Page 159 of Stricken

Tonight, his people and my people flow seamlessly together. Drinking champagne, eating food, celebrating.

"Look at them, Hot Shot," I whisper at Vlad, nodding toward Ivan, who's deep in conversation with his younger brother Alexander. "You'd think they are best friends."

Vlad only laughs softly. "One day they could be."

"Let me guess. That day is not today."

"Exactly. No one hates Ivan's guts more than my little brother. And don't ask me why. Actually, my brother hates everyone except his boyfriend."

"I hear younger siblings are a nasty kind."

"You'll find out as soon as we tie the knot. He'll be your younger sibling too. Officially. And he'll torture you."

My heart starts racing. Vlad and I have talked about getting married before, although we never got into any details. We just agreed that it would be wonderful—and practical—to share everything. Not just the bed but the assets too. The only problem is deciding whose last name should come first on our paperwork when we combine them.

"We've done well, haven't we?" Vlad murmurs, grabbing another glass of champagne from the waiter passing us with the tray.

"I think so," I reply, raising my own glass. We clink our flutes—a toast to our empire. Yes, sweat and blood were the foundation once, but things are changing. In the next five years, the majority of Morelli businesses will be lawful. Legitimacy has its perks. We are expanding into the tech sector , creating something tangible, something for the next generation.

Yes, there will still be a dark fraction. The deals will be made in the shadows. The bribes will happen too.

Sometimes, the temptation to give it all up is great. But if I do, if I let the cartels control the output and the quality of the drugs in the city, more people will die. It's the price I have to pay for being the heir to my uncle's kingdom. The burden is there, unmistakably heavy. The danger is always lurking in the background. But it's different now that Vlad and I are together. It's double the power. Power to do both. Bad and good. And today is the day we do some good.

"Logan said he and your brother are going to London after this," I supply as I spot Alexander's boyfriend finally returning from the restroom. The man is a former cop, built like a wall and he is filling out that tux like he was born to wear it. With confidence. I'm almost jealous. Lucky for me, I got someone no less impressive by my side. The older Solovey brother.

"Yes," the no-less-impressive man next to me says. "I think they are tired of living in a camper. Will do them some good to visit Sasha's college friends and hit some museums."

"Are you worried?" It's a valid question with Toro now in the wind and La Alianza still being a threat south of the border. But a little less than a year ago, the DEA received several anonymous tips about the whereabouts of the cartel's top lieutenants and now with the law enforcement actively investigating La Alianza's activities, those guys avoid coming to the States.

"He's great at keeping an eye on mybratishka," Vlad replies while observing Logan rejoin Alexander and Ivan. "I trust him with my brother's life."

I follow his gaze to where Logan stands, one arm protectively wrapped around Alexander's waist. Something about their dynamic feels charged and electric despite the age difference. And I can't tell if it's just me or it's the Solovey thing, the way they love other people—without fear.

"Remember," I whisper, "if you need protection in Europe, I do have family in Italy."

"I'll keep that in mind, Romeo," he whispers back, jutting his chin toward Costa and Viola laughing too loudly near the balcony doors. I'm genuinely glad to see at least one of Tony's kids doing fine—Chiara's bright star amidst a constellation of trouble.

With Salvatore lost somewhere in Brazil and Roberto in prison, my aunt has been able to focus on her daughter. Frankly speaking, Chiara has been spending more time in California with Viola than here in Vegas. I'm thinking of gifting her a condo or a small house in Beverly Hills come her birthday.

"Let's get some air. " Vlad yanks me toward the balcony while we have an opening.

We rush over outside, narrowly avoiding some of his real estate business partners.

There, where we're cut off from the hum of the party and the endless handshakes, he turns to me and runs both palms down my chest as if fixing the lapels of my suit jacket. "I'm proud of the shifts we've made." His voice is a little rougher than usual. His gaze doesn't meet mine at first. "It's changing perceptions. Creating something sustainable. Something that lasts beyond power struggles and bloodshed."

"Are you getting all emotional on me?" I ask, my voice lighter than intended. But my heart swells in my chest.

He glances at the buzzing city sprawling below us. "We're building a legacy, one that aligns with our values rather than our past."

His silence hangs between us. I watch him shift, the tension in his body almost material. Behind those gray eyes lies a depth of emotion, ghosts of all we've fought against.

"Vlad," I begin, but he interrupts me, turning toward the glass doors.

"Look at them. They're celebrating us."

Through the glass, I see the party unfold—a tableau of laughter, clinking glasses, and fleeting moments of joy. But for Vlad, it's not just about the party. It's about the culmination of his journey.

"Peace," he breathes, a note of disbelief coloring his tone. "After all the chaos… I didn't think I'd find it."

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