Page 89 of I (One) (War of Roses 3)

Epilogue

My mother was wrong. Hell isn’t a rose. Hell is love. The agony of blind desire. Trust in the face of inevitable destruction. The acceptance of death to protect the breath of another.

Even so, under all the violence, it’s undeniably beautiful.

In lieu of fire and brimstone, my Hades contains a small garden overflowing with roses. A gothic manor serves as its austere backdrop, but just a few weeks of childish laughter have eased the darkness lurking in its shadows.

A beautiful blond boy runs screaming through the gardens, chased by a silent girl with golden hair.

And my devil stands beside me, frowning at the display. “What are you doing?” he bellows. “Run her down!”

Heeding his advice, Eli changes tack, tackling Mouse to the ground.

“More military games?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Anna will kill you if Eli winds up with another bruise, you know.”

“They need to learn,” he counters. “One day, he might be thankful for surviving a battle withjusta bruise.”

I sigh internally at the reminder. Sergei’s death created a void several of his allies have jockeyed to fill. There have been no outright attacks—yet. But the prospect keeps Mischa up at night and worry has deepened the lines around his mouth. Just as the thought crosses my mind, he spites me by flashing a wicked grin.

“Besides…the piano lessons start Tuesday.”

“You’re not serious.” As I gape, the line of his mouth softens, just a fraction of an inch.

Even now, nearly a month after Robert’s death, he gives me only snippets of what lurks beneath his mask. Just enough to reassure myself that this demonic creature is still human.

“I don’t know… Maybe they should be able to play music before stabbing the first bastard to piss them off? My children won’t be pampered runts,” he adds, his tone harsh. “But table manners couldn’t hurt, either.”

“Yourchildren?” My throat rasps.

Turning away from me, he steps forward, drawing Eli and Mouse’s attention. “You.” He jabs a finger at Eli and the boy startles to a stop, blinking. “And you.” He nods toward Mouse. “Do you think you have what it takes to be Stepanovs?”

The two share a look and then nod solemnly in unison.

“Good. You.” Again, he points to Eli. Then he moves toward a nearby rose bush and plucks a blooming rose from a stem. He rips a petal from it and then sinks to one knee, pressing the petal against Eli’s forehead. “You are now Eli Mischovich Stepanov.”

The boy watches him with all the reverence of a knight being anointed by a king.

“As for you.” He beckons Mouse closer, frowning. “You need a real name. Will you tell me yours?”

She eyes him and then shakes her head, and I can’t help wondering about her past. Despite the chaos, Mischa went to Nicolai about her, demanding answers, but all the man could tell him was that she had been sold to him.

Sold by a man named Donatello Vanici.

I’m not brave enough to wonder what she endured before then—and I can’t blame her for not wanting a reminder.

If it weren’t for Eli, I’m not sure I’d ever want to be reminded of the creature I used to be, either. Even Briar seemed too ashamed to face our shared past. Not long after we regrouped here at Vasilev Manor, she disappeared. So did one of the few Winthorp soldiers to survive Sergei’s assault and defect to Mischa’smafiya. Maybe, in her own way, she thought we were even.

I saved her life years ago.

She saved mine.

“What about a new name?” I suggest.

“Something better than Mouse,” Mischa seconds, ruffling her hair.

The girl wrinkles her nose. Then she points to one of the trees at the back of the property.

“Tree?” Mischa asks, incredulous.

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