Sinful Union: Epilogue 1

I stand by the casket as light drizzle begins to fall. The day is grey, fitting for a funeral.

Though Pavel had wanted Piotr to be buried in an unmarked grave, we knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. We need to keep up appearances in order to avoid any further fighting. So here we are, pretending.

Everyone in attendance—from low-level enforcers to high-ranking Bratva figures—wears an expression of forced sympathy and tense politeness. They were told Piotr died in a hunting accident.

It’s a convenient lie, one that won’t raise too many questions. No one wants to unravel the possibility that we turned on our own family. If they suspect foul play, they keep it to themselves.

The headline in the media read: Andreev Pakhan Meets Tragic Fate in Upstate Woods.

According to unofficial rumors, it was a misfire or perhaps a stray bullet from another hunter. We didn’t bother specifying details. No one wants an open scandal. The only men who know the truth are dead or bound to secrecy by loyalty to Pavel, Vlad, or me.

I glance at my brother’s sealed coffin, resting on a small platform draped in black cloth. My heart wrenches, and I swallow back the bitter taste of bile rising in my throat. Even though I hated what Piotr became, a part of me still mourns the little boy who used to tug at my pigtails and hide frogs in my shoes.

A swirl of conflicting emotions churn in my chest—anger, heartbreak, relief—and I can’t decide which one is the strongest.

On my right, Pavel stands tall, projecting authority in his tailored black suit. He stays quiet, simply nodding at those who express condolences. Surrounding us are several members of the Fetisov Bratva, all wearing neutral expressions, offering subdued gestures of respect.

On my left, Vlad leans on a cane, courtesy of the beating our departed brother gave him. He insisted on attending the funeral ceremony on his own two feet.

“Don’t treat me like an invalid,” he’d snarled when I suggested a wheelchair.

Camille helps him stay balanced, her hand discreetly under his elbow, her gaze never leaving him for long.

Vlad’s face is still bruised; purplish shadows mar his cheekbones, but they’re mostly hidden beneath his dark sunglasses. His broken ribs and contusions are slowly healing. I know he’s in pain, but stubbornness and sheer determination keep him going.

Ana stands between Pavel and me. My daughter hasn’t left my side since the day everything exploded. She’s clinging to my hand with a grip so tight it numbs my fingers.

At only five, she doesn’t fully grasp the tragedy behind this funeral. All she knows is that the uncle she adored has died, and she doesn’t understand why. She sniffles, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. She thinks it was a real accident, that her Uncle Piotr was the victim of misfortune in the woods. One day, when she’s much older, maybe I’ll explain what really happened, but not now.

Let her grieve a simpler lie.

A hush descends over the small crowd gathered around the casket. Viktor Novikov emerges from behind a cluster of men, stepping forward with measured solemnity. Drizzle speckles his black overcoat; droplets shine on his broad shoulders. He’s flanked by a pair of silent associates.

Novikov bows his head to Vlad and me, a show of respect as hollow as it is necessary. “My condolences,” he says plainly. “Piotr’s death is a loss to the entire community.”

I manage a tight nod, forcing politeness I don’t feel. “Thank you for coming,” I say, ignoring the bitter taste in my mouth. Novikov is probably attending only to ensure he’s not being blamed for anything. His presence is a power move, an attempt to save face. He knows Piotr’s death means that we now hold both Andreev and Fetisov power. If anything, he’s the one walking on eggshells now.

Pavel steps forward, shaking Novikov’s hand. One of us has to be diplomatic, I suppose. “We appreciate your support,” he says. “It means a great deal that you have come to pay your respects.”

Novikov nods, chancing a quick look at Vlad. Vlad ignores him, focusing on a point in the distance. He’s still seething under the surface—Piotr’s back-door alliance with Novikov nearly destroyed us all.

Vlad limps forward on his cane, careful not to overstrain his injured shoulder and broken ribs. “Viktor,” he says in a low voice. “We should meet tomorrow.”

