Epilogue
LENI
Two months later…
I shouldn't have come here.
At least, that's what Romero said when I told him about my brilliant plan.
And judging by the way these officers are watching me—like I’m here to start some kind of trouble—he might have been right.
I lift the pastry boxes higher in both hands, doing my best to look as non-threatening as a woman bearing gifts possibly can. “I come in peace,” I announce, flashing them my brightest smile while trying to meet as many tired, wary faces as I can.
Their suspicious stares immediately shift to the boxes, eyeing them like they’re expecting them to start ticking. One officer—an older guy with bushy eyebrows and a scowl—gets up from his desk to inspect my offerings.
“Yeah?” he asks skeptically, poking at one of the boxes. “What’s in there?”
“Homemade chocolate chip cookies.” I raise my right hand. “And banana bread in this one.” Okay, I ordered the bread, but they don’t need that level of honesty.
“Hmm, and why exactly are you bringing snacks here? This some kind of bribery attempt?” another officer chimes in, earning himself a sharp elbow jab from his colleague.
Before I can respond, a familiar face enters the office space. The female officer who drove the patrol car that brought me here that night. The one who went to check on my scooter and arranged for it to be towed.
Her brown hair is pulled back in that same severe bun, her dark eyes exhausted as she frowns at me. “What’s Mrs. Lombardi doing here?”
The atmosphere shifts instantly. Several officers visibly stiffen, shooting me new looks of wariness. Some even glance nervously behind me at the door like they’re expecting my husband to march in at any time and start raising hell.
I swallow my chuckle. “Only if you consider chocolate chip cookies some form of coercion,” I tell the bribery-concerned officer.
“Besides, my husband happens to be the best lawyer in the country. I won’t need to bribe anyone to win a case.
” I throw in a playful wink when half the room grumbles under their breath.
The female officer’s lips twitch as she relieves me of both boxes. “Sounds delicious.” She places them on a nearby desk and pops the lids open. “Looks legit. No raisins?”
“God, no. I’m not a monster.” I grin, earning myself a few grunts of approval—progress. “They’re completely safe,” I continue, raising my hands in mock surrender. “Scout’s honor.”
“You don’t look like a scout,” she mutters, but takes one of the cookies anyway. She makes this satisfied sound in her throat as she chews, and almost immediately she’s surrounded by eager colleagues, all reaching for the pastries.
Mission accomplished.
Maybe Romero was right and I shouldn't have come here, but I had to come at least once to treat these tired officers. Because it all started here.
Okay, maybe not here exactly. Maybe it all started the moment I was born into a family of liars and addicts. Maybe every decision my parents made was leading to this moment, or the choices I made along the way. But this police station was definitely the turning point.
If I hadn’t been arrested that evening, if the bachelorette party hadn’t packed the holding cell, if I hadn’t been handcuffed to a chair right where I’m standing now, I never would have met Romero.
The butterfly effect is staggering when I think about it.
No arrest means no firing from that job I lowkey hated.
No job loss means no desperate need to go serve at that senator’s party.
No party means no second encounter with Romero.
So when the loan sharks showed up to take Mom and Ethan away with their threats, I wouldn’t have had anyone I could turn to.
My entire life would have unspooled in a completely different direction...
I shudder remembering Mikkel’s horrific words about what he had planned for Ethan and me. Without Romero’s intervention, I would have gone from virgin to glorified prostitute, trapped in a cycle of debt that would never end. Not with a man like Mikkel profiting off my body.
No chance I’d have ever caught the attention of a man whose world revolves around blood and secrets then. And I definitely wouldn’t be this deliriously happy and in love.
So yes, maybe I shouldn’t have come here, but I wanted to—needed to.
And I’m so glad I did.
Because all those things that might not have happened did happen.
I met Romero at the right time. He gave me his card.
Then I caught his attention again at that senator’s party.
And he saved me—also single-handedly saved my family.
Got Ethan into NYU, got Mom into rehab. Gave us all a second chance at life.
And who knows? Maybe I saved him too—just a little bit.
The officers are no longer suspicious, their defensive postures melting away as they dive into the pastries.
