I wake up next to my wife, in our new bed, in our new apartment.
Even after everything we’ve lost, I can’t help but be happy at what I’ve gained.
Yelena is a gift. Just like the night on the pier when my knee was smashed, the night I met Yelena was a turning point. A singular event that altered the course of my life.
I’m starting to think that nights like that are a good thing.
Maybe there is such a thing as fate after all.
Because what I thought I wanted for myself could never have made me as happy as this.
I slip out of the bed to go get fresh coffee and croissants from the little bakery on the ground floor of our building. By the time I get back, Yelena is just stretching and stirring in bed, her silvery blonde hair wavy from falling asleep when it was still wet.
She opens her eyes and says, “Don’t sneak away—it makes me nervous.”
I hand her a cup of coffee, saying, “There’s nothing to be nervous about anymore.”
Yelena takes a sip of her drink, her face serious. “That’s never really true for us, is it?”
I suppose she’s right. In our world, there’s always another enemy. Always another threat. Yenin is gone. But who will take his place?
“Do you want to leave?” I ask her. “Go to Paris like Dante? Or Barcelona, or Tokyo?”
Yelena considers this, taking a bite of her croissant and chewing slowly. At last, she swallows and says, “I was just starting to like Chicago. Besides, Sebastian . . . we are who we are. You never wanted the crown, but it came to you. I never wanted to be a Bratva’s daughter, but I killed Rodion, and I’d kill again if I had to. I want choice in my life . . . but I’m not afraid of the darker side of myself. I hated it, when I thought I was split into two halves—good like my mother, and evil like my father. Now I think . . . they’re both just me. And they always have been.”
I thought something similar. I thought I was a good man, until a switch flipped inside of me, and the monster was unleashed.
Now I wonder if Yelena is right, if she and I are simply a shade of gray. I wonder if we could be comfortable in a straight-edge life, law-abiding and upstanding, never making use of that other part of ourselves.
“I have to go see Mikolaj today,” I tell her. “Do you want to come with me?”
“Yes,” Yelena says. “I want to come everywhere with you.”
After we shower and dress, we drive up to the mansion on the north side of the city.
Yelena looks at the overgrown gardens and the gothic house with great interest.
“What a strange place,” she says. “So dark and so far away from anything else. It’s beautiful, though . . .”
“I think Miko and Nessa like to be alone.”
When I knock on the door, it’s the housekeeper who answers instead of Nessa. She’s a pretty girl with dark hair, and a Polish accent much like Mikolaj’s.
“Come inside,” she says, politely. “Would you like a drink?”
“Just water, please,” I say.
She brings us each a glass while we wait in the same formal sitting room as last time. I can tell Yelena wishes she could get up to examine all the books and paintings, and the ornaments along the mantel of the large and empty fireplace. But she doesn’t want to seem rude, so she drinks her water, letting her eyes do the roaming.
After a few minutes, Nessa and Mikolaj come in together, arm in arm. Nessa looks pale and quieter than usual. She seems tired but pleased, like she accomplished something difficult. She’s dressed in a loose dress instead of her usual dancewear.
Mikolaj, by contrast, looks happier than I’ve ever seen him. He’s buzzing with energy.
“We meet as victors,” he says. “I hope that doesn’t offend you, Yelena—I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Yelena says, quietly. “My father was no loss. It’s only my brother I regret.”
“He is alive though, isn’t he?” Mikolaj says.
“Yes,” Yelena says, without offering more information.
We called the hospital repeatedly to inquire about Adrian. He is indeed alive, but refusing all visitors.
“I hope our partnership will continue,” Mikolaj says to me. “It’s my understanding that you will be taking over as Don in Chicago.”
“That’s not decided yet,” I say. “Dante doesn’t want it, but Nero is next oldest.”
“Callum Griffin told me that Nero isn’t interested in leadership, only in control of the investment arm of the business.”
My stomach gives an uncomfortable squeeze inside me. “That might be right,” I admit.
Mikolaj looks me up and down with his ice-blue eyes. “I know a boss when I see one,” he says. “Let’s not wait on the formalities to proceed in our partnership. There are many things I want to accomplish in the upcoming months.”
“Like what?” I say, curious despite myself.
“It’s not the what,” Mikolaj says, smiling fully now. “It’s the why.”
He casts a glance over at Nessa, sitting next to him on the couch with her bare feet tucked up under her, her cheeks flushing pink beneath her light dusting of freckles.
“Miko . . .” she says, warningly.
“Sebastian is an old friend, isn’t he?” he says. “We can tell him.”
“You just want to tell anyone you can,” she laughs. Turning to Yelena and me, she says, “We’re having a baby.”
“You are? Congratulations!” I glance automatically to Nessa’s belly. Sure enough, I see a slight swelling on her otherwise slim frame. “When are you due?”
“February,” Nessa says. “It’s still early. We probably shouldn’t be telling anyone yet.”
She gives Miko a stern look, but Nessa’s version of a stern look is much too warm and adoring to actually chastise her husband.
I doubt Mikolaj could be brought back to earth either way. He’s clearly beyond excited that Nessa is carrying his child.
I’m happy for them both. But I feel something else, too—something I don’t want to admit. I glance over at Yelena. She has a strange expression on her face, like she just thought of something that puzzled her. Quickly, she shakes it off and says, “That’s so wonderful! You must be thrilled.”
We stay another half hour or so, Mikolaj and I talking business, Yelena and Nessa sometimes joining in, and sometimes having their own conversation on other matters.
Miko is brimming with energy and ambition. Fate is smiling on him.
His optimism is contagious. I was already inclined to feel like the king of the world with Yelena right beside me—buoyed up by Miko, I’m soon matching him in ambition and enthusiasm. We make plans that would have seemed impossible a month ago. Plans that are half-dream and half-mad, but maybe achievable all the same.
As we leave at last, I shake Miko’s hand and say, “Thank you for standing by me.”
Looking me in the eye he says, “Nessa always spoke highly of you. I think this will be the beginning of a long friendship.”
Nessa gives Yelena a hug. Yelena looks startled at first, but then hugs her back, smiling a little.
“I want to come see your new place,” Nessa says.
“Come any time,” Yelena replies, warmly.
Climbing into the car, she says to me, with a look of wonder, “I’ve never invited anyone over before. I never could, at my father’s house.”
“You can invite anyone you want now,” I say. “Except we don’t have any furniture.”
On the way home, we stop at the hospital where Adrian is being treated for his burns. I try to argue with the nurse that Yelena is Adrian’s only family, but she turns us away without debate.
“He was very clear. He won’t see anyone.”
Yelena looks up at me as we turn around to leave, her eyes cloudy and troubled.
“Do you really think he hates me?”
“I . . .” I want to say no, but I can’t lie to her. I saw his face when he hissed at her, “This is your fault.”
“I don’t think he’s in his right mind at the moment,” I tell her.
The problem is, I don’t know if that’s temporary or not. Without seeing him, there’s no way to tell.
When we get home, Yelena lays down for a long nap. She looks as tired as Nessa, exhausted from the events of the day before.
