Page 100 of Frozen Heart

Alexei, Bronwyn and I climbed into the back. As the first police cars turned into the street, Gabriella roared away. She twisted around to look at us. “Hospital?”

I looked around. Spartak was gone. Everyone was okay. And I had my wife back.

“Hospital,” I agreed. And passed out.

EPILOGUE

Two Weeks Later

Radimir

“Hard hats for everyone,”the foreman told us, handing them out. “Please be careful, we’ve made sure the structure’s safe, but I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

I put a hard hat on Bronwyn’s head, which made her look so adorable my chest went tight. I laced my fingers together with hers and squeezed her hand, then put a hard hat on myself. My head had taken enough knocks for a while.

I’d come out of the fire at Spartak’s nightclub with smoke inhalation, a concussion, serious blood loss and enough shards of glass in my hands that it had taken a doctor a full hour to remove it all. Bronwyn had slightly worse smoke inhalation and some cuts and bruises, and was under orders to use her crutches until her arthritis had calmed down. But the worst casualty had been the club itself. Thanks to Spartak’s lax safety measures and the chemicals stored in the basement, the fire had raged for hours and by the time the fire department gotit under control, the club had been gutted. The damage did provide an opportunity for a fresh start, though, and that was important...because the club was now ours.

“This wall will be coming down,” the foreman was telling Gennadiy. “All of this has to go...”

When the police had rolled up to the club, the first thing they’d found were about thirty trafficked women, some of whom had been in the basement for years. The second thing they found was the drug factory. They rounded up Spartak’s surviving men—Bronwyn was relieved to learn that the one she’d stabbed had lived—and it was clear Spartak was going to jail for a long, long time.

Except...no one could find Spartak. The police thought he’d fled the country but actually he spent the day following the fire in a lock-up garage just a few miles from the club. Also in the garage was one of The Eight. He wasveryinterested in how Spartak had used them to nearly eliminate the Aristovs. By the end of the day, he had a full confession, and Spartak was dead. The Eight restored our family’s standing: we were no longer cut off. And in restitution, they gave us all of Spartak’s assets and territory, including his nightclub. The war was over...and we were more powerful than ever.

The plan was to completely remodel the nightclub and turn it from a seedy drug-front into a legitimate business that Gennadiy would run.

“Wider balconies,” Gennadiy was telling an architect. “We need to get rid of the bottlenecks.”

“And more fire exits,” said Valentin. “What are we going to do with the basement?”

Mikhail smiled and put a friendly arm around the architect’s shoulders. “I have some ideas…”

I watched my family as they talked and planned, thoughtful and a little sad. I could see so much of myself in them:Vladivostok had left its marks on Gennadiy and Valentin, too, just in different ways. And Mikhail, always so warm and lighthearted...but he never talked about whyhewas still single, too.

I’d never known what I was missing until I met Bronwyn. Now I wanted them to find someone, too.

I looked across at Bronwyn, who was telling the architect how there should be more bathrooms, because there were never enough in nightclubs.My wife.She’d sensibly foregone the designer clothes and heels for this site visit and was in jeans and an old pair of hiking boots...and she’d never looked more beautiful. I drank her in: the soft waves of copper hair that brushed her neck, the gorgeous curves of her hips and ass, the tight denim… I listened as she talked through some ideas with the architect about how to lay out the club, so it felt safer for women, and a glow of pride filled my chest. I’d found the woman I needed by my side. Smart, beautiful, a demon between the sheets and not afraid to stand up to me when she needed to. My little librarian had become the perfect Bratva Queen.

Bronwyn

The next day, I was wearing a hard hat again. But this time, I was in Cassie’s coffee shop, facing a wall with a big, red X spray-painted across it.

“I think you should do the honors,” Cassie told me.

I shook my head, pressed the sledgehammer into her hands and picked up a second one. “We’ll do it together. One, two,three!”

We both swung our hammers, awkwardly at first and then falling into a steady rhythm. The brickwork dented, then cracked. Then the first brick tumbled loose, and a rectangle ofbookstore appeared. A whoop went up from Jen and the rest of my friends, who’d all come to watch. Baba was there, too: she still used a stick when she walked but she was getting stronger every day and was living in her apartment again. Radimir had paid a visit to her building’s owner and within days, the elevator was working, the security cameras were fixed, and the graffiti was gone.

I’d been inspired by Konstantin and Radimir working together. If the Bratva could modernize and share resources...why couldn’t we? My bookstore and Cassie’s coffee shop both suffered from a lack of space and not being able to get enough customers through the door, but by knocking through the adjoining wall and forming one big space, we could solve both problems. Coffee drinkers could browse the shelves and book browsers could enjoy a coffee. It was more efficient for staffing, too: neither of us could afford to take on more help but we could pool our money and take Jen on full time. She could help serve lattes and muffins when the bookstore was quiet and restock shelves when the coffee shop was quiet. We’d have to wait to see if the change made us profitable, but I had a good feeling.

I walked to the subway that night tired but happy. My arthritis wasn’t going anywhere, and my joints still throbbed and ached at the end of the day, but having Jen around in the store full time made things a lot easier and I was less self-conscious about using my crutches now. I’d started swimming and that seemed to help, too.

When the train arrived, I dropped into a seat, straightened my skirt and pulled a notepad and pen from the gorgeous, white leather purse Radimir had bought me. I was getting to like dressing like a mafia queen, even if I still preferred jeans and sneakers when we were around the penthouse.

I was so deep into planning where we could put extra tables in the cafe and how the book tables should be positioned, it took me a moment to notice what was going on at the end of the subway car. Three men were standing over a seated woman, blocking her in so she couldn’t escape. She was pale and jumpy, on the edge of tears. They weren’t touching her...yet. It was just that low-level harassment that gets written off asharmless funwhen it isn’t harmless or fun. But we have to put up with it.

Except I didn’t. Not anymore.

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d marched down the aisle and pushed in front of the trio, so I was between them and the woman. “Leave her alone.” I wasn’t asking.