One of them actually cracks a smile at me as he chews.
I linger just long enough to hear them start arguing over who gets the last piece of banana bread before slipping back out into the crisp evening air.
The car is waiting right in front of the station because this visit was just a quick detour on my way to Rafael's for dinner with family. I lift my chin, my heart swelling with deep, satisfied contentment. I now have six honorary brothers and sisters. Plus nieces and a nephew.
Elira gave birth to her bundle of joy last month, so tonight’s officially a celebration.
Though I’ve learned that Rafael and Emily will use literally any excuse to throw elaborate dinner parties at their place. Showing off their stunning penthouse mansion and incredible private chef. But a new baby is definitely a good reason to celebrate.
I adjust my purse strap as I walk down the station steps, unzipping it to take my phone out so I can text my Romeo. We were supposed to drive there together, but something urgent came up at work and I decided to leave without him. He’d meet me there.
I unlock my phone and am halfway through typing when something makes me go still. I can’t pinpoint what it is—paranoia? Intuition? Or maybe just the survival instincts I’ve developed since marrying into this life. But suddenly it feels like someone’s watching me.
Shit.
And apparently my bodyguards—I never go anywhere without them now, and I finally understand why Emily was so blasé about them during my bachelorette party—sense it too because they’re already moving away from the car towards me.
That’s when she materializes—a woman appearing as if conjured from the air itself, cutting me off with blue eyes blazing with a host of emotions I can’t understand. “Leni, lose the guards. I need to talk to you.”
She knows my name.
And thanks to Emily’s lunch-time photo sharing, I know hers.
Katherine Pierce. The missing FBI agent.
My bodyguards are close now, weapons drawn and trained on her head. I raise my hand quickly. “Wait! It’s okay, I know her.” They stop but don’t lower their weapons, and I notice Paul pulling out his phone—no doubt to text Romero.
“I’m afraid I can’t leave their sight. So you’ll have to say whatever you need to say with them watching,” I apologize, and she gives me a jerky nod.
“You shouldn’t be with him,” she starts, leaning towards me with a note of urgency in her voice. “You think he’s gentle, charming, kind—but he’s just like the other Nightshades. He only knows how to wear a convincing mask.”
I don’t need her to specify who he is. “While I appreciate this warning,”—and I do, especially knowing Emily and the guys have been searching for her for months, and she came out of hiding to what, warn me?
—“I’m not under any illusions about who I married.
I know exactly what kind of man my husband is, so I don’t need the heads-up.
” I study her face. “Where have you been, Katie?”
She looks… good. Healthy. Her blonde hair is now cut short to her chin, but the strands look thick and shiny. Her cheeks are rosy, and I don’t see any bruises or signs of injury. If she hasn’t been getting tortured these past few months, why hasn’t she contacted Emily?
“You know who I am.” Her tone flattens. “Glad to see Emily is making new friends.” Is that a hint of jealousy in her voice?
From my peripheral, Paul pockets his phone, done with his emergency text. Can I stall her until Romero shows up?
Probably not.
“You’re going to Rafael’s, aren’t you?” She reaches down to grab my hand before I can confirm or deny.
“Tell Emily I’m sorry. So very very sorry for how everything spiraled.
Tell her I’m fine. Then tell her to call off her fucking dogs—they’re putting me in danger.
It was a massive fucking risk to even come here now, but I didn’t see any other way to get this message through. ” Her words end with an angry bite.
Before I can think of a response, she lets go of my hand and melts back into the shadows like she was never there. My guards immediately rally around me, forming a protective formation as they usher me to the car.
I spend the whole ride to Rafael’s pondering Katie’s cryptic warning, deliberately ignoring Romero’s increasingly demanding texts about who the hell I was talking to.
He’ll find out soon enough.
The moment I step off the elevator into the penthouse, I seek out Emily. She’s in the master room getting ready, since I’m apparently the first to arrive—a miracle considering my impromptu detour.
“You won’t believe what just happened on my way here,” I announce, perching on the edge of her vanity table.
