Page 235 of Vicious Intentions
And why would they be? Russia is Bratva territory. No matter how secretive Mikhail Petrov’s compound is, two Americans are still bound to attract attention.
No. Russia is a good starting point, but it can’t be the place where we build our family.
We need somewhere neutral. Somewhere two Americans could disappear among tourists. Somewhere speaking English in the streets won’t draw attention. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere filled with music, libraries, museums, and art. All the things my wife loves. Somewhere we can live freely, far away from mob-affiliated territories.
Surely a place like that exists.
But as I glance at my wife’s face, happy and eager to start our future together, I realize it won’t matter where we end up.
Wherever Anna is will become my home.
Because that’s what she is to me.
Home.
Epilogue
Annamaria
Ten years later
Stella was right. I fell in love with Russia the second we landed.
We both did. So much so that we didn’t leave for months.
Misha’s compound was exactly what we needed to regroup and finally catch our breath, giving Matteo and me time to process everything we’d survived over the past six months while settling into the new reality of our lives.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Matteo and I were allowed to simply exist. No war. No bloodshed. No one hunting us down. Just snow-covered forests, quiet nights by the fire, and mornings spent drinking tea while little Nadya waddled around the compound demanding everyone’s attention.
It healed something inside both of us.
But even though I loved it there, especially spending time with Nadya and getting to know the Petrov family better, I knew Russia wasn’t truly our home.
And even though Misha had been an exemplary host, every time he looked at Matteo and me, I could see the grief lingering behind his eyes. Seeing us so happy only reminded him of everything he had lost. Staying there any longer would’ve only deepened that pain, and I couldn’t stomach that. Not after all the kindness he had shown us.
So Matteo and I grabbed our backpacks and spent the next year traveling through different parts of Europe, trying to find a place that suited both us and our new life.
Italy was too dangerous.
France was too crowded.
Greece was beautiful, but never quite felt like ours.
Then we found Amsterdam.
And somehow, from the moment we stepped onto its cobblestone streets and watched the canal lights dance across the water at night, we both knew.
This was it.
It became our own little slice of heaven right here on earth. The air was crisp and clean, the people warm and welcoming, and most importantly, nobody batted an eye at two Americans building a life there.
And a life is exactly what we built.
Once we finally stopped running, Matteo got baby fever almost immediately. Though, if you asked my husband, he’d claim he simply couldn’t keep his hands off me now that we finally had privacy and peace.
Either way, nine months later, Matteo Junior came screaming into our world, followed two years later by Marcelina, named in honor of my brother Marcello, the man who made this life possible for us. Baby number three is still warm and safe inside my belly, while the rest of our little family already counts down the days until her arrival.
Out on the outskirts of the city, we bought a little cottage with an abundance of land on every side. It feels like we carved out our own private corner of the world, one made just for us and our ever-growing family.
