Epilogue – Lunetta
That night a loud thud jerks me out of sleep.
I sit up, my heart already racing. My hand slides across the sheets. Vieri’s side is empty. The indent of his body is already fading.
I glance toward Carmela’s cot. My baby girl is sound asleep, mouth open slightly, her soft breaths fogging the air above her tiny lips. Her lashes flutter in dreams
Another thud. Sharper this time.
I swing my legs out of bed. My robe slips across my shoulders like a whisper. The drawer creaks when I open it. My fingers close around the gun Vieri insisted I keep beside the bed, and my thumb checks the safety with a click that breaks the hush.
Should I go with her? Do I leave her here? I decide she is safer in here. I walk out the door and I lock the door to be certain.
Down the corridor, the lights are low. I walk down the stairs looking around. “Vieri? Bea?” I whisper.
Then I hear it. Whispers. Scrambled. Stressed.
"You fucking idiots."
"She scares me, Enzo."
"I swear, I’m about to pee."
Then I see them, clutching under the stairs. I clear my throat loud enough to echo.
Three grown men freeze like deer mid-theft—balloons in hand, eyes wide, caught in a guilty crouch. Alfio’s holding a streamer with his mouth. Omero has one foot on a stool, clearly trying to hang something. Enzo is holding a half-rolled banner that reads "CONGRAT—" and looks like he gave up halfway through the mission.
Bea stands just behind them, rubbing her head like she regrets every decision that led her here.
"What... what is this?" I ask, voice rough from sleep.
Bea storms over, plucks the gun from my hands, and mutters, “Do you ever just go to sleep like a normal person?”
She turns to the boys. “Run.”
They vanish without another word.
“I love you!” Bea calls over her shoulder as she disappears into the hallway like a wraith with unfinished business.
I’m still standing in my robe and bare feet, confused and squinting at a room full of half-hung decorations when I feel him.
“Hey.”
I turn.
Vieri stands behind me in soft gray sweatpants and a loose white tee. His hair’s a mess, curls pushed back like he’s been pacing. There’s a look in his eyes—warm, steady, a little bit nervous.
“What is all this? Did I forget someone’s birthday?” I ask, voice quieter now.
He walks slowly toward me. The world seems to hold its breath. Then, he lowers himself to one knee.
He opens a small velvet box in his hand. Inside, the ring gleams—not oversized, not flashy, but perfect. Simple and sincere, gold wrapped around a diamond that catches the light just enough to glow.
His eyes are locked on mine. They shimmer with emotion I wasn’t expecting—hope, fear, reverence.
“I never thought I’d have this,” he says, voice thick. “Not you. Not this life. Not the chance to ask you this.”
I can’t move.
“Be my wife,” he says. “Be Mrs. Tavano.”
My breath gets caught somewhere in my chest. My heart hammers so loud it fills my ears. I cover my mouth with my hand. His eyes track every flicker of my expression—every tremble, every blink, every breath I forget to take.
He waits. His thumb shifts against the edge of the box, knuckles tense, jaw tight—but his gaze never wavers.
I drop to my knees in front of him and nod so hard my hair falls into my face. “Yes,” I whisper, then louder, with tears in my throat, “Yes.”
He exhales like he hasn’t breathed since he knelt. Then his arms wrap around me, warm and strong, pulling me into him like I’m the only thing in the world he’ll ever hold again.
His mouth finds mine—soft at first, reverent. Then deeper, more urgent. Like he’s pouring every promise into my lips. I kiss him back through tears and laughter, fingers tangling into his shirt, heart bursting so full it aches.
Behind us, I hear a cheer.
“Yes!” Bea yells. “Yes! She said yes!”
“About fucking time!” Alfio groans.
“Oh thank God she didn’t shoot him,” Enzo mutters.
I laugh, burying my face in Vieri’s neck. His hands slide to my waist. He leans down to whisper, lips brushing my temple. “You’ve already been mine for so long. Now I just want the world to know it.”
I rest my forehead against his.
“They already do.”
Riccardo bursts through the doorway, grinning wide and breathless, both arms raised high over his head. He’s holding a crumpled white banner, the words “SAY YES” scrawled across it in glittery red.
“Guys! I got it! I got the—” He halts mid-step, banner drooping as his eyes land on Vieri and me, still wrapped in each other, my cheeks damp from tears and laughter.
His mouth pulls into a crooked smirk. “A bit late, I see.”
I can’t help it—I giggle, burying my face against Vieri’s chest, while Vieri groans playfully into my hair.
Then Bea storms in behind Riccardo like a woman possessed.
“You moron!” she shouts, eyes blazing. “I told you to come ten minutes ago!”
Riccardo drops the banner and bolts, stumbling over his own feet as he scrambles backward toward the hallway.
“Bea, wait—”
“I will end you, Riccardo Tavano!”
He yelps and runs.
“Run, my brother!” Enzo’s voice rings out somewhere down the corridor. “For the love of your eyebrows, run!”
The sound of rapid footsteps and Bea’s furious threats echo down the hall, accompanied by the chaos of laughter, the thud of something being thrown, and Riccardo’s muffled plea: “It wasn’t even my fault!”
I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
Vieri’s arms curl tighter around me, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of my neck. He watches me with that look—the one that says I’m his gravity, his storm and his shelter all at once.