“The cops rejected your pastries?” she asks with a grin while curling mascara through her lashes.
“I saw Katie.”
She freezes mid-application, then slowly looks up at me with wide, startled eyes. “What?”
I relay the encounter, leaving nothing out. By the end of it, she’s pacing the room, visibly shaken.
“What did she mean that it’s putting her in danger? Is she on some kind of underground mission?”
I don’t have any answers, so I just watch her, wondering if perhaps I should have waited until after the dinner to share this news. Then she shakes herself, seemingly pulling it together.
“This is actually good news. We can trace her from this encounter.”
I’m about to answer when Romero’s voice booms through the penthouse. “Leni!”
I sigh as I slide off the vanity. “Romero’s here. Hold that thought.”
My husband is waiting in the living room, radiating barely contained fury. Before he can start ripping into me, I walk straight into his arms where I belong.
“You won’t believe who I ran into at the station,” I say against his chest, then tell him everything.
“You should’ve called me the second you recognized her,” he scolds, scowling down at me.
“And risk her disappearing before I could find out what she wanted?” I snort. “No way.”
His mouth forms a thin line as he pulls out his phone and types rapidly. “You’re getting punished for that when we get home,” he says in this silky voice as he drops his phone back into his jacket pocket, and my core clenches in anticipation.
“I can’t wait,” I reply cheekily, which makes his eyes darken dangerously.
The Leonottis arrive then, and I temporarily forget about my husband and his delicious promise of punishment as I coo over the dark-haired baby boy who’s a splitting image of Maximo. Elira’s genes didn’t even try to compete.
“What can I say?” she laughs when I point this out. “Maximo’s genes are as dominant as he is.”
Romero pulls Maximo aside—most likely to brief him in on the Katie situation—so I fill Elira in on the news while I play with baby Luca. She’s appropriately shocked and glances towards the stairs with worry in her eyes.
“Rafael is with her,” I assure her, and she nods.
Dinner starts out tense, everyone lost in their own thoughts about tonight’s events.
But the kids quickly lighten the mood with their antics.
The twin girls, who are crawling now, absolutely refuse to sit still in their high chairs—wiggling around and crying to be let down so they can upend the dining room.
Eventually, Rafael throws up his hands and demands they be freed from their chairs, and we all dissolve into laughter as we watch their chaos unfold.
“Just think,” Romero whispers in my ear, “one day our kid will join this mayhem.”
Our kid. I grin up at him, heart as full as my belly. “I can’t wait.”
After dinner, we migrate to the huge balcony overlooking the city as we all nurse mocktails. Even the guys are not allowed alcohol tonight. If we can’t drink, neither can they.
Romero’s phone shatters the peaceful moment, his entire body rigid as he answers. “Repeat that, Adam. I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Of course,” comes the breathless reply. “I found agent Katie Pierce.”
Holy shit.
The atmosphere shifts instantly. Everyone inhales sharply, attention fixed on Romero’s phone.
“I followed her trail from the station and managed to track her down,” he continues. “She’s been hiding in Queens this whole time, right under our noses. Deep in Albanian territory, working as a maid in the Permetti’s compound. No wonder we couldn’t find her—we had no reason to look there.”
Wait, what?
I glance at Elira, whose lips are parted in shock. It must be jarring to learn Katie was in her family’s compound all along.
“I’m sending a photo. It might not be clear since I had to take it from a distance, but I’m positive it’s her.”
Romero thanks the guy I figure is his investigator and ends the call. Almost immediately, his phone pings with a text. “I’m forwarding it,” he tells his brothers.
I lean into his phone to examine the photo. It is blurry, just like the investigator warned, but there’s no doubt about the identity. Katie Pierce. Emily makes this sound that’s half sob, half laughter as she stares at Rafael’s phone, obviously looking at the same picture.
I’m glad she’s been found—for Emily’s sake. But new questions are crowding my mind.
What the hell has she been doing in the Albanians’ territory?
What could she possibly be looking for there?
No way a former FBI agent ends up working as some sort of maid in the compound of the Albanian crime boss without an ulterior motive.
So, what’s her motive?