Emperor of Rage: EPILOGUE

I sit across from Kir in his office in New York, nervously drumming my fingers on the arm of the chair. The room is filled with the hum of the city below, the neon lights gleaming through the tall windows. He’s in his usual dark charcoal gray three-piece, I’m in my go-to of black jeans and a big black hoodie, Doc Martens, spiked choker, and…if it matters…an especially gorgeous new set of pastel peach demi-bra and thong from Honey Bridette that I treated myself to.

It’s a surreal moment, both of us staring at the envelope sitting on the desk between us.

Some mysteries, we still don’t have answers to. Like if the Grigorov Bratva had any ties to William Lindqvist, and if they may have helped in his murder of the Ulstäd family. That’s the real reason Kir had me hacking into Orlov Financial Solutions that night that seems like a million years ago, now. It’s also the same reason Mal was there that fateful night.

But other mysteries, we’re about to solve right now, simply by opening this envelope.

Kir’s looking a lot better now, two and a half weeks after what happened in Norway, but he’s still a little pale. And he’s walking with a cane, at least for the next month or so, which I know he hates because he says it makes him look old.

It doesn’t. The guy is forty-four and could pass for early thirties, easily. If anything, the cane just makes him look distinguished—or like he’s about to break out in a vaudeville act, but something tells me he doesn’t want to hear that. Ever.

“Whatever it says in that envelope,” Kir says quietly. “William’s crimes and evil deeds are not yours.” His eyes harden as they lock with mine. “I need you to hear that, Freya. What he did to Mal’s family, and to Damian’s parents…” he shakes his head grimly. “Those are his sins. Not yours. No matter what is inside of this,” he growls, tapping the envelope.

I nod, swallowing a lump.

“I was barely eighteen when I met your mother. Both of us were.”

He’s still looking at the envelope between us as he speaks.

“William and I had gotten into business together, though Mal’s uncle Lars warned me against it. He was right, in the end,” Kir adds with a touch of darkness in his tone before he shakes his head. “William was a prick. Though that’s not why I…”

Had the affair with my mother.

Kir gazes at me, his blue eyes clashing with my own. “I think we were both looking for a way out. I had plenty going on in my life that I was running from, but knew I could never entirely escape. She was trapped in a marriage she’d never wanted, to a man who…well…was a fucking monster. We never meant for it to happen. But then…it did…and it was good,” he sighs. “We were good. And, by the way, I always meant to take her from William. Permanently, I mean. I cared for her deeply, Freya.”

I nod, swallowing before I glance back at the envelope that holds the truth. Kir follows my gaze and takes a deep breath.

“Whatever it says in this envelope,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t have to change anything between us.”

“What do you think your odds are?”

He smirks, lifting a brow. “Odds?”

“Of, you know…being my dad.”

I feel my face burn as I say it. It’s weird. I’ve always thought of Kir as almost a father figure, or maybe a cool, fun uncle, but that envelope might make that more real than I ever imagined.

“I don’t gamble, Freya. You know that.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Freya—”

“Oh, just fucking open it already,” I blurt. “Jesus.”

He smiles a little. “What I mean is, if it says…that… It doesn’t change anything. You don’t owe me anything. You get that, right?”

I shrug. “Yeah. But…I mean…if I wanted it to change something…”

I lift my gaze to Kir. His lips twist.

“Why don’t we just open it,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” I swallow nervously. “I think that’s best.”

He picks the envelope up from his opulent desk together with a brass letter opener, slipping the blade under the edge and neatly slicing it open. He pulls out the folded paper inside, opening it, sliding his eyes over the text.

Kir stiffens a little. Then he folds the paper and sets it down. He lifts his eyes to lock with mine, but he says nothing.

“Well?!” I blurt, unable to keep it in any longer.

Kir sighs. There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze that makes my chest tighten.

“Well, on the plus side,” he grunts, trying to brush off the weight of the moment, “the blood test—that, frankly, you should have had done years ago instead of taking William’s word for it—says you don’t have Huntington’s disease.”

I stare at him. My heart stutters.

I mean, that’s great. Better than great—it’s fucking incredible. I’ve spent my entire life thinking I had a death sentence hanging over me. And now, in a few words, Kir’s erased that fear.

But that is not what I’m focusing on right now.

“Kir…” I prompt. My palms feel sweaty, and I’m almost afraid to hear the words.

“The downside is,” he says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, “you might owe me a shitload of Father’s Day cards.”

The room goes still as we lock eyes.

