Epilogue - Dominic
The Castellano estate is silent.
Not the kind of silence that comes with peace—I don’t believe in peace—but the void of aftermath. The lull of a storm that has passed, leaving destruction in its wake. Samuel Delgado is dead.
But we survived.
And now, I’m standing in my room, watching Isabella as she stares at her reflection in the mirror.
She hasn’t spoken much since we returned.
She carries the weight of everything that happened—the gunshots, the blood, Samuel’s body crumpling to the ground. It’s different, knowing death exists, and watching it unfold in front of you. She saw what I did to him. What I was always going to do to him.
Now, she has to decide if she can live with that.
Her fingers press against the smooth surface of the mirror as if she’s seeing herself for the first time. The woman staring back at her isn’t the same one from weeks ago. She’s harder. Sharper. Changed.
I take a slow breath, stepping forward. I’ve never been a man to comfort. Never been a man to offer soft words or gentle reassurances. But Isabella isn’t just anyone.
She’s mine.
She hasn’t looked at me since we walked into this room. Now, she does. Her expression is unreadable. Her lips part, but the words take a moment to come out.
“Is this my life now?” she finally asks.
I know what she’s really asking.
Is she meant to stay in this world? To belong to it?
I could lie to her. Tell her she can leave. Tell her she can pretend she never knew what it felt like to have blood on her hands, to see death up close.
But I don’t lie. Not to her.
Instead, I walk up behind her, placing my hands on her shoulders. She tenses suddenly but doesn’t pull away. My voice is quiet, firm.
“I told you once, Isabella,” I murmur, watching her through the mirror. “You belong to me. And I won’t let you go.”
Her breath catches, but she turns—fully this time, facing me. Her chin tilts up, those sharp, defiant eyes locking onto mine.
"And if I don’t want to belong to anyone?" she whispers.
I smirk. “Then we’ll rewrite the rules.”
She doesn’t push me away.
Instead, she steps closer to me, her palms pressing firmly against my chest. Heat surges through my veins at the contact, at the way she finally surrenders. She looks up, her eyes lit up with hope.
And then, I kiss her.
Not like before—not like the desperate, brutal kisses we’ve shared in darkened hallways and war zones. This one is different.
This one is slow, consuming.
This one is a promise.
I feel it in the way she melts against me, the way her fingers tighten in my shirt, the way my hands slip to her waist, pulling her closer. There’s no battle here, no war waged between our lips—just the quiet surrender of something inevitable.
When I lift her, she doesn’t resist. When I lay her down on my bed, she doesn’t protest. The mattress dips as I lower her onto the sheets, my body hovering over hers. She watches me with those dark, knowing eyes, her hands sliding up my arms, over my shoulders, pulling me down until our mouths meet again.
The world outside doesn’t exist. Not tonight.
Tonight, she is mine, and I am hers.
I kiss her deeply, tasting every soft sigh that slips from her lips. My hands move over her, exploring every inch of her skin, tracing patterns only I know. When I finally push the shirt from her body, she shivers—not from cold, but anticipation.
“I can’t believe you’re real.” My voice drops to a whisper.
Isabella smiles, her full breasts rising and falling with each breath. Just looking at her, ready to be taken, makes me hard. But I take my time with her, pressing kisses down the length of her throat, across her collarbone. Her breath stutters when I reach her chest, her fingers tangling in my hair as I kiss her skin with a reverence I rarely allow myself. My mouth finds the curve of her breast, and I linger there, tracing slow, wet kisses over her skin. Her body tightens beneath me, her fingers flex against my scalp as I flick my tongue over her nipple, drawing a quiet gasp from her lips. I wrap my lips around it, sucking gently, relishing the way she arches into me, whispering my name.
My hand moves to her other breast, fingers grazing over the sensitive peak, teasing, kneading, feeling her come undone beneath my touch. I take my time, alternating between soft and passionate kisses. I let the sound of her breathless whimpers guide me.
I trail kisses down her stomach, savoring the way her muscles clench under my touch. I push her thighs apart, watching the way she trembles for me, already aching, already mine. I hook my fingers around her panties and pull them down, tossing them aside before positioning myself between her legs.
She gasps when I stroke my fingers over her, teasing, feeling her warmth.
“Dominic,” she breathes, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
Before I can process it, she shifts from under me and pushes me down on the bed.
She flashes a wicked grin at me as she unbuckles my belt, pulling down my pants just enough to expose my cock.
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” I ask as she sits on top of me, straddling me.
“You don’t want this?” she asks, her eyes challenging me to refuse. She knows I want this more than anything.
She takes my cock in her hand, stroking it gently.
I groan. “Fuck, Isabella. You know I do.”
