She’s lucky it’s our daughter’s wedding day.

“It’s a small, private celebration.”

He shakes his head. “I’m too old for parties. Soon I’ll be seeing your mother. I wanted to be here, so I could tell her about the wedding, and what a wonderful woman you are, and that you’re raising beautiful children. And how you were strong enough to make a good man out of Huntsman. So much more of a man than he would have been without you.”

He’s right, on all accounts, especially the latter.

She embraces him. “May I come visit you?”

“As much as I’d love that, it would put us both in grave danger, and my family as well. I’ve kept my identity hidden for them, more than anyone.”

“If you change your mind, or if you need anything, promise you’ll get in touch.”

“Take care of each other,” he tells us, before the nurse helps him out of the chapel.

“Thank you,” Daniela murmurs, with her soft hand on my face.

When Fedorov first got in touch with me about the wedding, I was reluctant to allow him to come. But I knew it would make her so happy to see him, and there’s little I won’t do to make her happy.

“I wish I could bring back everyone you miss. I love you, Princesa. If I had my way, you would never want for a single thing or shed a single tear over anything, but some things are beyond even my capabilities.”

“You’ve given me everything I could ever want.” She stands on tiptoe and presses her lips to mine. It’s gentle and sweet, with the promise of forever—at least that’s how it begins. By the time I pull away, she’s panting, and my balls ache.

“I’d love to christen the chapel, but I have a daughter to walk up the aisle. You’re far too tempting, and I won’t be satisfied with a quickie. Not today. But tonight, meu amor, after the guests have gone home and the children are asleep, you’re mine. And I’m going to defile every inch of that gorgeous body.”

“Your dirty princesa will be waiting for you at the end of the night,” she says, with a sultry gleam in her eyes that makes my chest rumble. “What should she wear for the occasion?”

Before I can reply, Not a goddamn thing, there’s a knock.

“It’s time,” Paula says, from behind the door, piercing our bubble.

* * *

While the last of the guests are seated, I steal a few minutes alone with Valentina in the bride’s parlor. She’s an amazing young woman, so much like her mother. I’m honored to be her father.

“You’re beautiful, inside and out, menina. I’m so proud of you.”

She beams at me.

When Valentina asked me to give her away, the first thing that popped into my head was, Fuck no. I’m not giving you to anyone. I’ll escort you up the aisle, but I’m not giving you away.

Old dog. New tricks.

I wasn’t surprised when she came to me. Marco was smart enough to seek my permission before he asked her to marry him. He’s a good kid, and I’ve been able to be more magnanimous about him than one might expect, because Rafael has been like a hound with a bone from the moment he started coming around. Rafa checked him out so thoroughly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows the exact length of Marco’s large bowel.

“Sometimes brides plan grand weddings,” I tell my daughter, “with all the trimmings, and at some point, even if they realize it’s a mistake, they’re afraid to turn back. They’re afraid of the embarrassment, or of disappointing their families. Your mother and I would only be disappointed if you went through with a marriage you had misgivings about because you were concerned about us.”

She touches my arm. “I love Marco. We love each other. He’s a good man, and he’s good to me.”

You wouldn’t be marrying him today if I thought otherwise.

“We love you. I hope you know that you’ll always have a room in our house. Married couples have struggles and disagreements, as they build a life on the terms that suit them. But at no point in that life should you ever be afraid for your safety.” I tip her chin, until our eyes meet. “That cannot be part of any equation. Any problems, even if you’re not sure if it’s a problem, you come to me, or to your mother, or to Rafael, and we’ll help you.”

She nods, before getting her bouquet. “I’m sure Rafael will be a big help. Bury Marco first, ask questions later.”

I open the door to the hall. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about your mother.”

Valentina chuckles, but as soon as she steps out of the room and spots her guards, a different kind of emotion swamps her.

She throws her arms around Mia, then Santi. There are a few tears, and then a quick makeup check before we take the short walk to the sanctuary.

We wait as the bridesmaids, and Alexis, the maid of honor, march up the aisle. And while several women smooth the train of Valentina’s dress, I watch my three princesses, the flower girls, toss rose petals from white wicker baskets, as though it was the most important thing they’ve ever done. I chuckle at their serious demeanor. The little drama queens have been practicing this for weeks.

Finally, the wedding music changes, cuing us it’s time. I force down the lump in my throat, as my oldest daughter stands on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to my cheek, before linking her arm through mine.

“You’ll always be my hero, Papai,” she whispers. “Always.”

An imperfect hero, who struggles every day to be a better man, and leave a better world for her, and Rafael, and her sisters, and brother. But mostly I strive to be the man deserving of my Princesa, who owns me, heart and soul.

* * *