His voice is low, quiet, but it cuts straight through me.
“Because I finally have something I don’t want to lose.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, I smile. A real one.
Sawyer snorts into his glass. “Well, you certainly earned your retirement. The entire continent’s going to piss itself once they hear what you did.”
Aslanov shrugs. “Let them hear it. I’m done. The name’s buried.”
I look at him and I know he means it.
He didn’t just burn it all down.
He made sure no one could build on top of the ashes.
Dominik steps forward. Quiet. Measured. Still not speaking with a voice, but the weight of him does all the talking.
Aslanov looks at him once. And nods.
That’s all it takes.
Dominik will take over. His way. His version of what the Bratva should be. Not smoke and blood and legend, but something else. Something sharper, smarter.
Discipline. Order. Control.
And Dimitri will be at his side.
Loyalty doesn’t need a crown. Just a direction.
Aslanov leans back against the wall now. Watching. Just watching. And I move to stand beside him.
The future doesn’t look clean. It doesn’t look bright. But itlooks possible.
The Gambino family will be watched closely. A cousin of Salvatore’s—one with no taste for war but enough memory to know never to cross the Bratva again—will hold what’s left of that legacy in place.
And over time?
The balance will return.
Not peace. But something better.
A silence that doesn’t scream. A future that doesn’t bleed.
‘‘I told you you were my endgame.’’
I look up at him, searching.
‘‘Are you sure you’re quitting?’’ I ask.
He nods once.
‘‘I am. I want to try and make those dreams we talked about real. All of them. No blood. No night gone. Justus.’’
Across the room, Karpov paces the space, pale as ever. This was maybe a little too much for an old man, even for a man like him.
Aslanov raises an eyebrow, grinning.
‘‘You look like you’re going into your coffin ten years earlier than planned after all this.’’