At this, she shifts, guiding herself down onto me, taking me in inch by inch, her breath hitching, her nails digging into my shoulders.
“Fuck,” I groan, grasping her hips as she settles fully onto me, the heat of her body surrounding me completely.
She moves slowly at first, her hands braced against my chest, her lips parted as if she can’t believe this is real. Neither can I. This isn’t like before—this isn’t just desire, just need. This is more. This is everything.
I guide her, pulling her down onto me, thrusting up into her, filling her completely. The pleasure is overwhelming, deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before.
“You feel perfect, baby,” I murmur, my voice thick with emotion.
She moans, her head falling back as she moves, and I watch her, memorizing every expression, every curve of her body. I thrust up into her harder, deeper, and she shatters against me, her release ripping through her as she gasps my name.
Her body clenches around me, dragging me over the edge with her. I hold her tight, grinding into her as I spill inside her, claiming her in every possible way.
***
I wake to the feeling of soft fingers tracing over my scars.
Isabella lies beside me, her bare body half-draped over mine, her lips parted as she studies each mark across my torso.
Her fingertip skims a long, jagged scar near my ribs. A knife wound.
“No more wars?” she murmurs, half-teasing, half-hopeful.
I chuckle, the sound low and rough, but I don’t answer right away.
I don’t believe in peace.
Not in my world.
But for now?
I tilt her chin up, brushing my lips against hers.
"Not for now," I say softly.
She smiles against my mouth, her body melting into mine, her breath warm as it mingles with mine.
I hold her there, savoring the way she fits against me, how the chaos of the past few days has led us to this quiet moment, this calm before whatever storm comes next.
I brush my lips over her forehead, lingering for a second before I pull away.
Her eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, but she watches me as I sit up. She doesn’t stop me.
The sheets slide off my body as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, planting my feet on the cool wooden floor. The remnants of last night linger on my skin—her touch, her scent, the warmth of her body against mine.
I reach for my shirt, sliding it on effortlessly. I feel her gaze on my back, heavy, searching.
She doesn’t speak.
Not when I fasten the buttons of my slacks. Not when I roll up my sleeves, muscles flexing beneath the fabric.
It’s only when I run my hand through my hair, exhaling slowly, that she finally asks, "Where are you going?"
I glance over my shoulder, my eyes meeting hers.
A part of me doesn’t want to give her an answer.
Instead, I just say, “Come with me.”
She hesitates, but only for a second.
I watch as she pulls the sheets around herself, the fabric slipping off her shoulder as she sits up. She looks soft in the morning light, but I know better. She’s anything but.
As I stand, she reaches for my shirt—the one she wore earlier, the one she always steals. She pulls it on, rolling up the sleeves because it swallows her whole.
I smirk at the sight.
Something about her in my clothes makes my chest tighten.
She doesn’t say a word as she pads across the room, her bare feet muffled against the floor as she follows me.
The morning air is crisp, clean, a stark contrast to the heat of the night before.
I push open the balcony doors, stepping outside, the wind sweeping through my hair.
The city stretches before me, bathed in hues of gold and fire, the skyline glowing as the sun slowly rises.
This is my empire.
Everything I’ve built. Everything I’ve fought for. Everything I’ve killed for.
And now, she’s part of it.
I rest my hands on the cold iron railing, my gaze sweeping over the streets below.
Isabella steps beside me, her body warm against mine, her fingers brushing the edge of my sleeve. She doesn’t speak at first, just takes in the view like she’s seeing it for the first time.
I glance down at her. She’s beautiful like this—bathed in morning light, hair tousled, bare legs peeking from beneath my shirt.
She exhales softly, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Do you ever stop?" she asks, her voice quiet, curious.
I know what she means.
I smirk, turning back to the skyline. "No."
She laughs softly, shaking her head, but there’s something knowing in her smile.
She already understands.
Or does she?
I reach into my pocket, fingers closing around the DeLuca ring. For a moment, I second-guess.
For the first time in my life, I hesitate.
Because this isn’t just a gift. It’s not a meaningless piece of jewelry or a token of appreciation.
It’s a claim.
It’s a promise.
It’s a weighted chain I am about to place on her finger, and I don’t know if she’ll accept it.
The thought of her refusing it fills me with fear.
I’ve never promised a woman anything. Never let someone in, never wanted to.
But Isabella isn’t just anyone.
She’s everything.
I pull the ring out, letting the golden band catch the morning light.
Her laughter dies instantly.
Her expression shifts—shock, recognition.
I watch her, searching for her reaction.
Does she want this?
Does she want me?
"You kept it," she breathes, voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, my grip tightening around the ring as if I might lose it again.
"It’s the most important thing I own."
She swallows, her throat bobbing.
She’s hesitant now.
That hesitation is a knife to my gut.
