Epilogue

Mikhail

It's been weeks since I've heard from my sister.

It's not like her to ignore me for so long, but then again, it's not like her to be mad at me for this long, either. We've had our little disagreements over the years, but this one was huge. She won't forgive me for a long time.

But this silent treatment bullshit has got to end. I'm going to be a father , for crying out loud. I'd like to celebrate that with my twin sister before the baby pops out.

I pound my fist against Celia's front door. "Celia, open up! You can't be mad at me forever!" I back up to glance at her garage door, noting her car parked inside, then go right back to her front porch. "I know you're in there!"

Movement from behind the door catches my attention, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God she has some sense. I really didn't want to have to break down her door to see her.

She'd hate me a little for that, too.

The door unlocks, and I'm already trying to step across the threshold when I'm stopped by someone who is not my sister. A man blocks my path. A man who looks familiar, but whose name I can't place. Dark hair sweeps across his forehead, and the cocky smile on his face makes me want to punch the fucker. "Celia's tied up at the moment. Can I take a message?"

"Get out of my way." I try to shove past the man, but he blocks my entry with an arm on the doorjamb and a grin that pisses me off. "Don't make me stab you," I hiss, pulling my knife from its hidden sheath and pressing it against his abdomen. "Because I'll make it hurt."

"The famous Mikhail Monrovia, stab me ?" He flourishes his hand against his chest. "I'm honored. Go ahead."

The fucker's crazy, but so am I.

I press the knife deeper, cutting through his stupid v-neck shirt—what fucking adult wears those—and shove the tip into his gut. It shouldn't hit anything important here, but if he rams it deeper, he'll be hurting.

The man hisses, dark eyes alight with joy. "You're going easy on me, Monrovia. I said, stab me. "

Fine.

The knife goes deep, three solid inches, through the muscle and into his body cavity. I've been stabbed before—that shit fucking hurts. But this man starts laughing , running his hand through his hair as he cackles. "Fuck, man, I love it. I'll tell your sister you send your regards." He claps his hand on my shoulder. "Welcome to the family, Monrovia. Glad to have you."

He backs up, unsticking the knife, and moves to close the door.

I block it with my foot and shove it open as wide as I can. Behind this man is another—a larger, taller one, who's a damn near spitting image of the first one.

Brothers.

Russian brothers, by the looks of their tattoos. I only spot two, but I know there's a third—the worst one of all—and then the fourth half-brother just waltzed back into the Bratva on a golden fucking pardon granted by Andrei Leonov himself. I knew it wasn't a good idea to let him back in. Now, his brothers are terrorizing my sister, because they think they can.

I curse aloud. Fuck, they shouldn't be here. I glare at both of them. What the hell are their names? Ezra told me once. Twice. I can never remember. They're not traditional ones; they go by some made-up shit.

Valentina would know. She keeps up with these things. I know real estate and property ownership—I don't know our members as well.

"This is Baranova property—and I'm ordering you to get the hell out." I fight against the stabbed one to push open the door. He's stronger than me, even while injured. I should have twisted the knife when I had the chance.

The taller brother steps closer, not nearly as amused as the other one. "This house is under our protection now, Monrovia. I suggest you stand down before someone gets hurt. I'd hate to tell Celia that we broke her brother's arm for putting his nose where it doesn't belong."

I grit my teeth. "You wouldn't dare. I'm your boss."

He shrugs. "Ezra is our boss. Take it up with him."

They shut the door in my face, leaving me fuming on the doorstep. I rattle the handle, to no use. All the curtains are closed. The lights are on upstairs, and I catch shadows moving around the room. She's got to be up there with one of them.

I speed-dial Ezra immediately. "Get your men out of my sister's house," I hiss, "before I gun them down."

Ezra sighs. "What is wrong?"

"She's been—I don't know, kidnapped!"

"In her own home?"

"Yes! Your fucking guys are in there—the brothers. The ones with the names. I want them out."

Ezra is silent for a moment. "Has your sister contacted you?"

I pace across her driveway. No, she hasn't contacted me. Not since the botched wedding. She was furious with me for what happened. What I allowed to happen.

She doesn't understand Bratva business. We had traitors among us; they couldn't be allowed to live another moment, or the infection could have spread and made things much, much worse.

"No. She won't return my calls." I've watched her work through her boutique windows, but I haven't gone inside. "I know she's safe because she's been working. But they're in there, Ezra, doing God knows what to her!"

Ezra chuffs. "You know what they are doing."

I keep the mental image as PG as possible. "She wants a family, Ezra, not three—or four—psychopaths."

"They can be family, too."

I roll my eyes. "Please. The day Celia gives up her picture-perfect life for anything remotely resembling those three , I'll go insane."

"What do you think is happening now, Mikhail?"

With a growl, I hang up the phone. Ezra is of no help. I march back up the two little porch steps and—the big one is watching me through the curtains. Fuck me.

I take a deep breath and try to think things through. Where did she even meet them? It's not like she crosses paths with the Bratva regularly. They're not her cookie-cutter clientele. She wouldn't be caught dead with them in public.

A lightbulb goes off, and I absolutely fucking hate it.

She wouldn't be seen with them in public, so where would they have met?

The brothers run that fucking sex club.

The only way in is through direct invitation.

They saw her at Andrei and Valentina's second wedding. They saw her defend all those people with nothing but her fury and her fists. It's a kind of determination that my sister normally keeps locked up tight until that exact moment she needs it. At the chapel, she needed it to protect complete strangers from annihilation.

She let her inner fire burn bright, and it caught the attention of three demons.

I run a hand down my face. I don't like it. They're not safe men to be around. They'll hurt her to wring their pleasure from her in any way they can. But I've seen them in action; they helped rescue Valentina from the late mayor's mansion, and they've worked with Ezra on dozens of retrieval and removal missions. He trusts them with his life.

Now, they're asking me to trust my sister's life with them. No. Demanding it.

But what if that's what Celia wants?

I glare at the window one last time before turning around and heading back to my car. I'll ask Celia herself about it instead of speculating on her behalf. For now, I know she's at least well-guarded, if not safe in the firmest sense of the word.

That will have to be enough.