Page 115 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
The drive back to the estate feels surreal. The city passes by my windows, normal and oblivious to what just happened. People going about their lives, completely unaware that a war just ended in a warehouse by the docks.
By the time I pull through the gates, the sun is setting, casting long shadows across the grounds. I park and head inside, my body aching and my clothes stained with blood and smoke.
Mariya is waiting in the foyer, her green eyes widening when she sees me. "Andrey."
I cross to her and pull her into my arms, careful of my injured arm. She fits against me perfectly, her rounded belly pressing against my stomach, and for the first time in months, I let myself relax.
"It's over," I murmur against her hair. "It's finally over."
53
EPILOGUE
MARIYA
The cemetery is peaceful this morning, sunlight filtering through the old oak trees and casting dappled shadows across the weathered headstones. I walk slowly beside Andrey, my hand resting on my enormous belly while his arm supports my lower back. Nine months pregnant, and I feel like I'm carrying a bowling ball that's determined to make every step an adventure.
"You okay?" Andrey asks, his blue eyes following my movements with that protective intensity that's only gotten worse as my due date approaches.
"Fine." I pause to catch my breath, my hand pressing against the small of my back. "Just ready for this baby to come out already."
His lips curve into a small smile. "Any day now."
"That's what you said last week."
"And I was right. Any day means it could be today, tomorrow, or next week."
I glare at him, but there's no heat in it. The past few months have been surprisingly peaceful. After the warehouse battle that ended the conspiracy, the Bratva world settled into an uneasy calm. The families who survived are too busy consolidating power and protecting their own territories to worry about us. And with my father finally safe and living in a guest house on the estate grounds, I've been able to enjoy the rest of my pregnancy without constantly looking over my shoulder.
It's been nice. Really nice. Almost normal, if you ignore the armed guards patrolling the perimeter and the fact that my husband is a Pakhan.
We reach the section of the cemetery where Andrey's mother and sister are buried. The headstones are simple but elegant, gray granite with their names and dates carved in Cyrillic script. Fresh flowers sit in the vases, evidence that Andrey visits regularly even when I'm not with him.
He stops in front of the graves, his expression shifting into something softer. More vulnerable. I've learned that this is the only place where Andrey lets his guard down completely, where the weight of being a Pakhan falls away, and he's just a man mourning the family he lost.
"Mama, Ekaterina," he says quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "I want you to meet someone."
He turns to me, his hand finding mine and threading our fingers together. The gesture is tender, intimate, and it makes my heart ache with how much I love this man.
"This is Mariya," he continues, looking back at the headstones. "My wife. The woman who changed everything."
I feel awkward talking to gravestones, like I'm performing for an invisible audience. But Andrey's hand tightens around mine, grounding me, and I force myself to speak.
"Hi," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've heard so much about you both. Andrey talks about you all the time."
It's true. Late at night, when we're lying in bed and the world feels quiet and safe, Andrey tells me stories about his mother and sister. How his mother used to make him his favorite soup when he was sick. How Ekaterina would steal his books and hide them just to annoy him. The memories are bittersweet, filled with love and loss in equal measure.
"I wish you could have met her," Andrey says, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. "Mama would have loved you. She always said I needed someone who wouldn't put up with my shit."
Despite the heaviness of the moment, I smile. "She sounds smart."
"She was." His voice cracks slightly. "And Ekaterina would have been so excited about the baby. She always wanted to be an aunt."
The baby kicks hard against my ribs, as if responding to the mention. I wince and press my hand against the spot, trying to ease the discomfort.
"Are you okay?" Andrey's attention shifts immediately, his free hand joining mine on my belly.
"Yeah, just—" I stop mid-sentence as a sharp pain lances through my lower back. It's different from the usual aches and pains I've been experiencing. Sharper. More intense.