His thumb brushes beneath my eye, catching the last tear still clinging there.
“Thank you,” he whispers, voice low and full. “For making unworthy men feel like kings.”
I meet his gaze, heart stammering.
“You’re not unworthy,” I murmur.
His eyes flicker, dark and tender. “I was. Until you.”
I press my forehead against his, his nose brushing mine.
“Then I guess we both saved each other.”
His lips find mine again. And somewhere in the background, Riccardo screams, “She’s got a spatula!” and Alfio yells, “Not the china, Bea!”
****
Away from the noise, we sit on a thick woven mat laid across the cool stone floor, half-wrapped in each other, surrounded by shadows and moonlight. The breeze is warm but carries the faint kiss of midnight chill—just enough to make his arms around me feel like the safest place on earth.
I’m tucked back into his chest, legs curled sideways, my bare feet resting against his thigh. His arms circle my waist, lazy and strong, fingers drawing idle lines over my skin beneath the fabric of his shirt—his shirt, the one I borrowed after the bath and never gave back.
A bowl of grapes sits in his lap, already half-eaten, their sweetness still lingering on my tongue.
The ring sits snug on my finger. I can’t stop staring at it. My chest is full—of shock, of happiness, of heat that hasn’t gone out since he slipped it onto my hand.
He presses his mouth to my head and kisses me softly.
“Look,” he says, voice low and a little amused.
I glance up, turning my face toward the far end of the corridor.
Two figures stand in the moonlight, silhouetted by the glow from the garden. They haven’t seen us. They’re too lost in each other.
Bea leans forward against the stone railing, her dress bunched around her waist. Her legs are spread, heels barely touching the ground. And Riccardo—he’s on his knees before her, his face buried between her thighs, hands gripping her hips as he devours her like a man starved.
I gasp. Then press a hand to my mouth.
He chuckles, chest shaking behind me. “A happy ending, I guess. She might be able to give Carmela a cousin at this rate soon.”
I chuckle. “We could give Carmela a sister too.”
He turns his head. “Could?”
I look back at him, a smirk tugging at my lips. His mouth is already parted, another grape waiting there—like bait. His eyes never leave mine.
I lean forward slowly, breath brushing his lips, and bite into the grape still resting on his tongue. My teeth drag against his lower lip.
My knees slide over the mat, parting slowly as I settle my weight over his lap. His thighs are warm beneath me, hard and steady. I can feel the shift in his breathing as my robe brushes open around me, loose now, the folds parting to expose the tops of my thighs.
His hands rest at my hips, warm and wide, thumbs caressing the soft dip of my waist. There’s another grape between his lips.
I lean in again, slower this time. I take it from his mouth with mine, my lips barely grazing his, the juice bursting sweet and cool between our tongues.
It drips—sticky and lazy—down the corner of my mouth.
He catches it with his thumb. Slides it across my bottom lip. Then presses it between my teeth.
I suck his fingers softly.
His gaze darkens.
“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs, voice rough now.
I shift in his lap, my thighs tightening around his hips. I can feel him stiffen beneath me, thick and beginning to rise against the curve of my heat.
“I know,” I whisper. “Isn’t it fun?”
He groans softly. His hands tighten on my hips, then trail down slowly, thumbs brushing the edges of my folds, just enough to make my breath catch.
His lips brush my ear.
“Tell me what kind of ending you want,” he murmurs.
I press my forehead to his. My breath is shaky. My pulse I's in my throat.
“I don’t want an ending,” I whisper. “I want to keep starting over. With you.”
His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. His mouth stays on mine as I settle deeper into his lap, our lips moving in a slow, wet rhythm. The kiss is unhurried but full of tension—like we’re both holding back something bigger.
His hands glide beneath the robe, palms cupping my ass, fingers dragging up the curve of my spine. I shift my hips. There comes the faint rasp of his zipper sliding down.
My breath stutters. His hands never leave me, but I feel the change. The pressure of his pants loosening beneath me. The gentle pull of fabric.
His fingers hook around the edge of my panties, dragging them to the side with ease, and I gasp when the tip of him brushes against me—thick, hot, already slick.
My body tenses, hungry, wet, ready. Then he presses in.
The stretch steals my breath. I brace my hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin as my thighs tremble around him.
He sinks all the way in, inch by inch, until he’s buried inside me. I can feel the heat of him pulsing against my walls.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my voice cracking as my forehead falls to his. “I love you inside me.”
His hands slide up my back, anchoring me. His eyes lock on mine, dark and wide.
“I love you,” he says, quiet but certain.
I nod, lips parting in a shaky breath. “I love you too.”
Then he starts to move.
Slow thrusts. Deep. Controlled. Each one pushing me open, making me feel everything.
He keeps his eyes on me, his mouth brushing mine as his hips rock upward into my heat. I roll my hips with him, gasping softly as the friction builds—sweet, hot, raw.
His hands guide my body, gripping my hips just tight enough to hold me in place as he thrusts up into me again. And again.
“You’re so perfect like this,” he whispers. “Wrapped around me. Looking at me like that.”
And I can’t look away.
Because in his eyes, I see everything—desire, tenderness, possession. And in this moment, I’m not just his.
I’m ours.
He begins to move and the groans of my pleasure fills the air.