Blue on blue.

“Holy fuck,” I whisper, my throat tight.

Kir watches me for a moment, then nods slowly, his brow knitting. “Yeah.”

We sit there, just staring at each other, the room filling with the gravity of what this really means. My heart is pounding, and I can’t quite breathe. He’s been this looming figure in my life—someone I’ve admired and respected for years. And now, knowing he’s my biological father…

It’s overwhelming.

It’s insane.

It’s…awesome, actually.

Suddenly, it hits both of us simultaneously, and we’re out of our chairs, rushing at each other. I don’t know who moved first. It doesn’t matter. I throw my arms around him, and he pulls me close in the kind of hug I never thought I’d experience. It’s fierce and protective and raw, with years of pent-up emotion crashing through both of us at once.

“I’m so sorry,” Kir murmurs against my hair.

“For what?” I choke, tears burning my eyes.

“For not knowing. For not being there from the start,” he says, his grip tightening.

I pull back, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “You were there when it mattered,” I whisper. “When I needed saving, and a purpose, and a new future.”

We hold each other for another heartbeat or two, letting it all sink in, before the door slams open and Damian bursts into the room, his expression impatient.

“Well?!” he demands, glancing between the two of us like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

I sigh, giving him an exaggerated look of sorrow. “Bad news, dickhead,” I say, shaking my head dramatically. “You’re related to me.”

Damian’s eyes go wide, then his face splits into a massive grin. “No fucking way!” he whoops, rushing over to me and grabbing me in a bear hug. He spins me around in a circle, laughing like an overgrown child.

“Damian!” I squeal, swatting at him as he sets me back on my feet, but I’m grinning like an idiot too.

“Well you’re fucking stuck with me now!” he teases, laughing and ruffling my hair in a way that’s far too brotherly for my taste, but right now I don’t care.

As I’m fixing my hair, the door swings open again and Mal strides in, his expression turning lethal when he sees Damian’s arm still slung around my shoulders. He glares, that ultra-possessive look flashing in his eyes. I roll mine in response.

“Relax,” I say with a smirk, patting Damian’s arm. “We’re related now. First cousins.”

“Yeah, psycho boyfriend,” Damian says with a smug look, “I’m family now, so you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Mal scowls as he crosses the room to me. “Doesn’t mean I have to like dealing with it,” he grumbles under his breath, slipping his hand into mine and pulling me possessively away from Damian and into him.

I look between the two of them, a strange warmth spreading through my chest. It’s the most surreal family reunion I could ever imagine, but somehow, it’s perfect.

“Well,” Kir says, clearing his throat. “Now that we’ve established our new family dynamic, I vote we move on to the part where we don’t nearly die on a daily basis.”

“Says the Pakhan of Bratva criminal empire,” I mutter.

Kir chuckles just as the door opens again. I grin when I look up and see Annika and Kenzo.

“Couldn’t help but overhear. I second the not dying on a daily basis part,” Annika calls from the doorway. “I think we’ve had enough of that shit for a lifetime.”

Mal glances down at me, a faint smile tugging at his lips before his eyes darken with something more, something private. “You ready?” he asks quietly, his voice husky.

I nod, my heart fluttering. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

He pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my temple before he lets me go. I turn and hug Damian—much, I’m sure, to Mal’s chagrin—even though I’ll be seeing my cousin in a few weeks when he and Kir fly out to join Mal and I in Kyoto for business.

Kir—Dad?—and I hug for a long, long time.

“I’ve always been proud of you,” he says quietly. “Now I just get to take a little credit for it.”

I laugh, smiling up at him. “You’re visiting soon…”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “When I do, maybe we could…”

“Do daddy-daughter stuff?”

“Whatever the fuck that is,” he grunts, smiling. “Yeah. I’m in.”

Mal takes my hand again and guides me insistently toward the door. Annika gives me a knowing look as we pass her and Kenzo, and a soft blush rises to my cheeks.

This life we’re all building together is messy. It’s complicated, and chaotic. But it’s filled with people who matter. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

As we step into the elevator to leave for the airport, to fly to Japan and the rest of our lives, I glance up at Mal. His jaw is set, his eyes focused. But there’s a softness to him now that wasn’t there before.

He catches me looking and smirks. “What?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” I whisper, leaning into him. “Just… I love you.”

He pulls me closer. “And I love you too. Always.”

And then his lips crash to mine, lifting me off my toes as the elevator doors slide closed, taking us into the future.

Together.