Page 182 of The Bratva King

“Is that a yes?”

She laughs through her tears. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, you can adopt Luke. Yes, to all of it.”

I slide the ring onto her finger, and she throws her arms around my neck. I catch her, pulling her into my lap. She kisses me hard.

When we break apart, she’s smiling wide.

“I can’t wait to tell Luke. He’s going to be so happy. Although, I don’t think he needs a piece of paper telling him you’re his daddy. He already knows.”

“Gabriella Sokolov,” she says with a bright smile. “That sounds good.”

“Sokolova,” I correct softly. “For a woman.”

Her smile widens. “Gabriella Sokolova.”

Something catches in my throat.

It sounds perfect.

“Luke Sokolov,” she murmurs.

My heart jumps. A son with my name. I never imagined I would know that experience. I’ve watched Sergei with his sons. Envied what he had.

And now, I have it, too.

For the first time in my life, I’m not just surviving. I’m living.

Epilogue

GABBY

TWO MONTHS LATER

The chandeliers are lit.

All twenty-three of them hang from a ceiling that took more than eight months and one goat to finish. Nikolai told me that story over breakfast one morning, like someone had merely inconvenienced him by sending a severed goat's head to his construction site.

Tonight, the light reflecting off all that glass turns the ballroom gold. It pools on the marble. Catches in the crystal on the tables. Nikolai designed this room before he'd ever laid eyes on me. Before Luke. Before any of it. He built a cathedral for the two of us to stand in and didn't even know he was doing it.

“Go, go, go.” Lila shoos me out of the room. “He’s going to see you in your dress.”

I laugh. “I had to see the room. He’s been talking about it more than Luke talks about dinosaurs. Do you know he refused to rent out his million-dollar ballroom for New Year’s Eve because he wants us to be the first to use it?”

“That’s romantic,” Lila says.

I smile. “It really is.”

“Come on. You are supposed to be getting the finishing touches on your makeup.”

“If they put any more makeup on me, no one will know who I am, including my soon-to-be husband.”

I let her drag me into the bridal suite. Sofia is sitting in a chair, the makeup artist putting lipstick on her.

“You caught the runaway bride,” Sofia says.

“Gonna put a bell on her,” Lila laughs.

My friends. I have friends. I’ve never really had friends. Not ones I could trust with secrets. Growing up, it was always about being careful not to say too much because you never knew what information could be used against you or your family.