"Dominic, I—"
I don’t let her finish.
"You’re not thinking about refusing me, are you?"
My voice is smooth, teasing, but my chest is tight.
I can hear it in my own tone—the unspoken depth behind the words, the quiet, desperate demand I don’t even want to admit to myself.
My stomach clenches.
I knew this was a risk. Knew that offering her this ring meant giving her the choice to walk away.
I’ve spent my entire life making people afraid of me, making them bend, break, kneel.
But Isabella?
I don’t want her afraid.
I want her willing.
She licks her lips, her voice quiet.
"It looks expensive… I can’t take—"
I cut her off, my grip on her hand tightening.
"This isn’t just a ring, Isabella. It’s a symbol. It’s a message."
Her head tilts slightly. She’s listening.
"If you wear it, everyone will know where your loyalties are."
My voice is steady, but my heart is pounding. I keep my face blank, but inside, everything is unraveling.
And they’ll know who you belong to. I don’t say it this time. But she hears it anyway.
Her lips part slightly, an unreadable shift in her expression.
This is the moment. The moment she either accepts what we are or walks away. Would I let her? Would I even survive it if she did?
I take her hand, lifting it slowly.
She doesn’t resist. I press the ring against her finger, sliding it on. It fits perfectly. A sharp breath escapes her lips as she stares at it.
And I wait. For her to take it off. For her to say it’s too much. For her to tell me that she doesn’t want to be mine. Because why the hell would she? Why would anyone want to belong to a monster? A man who’s shed more blood than he’s willing to admit? A man who doesn’t ask, only takes? A man who will never be good, never be whole, never be the kind of person she deserves?
I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me.
My voice is low, rough. "You’re mine, Isabella."
Her heartbeat hammers against my chest.
She doesn’t say no. She doesn’t say yes. But she doesn’t take the ring off, either. And for now, that’s enough.
I pull her against me, my arms wrapping around her waist, my lips grazing the curve of her jaw.
I feel her exhale against my skin, feel the warmth of her breath as she leans into me.
She hasn’t left.
The city stretches before us, ours for the taking.
But all I can focus on is her.
Her heartbeat.
Her warmth.
And suddenly, I can’t take it.
"Say something," I murmur, my grip on her tightening.
She blinks, looking up at me, searching my face like she’s trying to figure something out. Then—she smiles. And that’s when I realize. She’s not hesitating because she doesn’t want this. She’s hesitating because she already knows there’s no way out.
She chooses me.
She chose me the moment she didn’t take the ring off.
And fuck, I need to hear her say it.
I let out a slow breath, pressing my forehead against hers, closing my eyes for a second.
Then, I say the words I never thought I’d say to anyone.
"I love you."
The words feel strange, raw, unfiltered.
She pulls back slightly, her eyes widening.
At that, fear grips me.
Because what if she doesn’t say it back?
What if she can’t?
What if—
Then, she smiles.
A slow, soft, devastating smile.
Her hand comes up, her fingers threading through my hair, pulling me down to her. And when she speaks, it’s not hesitant. It’s not careful. It’s absolute.
"I love you too."
The words slam into me like a bullet to the chest.
I kiss her then, deep and slow, savoring the way she tastes, the way she lets herself be consumed by me. I could tear the ring from her finger, tell her it doesn’t matter. That love doesn’t matter, that it’s just a fucking weakness—
I pull back, just enough to see her face. Her fingers still rest against my chest, right over my heart, and I wonder if she feels it—the way it beats differently now. Not just for myself. For her.
A sharp gust of wind rolls in from the open balcony doors, carrying the distant sounds of the city—the heartbeat of an empire that’s never known peace.
I glance past her, my gaze settling on the skyline.
The war isn’t over.
I know it.
She knows it.
Killing Samuel didn’t erase the past. It didn’t quiet the whispers in the underworld or wipe away the debts written in blood.
If anything, it started a new war.
I can feel it in my bones—the way the city waits, the way my enemies are watching, waiting for their turn to strike. There are men who will come for me, men who will come for her—because now they know what she means to me.
But let them come.
Let them try.
I tighten my hold on Isabella, pressing a slow kiss to her temple, breathing her in.
They’ll find out soon enough.
She’s not just wearing my ring.
She’s wearing my name. My protection. My claim.
They’ll come.
And we’ll be ready.
I turn back to her, watching the way her lashes flutter as she blinks up at me, still waiting. For reassurance. For certainty. For a promise I never thought I’d give.
“There’s a war brewing outside,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her lips. “But we’ll deal with it.”
Her fingers curl around my wrist. “Together.”
I smirk.
Damn right.
And as the first rays of sunlight spill over the city—our city—I know one thing for sure.
We survived.
Now, it’s time to rule.