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Every Bratva elder and high-ranking officer in Moscow had gathered to partake in something I’d been promising to deliver since I’d first stepped foot back in Russia—a peace offering, a parting gift, and proof that no matter how much I’d hated my father, there was a little bit of Abramov in me after all.
Silence fell over the room as I entered, and at least fifty ruthless, sadistic psychopaths—many of whom were my blood relatives—turned to face me.
God, I couldn’t wait to go back to Ireland.
“Brothers,” I began, thankful that I’d remembered to speak in Russian. I’d had the attention of the entire world half an hour earlier, but that hadn’t intimidated me half as much as the cold, calculating stares of the Bratva’s most seasoned killers. “As you might have heard, I will be stepping down soon, both as Russia’s president … and also as your leader. It’s been an honor, but I think we can all agree that my uncle Yuri, Alexi’s brother and one of your most esteemed elders”—I gestured toward the proud, potbellied bastard at the front of the crowd—“is much better suited for the job.”
No one argued.
“I’ve asked you all here because I have a parting gift for you—a token of my appreciation for your loyalty and a symbol of my dedication to your cause.”
I wasn’t dedicated to shite, except for protecting Clover and Ireland from sick fucks like them.
“Igor, if you don’t mind.”
The head of my security team, who’d already taken his position next to a prison cell, opened the ancient metal door to reveal a trembling, piss-soaked, red-faced Irishman, bound and gagged and whimpering softly.
“Gentleman, as promised, I present to you the leader of the UIB—the organization that ordered the murder of Alexi’s uncle, Dmitry. The organization that had Alexi arrested and imprisoned over twenty years ago. And the organization that was ultimately responsible for his death. Punishing this man was the reason my father went to war with Ireland, and I can think of no better way to express my gratitude than by giving you the satisfaction of finishing what he started.”
No one was looking at me anymore. Every head in the room had turned to face Séamus, and if I wasn’t mistaken, I thought I saw the piss stain on the front of his trousers darken.
A chorus of laughter and muffled screams echoed through the tunnel as I headed back to the palace, but I barely heard them.
I was too busy loosening my tie and unbuttoning my suit jacket as I pictured all the ways Clover and I were going to celebrate once I made it back to the presidential suite.
Nothing got my full attention anymore.
Nothing except for my wife.
EPILOGUE
CLOVER
SIX MONTHS LATER
Since we’d met, almost every outfit Damien had ever worn was a uniform of one kind or another—the military clothes, the hospital clothes, the endless suits provided to him at the Kremlin. In fact, the first time I’d ever seen him in something that wasn’t a uniform was when Kate gave him Kellen’s black trousers and white shirt to wear back in Wexford. I still remembered the way I’d sobbed when I came downstairs and found him waiting for me—smiling, clean-shaven, and wearing those clothes. It was the handsomest he’d ever looked.
Until today.
Because today, he was wearing black trousers, a white shirt, and my ring on his finger.
Sliding a simple gold band on top of the engagement ring he’d given me the night of his resignation, Damien recited his vows as an audience of seagulls circled overhead and a curious crab wandered dangerously close to our bare feet.
The outfits had been my vision—Damien’s simple shirt and trousers and my white lace gown with a handful of bluebells and baby’s breath woven into my hair—but being barefoot had been his idea. He told me I’d find out why after the ceremony.
“So, by the power vested in me by … no one”—Paul grinned as he glanced from Damien to me, then back down at his notes—“I now pronounce you … husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Jack howled, and Kate sniffled, and all three of them clapped as Damien held my gaze, wrapped a hand around the back of my neck with a smirk that made my insides tingle, and kissed me in a way that would have gotten us excommunicated from any church in Ireland.
Which was why I was so happy we’d decided to have our ceremony on the Eye instead.
And even happier that the rain had held off.
The sky was smothered in clouds as thick as the frosting on one of Kate’s cakes, but when I tipped my head back and let the wind catch my hair, the only thing I felt was a single drop of water, right on the tip of my nose.
Followed by Damien’s tongue as he licked it off.
“You know your mother is watchin’, right?” I laughed, but the sentiment made both of our smiles fade a little.