The new pakhan of the Andreev Bratva has made a request. There’s no should about it.

Novikov’s expression wavers, uncertain. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Vlad repeats. “You and I have matters to resolve.” He doesn’t elaborate, but the tone of his voice and his threatening stance, despite the cane, gives a clear message: Don’t try double-crossing my family again.

Novikov can probably sense how precarious his position is now. He nods in agreement. “Of course,” he says, stepping back. “I’m available at your convenience.” Then, Novikov returns to the crowd of mourners; his men follow.

The entire scene feels so surreal—Piotr’s casket in front of us and a scattering of men from various Bratvas offering stilted condolences.

We stand in the Andreev family cemetery plot, a small garden of stone markers and weeping willows. Camille stands close to Vlad, her hand clutching his.

Ana tugs on my hand, her voice quivering. “Mama can we go now? I don’t like it here.”

I slide my palm over her damp curls. The drizzle has picked up, turning into a light rain. “Soon, petite etoile,” I promise.

The ache in my heart intensifies, guilt gnawing at me. She’s so young to be facing so much loss. She loved her uncle. He was always kind to her, at least on the surface. I exchange a glance with Pavel, silently asking if we can wrap this up. He nods, reading my discomfort. We murmur our last respects near the casket, gather our immediate circle, and step away.

The handful of watchers part to let us pass, bowing their heads. Viktor Novikov pretends to ignore our departure, though I can feel his sharp gaze on our backs.

We climb into the waiting car—a sleek black sedan assigned to us for the day, its windows tinted. Pavel slides into the front passenger seat, giving instructions to the driver. Vlad, with Camille’s help, eases into the back seat. I settle in beside him, and Ana clambers onto my lap, not wanting the slightest space between us. The driver slowly rolls away from the cemetery. The tension in my chest eases a little bit, and I let out a small sigh of relief. I hate funerals, especially when they’re for family under conditions of secrecy and half-truths.

Ana sniffles, pressing her face to my collarbone. “Mama,” she mumbles, “Uncle Piotr’s not coming back, is he?”

My stomach twists. I brush a hand through her curls. “No, baby. He’s gone.”

She nods miserably, a small sob escaping. “I don’t understand,” she whispers. “He said he loved me. Why would he leave—” She can’t even finish the sentence, too confused and hurt.

I exchange a quick, pained look with Pavel, who turns around from the front seat. His eyes soften, but there’s no easy explanation.

I stroke Ana’s back, my heart heavy. “He did love you, in his own way,” I say carefully. “Sometimes, grown-ups make terrible mistakes. But he wouldn’t want you to worry or be sad, I promise.”

I’m not sure if that’s the right answer. My gaze flicks to Vlad, who’s leaning his head against the seat, eyes closed.

The rain intensifies, hammering against the car roof. We drive in an uneasy hush, the city’s silhouette blurred by the downpour. Eventually, we reach the old family estate on Long Island, where we’ll be staying while Pavel’s building is being repaired.

Gunfire and violence tore our home to pieces, and I can’t bear the idea of living there again until it’s completely restored, every inch repaired and updated. We’ve spent the last week in a luxury hotel, but Ana needs something more stable.

We pull through the estate gates, the driver parking near the front steps. A handful of loyal men guard the house. Security has been doubled after everything that happened. Vlad stirs, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter.

Camille helps him out of the car. I linger, letting Ana slip from my lap. She rubs her eyes. “I’m tired,” she says, her voice small.

I get out and take her hand. “Let’s get you inside and tucked in.” She nods gratefully, clinging to my side as we head up the steps. I can’t help but notice the chipped paint, the neglected shrubs.

Piotr never cared for the estate, and his mismanagement has taken its toll.

Inside, it’s warm, though the halls feel hollow. Memories of my parents and my life here as a child come flooding back—a younger me running through these corridors, Piotr shouting after me to slow down. I grit my teeth, swallowing back the swirl of emotions.

