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Epilogue
Adrian
Bratva tattoos are given as a ritual. They are used to represent status within the organization. Even though Ravil has dropped or ignored some of the brotherhood’s traditions, inking isn’t one of them.
Our souls and our skin bear the mark of our crimes. We remember each act and measure it against our contributions to our brothers. Balance in brotherhood. These were the words our pakhan spoke after I killed four of Poval’s men when I broke into the sofa factory and freed my sister. He spoke them again when I returned to burn the place down. Each crime merits a marking on our skin. Some wear them with pride. Some as penance.
Today I complete the one I bear for kidnapping Kat. I wear it as my penance. So that I never forget her sacrifice and forgiveness that brought us together.
Stepan, our tattoo artist, takes every story into consideration when he creates his art, including our own emotions around the event. The tattoo he gave me for burning down the factory was proud and powerful. This one is more tender. He used knotted rope to depict Kat’s captivity. It coils around my shoulder, then snakes around my arm to form a manacle around my wrista symbol of the bond we now have. I captured her, but now I’m forever tied to her.
Kat wanted her own markings, which Stepan finished last week. I wouldn’t allow her to ink her skin with anything related to her father, but she accepted the symbol of manaclesto show she’s been claimed by meforever owned, kept, and cared for. She wears twin cuffs drawn as rope with a knot in the shape of a heart on the inside of each wrist. A perfect place for me to kiss every time I hold her hand.
Stepan sits back now and nods.
I’m surrounded by the senior members of the bratvaRavil, Maxim, Oleg, Nikolai, as well as my friend Maykl, and several other members. Gleb, a seventy-year-old bratva brother who’d been part of a different cell and recently found his way to us, pours vodka all around.
Ravil clears his throat, and the room falls silent. “Our souls and our skin bear the mark of our crimes. We remember each act and measure it against our contributions to our brothers. Balance in brotherhood.” He raises his glass.
“Balance in brotherhood. To our brother.” Maxim raises his.
“Balance in brotherhood. To our brother.” Each member present takes his turn, lifting his glass and holding my gaze.
“Balance in brotherhood.” I lift mine, and we all drink.
The men thump me on the back, and we file out of Stepan’s second-floor studio.
“Ready to surprise your girl?” Maxim asks.
I nod. “Ready.”
“Sasha says the women are finished prepping.” He looks up from a text on his phone. “You go get Kat, and we’ll join the women.”
I spent the past three and a half weeks moving mountains to put together a clay studio for Kat. It’s on the first floor because the kiln will have to be installed in the basement, and I want her to be able to have easy access. Also, Ravil gave her a street-facing window, so she can display her creations, if she ever feels comfortable.
I’ve been able to keep the entire endeavor a secret, pretending I’ve been busy with work for Ravil and haven’t had a chance to even look into fulfilling my promise to her yet. Sashawho always loves a partydecided to throw Kat a “surprise studio” party. She, Nadia, Lucy, Story, and Nikolai’s girlfriend, Chelle, spent the last hour decorating it with balloons and flowers and are waiting there now to jump out and yell surprise. I take the elevator up with the same giddy satisfaction coursing through my veins I get every time I go to our apartment.
Living with Kat is an intense pleasure. If I hadn’t been so determined to honor my offer of building her this studio, I never would have left her side. Despite everything being new and me leaving her alone far too much, Kat remains upbeat. She’s been feeling her way into life here, getting close with Nadia, making friends with many of the women in the building, especially Sasha and Story. She found a pottery class and is thinking about enrolling in community college.
We received word that her father will be extradited to Italy to face murder charges there. If he’s released, he faces proceedings in two other countries, so the chance of him going free are slim. Kat offered the entirety of the ransom her father paid for her to Nadia who refused. Ultimately, we agreed to split it half and half. Ravil and Maxim helped me set it up into investments, so we can all live comfortably off the dividends. While I’m grateful for the ease it brings all of us, part of me hopes Nadia won’t use it as an excuse to stop working. Getting her out of the apartment is crucial for her mental well-being.
I unlock the apartment door and find Kat waiting inLord help mea new school girl outfit. This one has a pleated red plaid skirt and with a matching plaid collar around her throat. The white socks are thigh high and the crisp white blouse is open three buttons.
My dick instantly gets rock hard, and I literally groan out loud at the sight of her.
“Nadia disappeared, so I thought we could” she cuts off into giggles when I throw her over my shoulder and start marching toward the bedroom.
But wait. I stop in my tracks.
“What?”
Ack.
I can’t.
Everyone’s waiting downstairs.
I pivot then set her back down. “Malyshka, you know I’m dying to take you into that bedroom and turn your pretty ass pink.”
“But?”
“But I have a surprise for you first.” I eye her outfit. I did make the rule that the outfits are only for my eyes, but she looks adorable, and I trust my brothers. Maybe that rule can be modified. I button one of the buttons and pull a piece of cloth out of my pocket. “Turn around and close your eyes.”