We must push forward.

Pavel lingers to talk briefly with the security detail who followed in another car, discussing updated measures. Vlad and Camille vanish to find a place where he can lie down. I take Ana to an upstairs bedroom—my old room—once upon a time.

The wallpaper is faded lilac, and I recall how I used to hate it. Now, however, it feels oddly comforting. Thankfully, the staff already visited, leaving us some fresh linens and tidying up just a bit.

Ana rubs her nose, glancing around. “Is this your room, Mama?”

“Used to be,” I say, pulling down the comforter. “It’s not super cozy right now, but we’ll make it work, okay?”

She nods, exhaustion weighing on her face.

“You won’t leave me, right?” she asks. The tremor in her voice makes my heart crack.

I kiss her forehead. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” I promise. “But I’ll be close by.”

She sniffles. “Okay.” In less than a minute, her eyes flicker shut, the day’s sadness pulling her under. I stroke her hair gently, waiting until her breathing evens out.

My chest tightens with immense love for her, sorrow for the illusions she lost. She doesn’t know the full truth, and for now, that’s best. Pavel and I will decide down the road if it’s something we want to tell her.

I wait a while after she falls asleep before slipping out, carefully easing the door shut. In the hallway, I press a shaky hand over my mouth, fighting back the tears that threaten to fall.

Stay strong, Kat. Your family needs you.

I wander down the corridor. My old bedroom is just around the corner from my parents’ old suite. The entire second floor feels like a memory that doesn’t belong to me anymore.

Eventually, I find Pavel in what used to be my father’s office, rummaging for something amid dusty bookshelves. He glances up, relief washing over his face when he sees me.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Ana okay?”

I nod, hugging myself. “She’s asleep. Had to promise I wouldn’t go far.”

He sets aside a stack of old paperwork, stepping toward me. “I can’t blame her for being anxious. She’s been through hell.”

My throat thickens. “We all have. I’ll check on Vlad soon, make sure Camille got him settled. He looked ready to pass out in the car.”

Pavel slides an arm around my waist then raises my hand to his lips, kissing it, a tender gesture that makes me release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“We’ll make sure he’s okay. We’ll make sure everyone’s okay. Peace will be restored, and we won’t have to worry anymore.” Then, with a slight bend of his knee, he leans down and kisses my belly.

A swirl of fear, gratitude, and love takes over. I rest a hand on his shoulder, letting the warmth of his presence ground me. “You really believe we’ll have peace after this?”

He straightens, pushing a stray curl behind my ear. “We’re merging the Fetisov and Andreev Bratvas, forging a united front. Novikov sees our strength—he’s not going to risk an all-out war now that Piotr’s out of the way. Once Vlad recovers, we’ll confirm alliances. Yes, there will be bumps, but it’ll be better than constant betrayal.”

I allow a tiny smile. “You’re sure?”

His dark eyes soften. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, Kat. You, Ana, and our baby. That’s my priority. That will always be my priority.”

I slip my arms around his neck, pressing my face to his collar. “I trust you,” I say. “I mean it.”

He draws back slightly, studying me, then he leans in and kisses me. My pulse flutters. “I love you.”

A smile curves his lips. “I love you, too.” He kisses me again. My thoughts drift to the future.

We’ll bury the old illusions about Piotr, bury the brutality he wrought. We’ll rebuild our home and salvage the happy memories there. Ana deserves that. She deserves a loving, joyful childhood without danger or fear clouding it.

Pavel’s hand drifts down, pressing against my belly in a protective gesture. “No more secrets,” he says.

Before he even says the words, I know what he’s referring to.

“With Ana, either.”

“We’ll tell her when she wakes up.”

His eyes shine with a quiet sort of joy on a day that’s held so much grief. He leans down, brushing his lips to my forehead.

“Let’s do it together.”

I take his hand.

Together.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.