“Ooh. Are you going to tie me up, too?”
“Mmm, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, dietka?” I tie the cloth around her head to cover her eyes.
“Yes. As long as it’s not with a zip tie. I don’t ever want to see a zip tie again in my life.”
“I’m not tying you up right now, malysh. But I will laterI promise.”
“Is this about your tattoo? May I see it?”
“Later. Right now is your surprise.” I propel her toward the door.
“Oh! Are we going somewhere?”
“Da.” I lead her to the elevator, and we take it down to the first floor.
“Are we driving somewhere?”
“Nyet.”
“Are we leaving the building?”
“Nyet. No more questions, Kateryna. Just wait.”
I lead her to the studio and open the door. Our friends are packed into the space, waiting with the lights off.
“Where are we?”
I untie the blindfold, and someone flips on the lights.
“Surprise!” everyone yells. Confetti flies at us from all directions. The women made the studio festive with streamers and balloons and flowers. A banner reading “Kremlin Clay” has been strung across the back. Ice buckets with champagne perch on silver stands, and a giant charcuterie board is on the table packed with fancy meat, cheese, berries, honeycomb and crackers.
Kat screams and stumbles backward into my arms. She covers her mouth with her hands. “Oh my God. What is this? Oh my God!”
“Welcome to your new studio, Kremlin Clay,” I tell her, rocking her slowly as she takes it all in.
“Wh-what?” she says faintly. “This is…mine?”
“That’s right, dietka. Thanks to Ravil,” I nod at my pakhan “for giving us this space. And to all my brothers who helped me get it ready.”
She takes in the studio. I consulted with the teacher at the nearby studio where she started classes to find out everything she would need. The space is roomy, with ceramic tile floors and countertops for easy clean up and two large industrial sinks at the back. There’s one wheel, but room for more, in case she ever wants to hold classes here. I built utilitarian shelving units in the back to hold her works in progress and nicer ones in the front to display finished work.
“The kiln will be delivered in a few weeks, but I already have the electrical set up for it. It will go in the basement, which you can get to through those stairs.” I point to the door at the rear of the studio. “The windows are frosted for now, but if you ever decide to display your wares, they can be made clear.” I point toward the front of the studio that faces the street.
Kat turns to face me. Her skin is blotchy with color. She buries her face against my chest and bursts into tears.
“Aw, I think that means she likes it.” Sasha winks at me.
I try to calm the racket of my heart ricocheting against my chest. They are happy tears, but they still make me want to move mountains to see her smile.
“I love it,” she sobs against me. “Oh my God, I can’t stop crying.” She lifts her face and mops her tears. “This was so nice of you.” She turns. “All of you. I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“Of course, we did,” Sasha says easily. “You’re part of the crew now.”
That only makes Kat cry harder. Even my own eyes mist because I know how much this sense of belonging means to her. She hasn’t had a family she could rely on before. I’m resolved to give that to her each and every day. To make sure she knows she belongs here. Not just with me but with us.
“Thank you.” She tries her best to get a hold of herself.
Nikolai pops a bottle of champagne and hands it to Chelle, who starts pouring in the glasses lined up on the counter.
“Come on, let’s toast.” Sasha tugs Kat forward and hands her a glass of champagne as Nikolai pops a second cork. “You don’t have to make this into a retail location, you could always keep it as your private studio but have monthly open studio nights. You could even invite other artists.”
I smile to myself as Sasha brainstorms.
“Absolutely,” Chelle agrees. “I’d be happy to help with your publicity, if you did.”
“You guys are making me cry again,” Kat complains, wiping her tears. She puts her glass down and throws an arm around each of the women. “I love you so much, do you know that?”
“Aw, we love you, too, sweetheart,” Sasha says.
“We do,” my sister agrees in her soft voice.
When everyone has a glass, Sasha lifts hers. “To Kremlin Clay and her resident artist, Kateryna!”
“To Kateryna,” I murmur, clinking my glass to hers. “I love you.”
“Vashe zdorov’ye.” The Russians in the room all give the Russian toast.
“Cheers,” Chelle and Story say with a laugh, clinking their glasses together.
“Thank you, Adrian.” Kat’s eyes swim with tears again.
I lean my forehead against hers as glasses clink around us. She sets her glass down, and I catch her two wrists and trace my thumbs over her pulse points, where the tattooed knots lie. “You’re mine,” I murmur.
“Say it again.”
“You’re mine. Forever, malyshka.”
She traces the pathway of my new tattoo down my arm to my wrist then picks up my hand and kisses my pulse. “And this means you’re mine.”
“Yes. Also forever.”
She surges against me, throwing her arms around my neck and pressing her lips to mine. “We’re going to have so much fun,” she says, and I laugh, pulling her against my body and giving her another kiss. “Yes. Yes, we are.”
Continue reading for next book.