Bonus Epilogue
Harlow
The shower is warm. Steam coils around my ankles and beads down the curve of my belly, round and low and so heavy now I feel like I might tip forward any second. I’m nearly there. Any day now, they said.
Apparently, today is the day.
I woke up this morning with the bed empty, my husband nowhere in sight, a sharp and sudden pain in my abdomen, and my water broken. A cramp, low and deep, wrapped around my spine. And now it’s coming again. I hiss, bracing my hand on the tiled wall.
I breathe through it, jaw clenched, heartbeat thudding in my ears. It hurts. Badly.
After the shower, I take my time to dress, slip on clean panties, dry my hair. I exit the bedroom and as I walk toward the staircase, I hear a door slam downstairs.
“Honey, I’m home!”
Niccolò’s voice bellows through the house like he owns it. A smile tugs at my lips, right on time for the chaos.
Dante’s voice follows, low and venomous.
“These fucking people. It hasn’t even been a week since their last visit.”
A second later, my father grumbles.
“That’s no way to talk to your father in law.”
“You’re lucky Harlow loves you,”
Dante snaps.
I smile despite myself and slowly descend the stairs, one hand against the rail. Before I even reach the landing, Luka’s already there, scowling.
“What the hell are you doing coming down the stairs alone?”
he mutters.
“I’m pregnant, not an invalid,”
I say, rolling my eyes. Ever since I hit the third trimester, they’ve all lost their minds.
In the living area, chaos reigns. Enzo leans against the back of the sofa, Darion rifles through the drinks cabinet, and Mattia bounces a ball off the wall like it’s perfectly acceptable behaviour.
“Mattia, how many times do I have to tell you not to play with that ball inside the house?”
“Apologies, mom,”
he says with a sheepish smile, then grins, and as always, my heart swells at the sound of that word on his lips.
Dante’s head snaps up the second I speak.
“What the fuck are you doing down here? Why didn’t you call me? How did you descend the stairs alone?”
“I walked,”
I reply coolly.
“Last I checked, I’m still perfectly capable.”
My father’s expression softens. He steps forward, envelops me in a warm embrace, and presses a kiss to my forehead.
“You look tired,”
he says, voice low and fond.
“But as beautiful as ever.”
“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,”
I tease, lips curving into a smile.
Darion is next, pulling me into a firm hug.
“It’s been too long.”
“It’s been a week,”
Dante grumbles.
Darion glares at him. Dante glares back.
Enzo rests a hand lightly on my abdomen.
“And how is my future niece or nephew faring?”
We had decided not to learn the baby’s gender. The men were eager to know, of course, but I wanted a surprise, our surprise. This child is already adored beyond measure.
I’m just about to respond when another contraction rips through me, sharp, low, and unrelenting. My hand flies instinctively to my side, my breath catching.
When I lift my gaze, every man in the room is stock still, eyes wide, their expressions suspended in collective alarm.
“What’s wrong?”
Dante is at my side instantly, his hand on my back, eyes frantic.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“My water broke this morning.” I say.
Silence…
Then all hell breaks loose.
“You’re what?!”
“Fuck, get the car!”
“Where’s the hospital bag?!”
Leonardo stumbles into the hallway, swearing. My father looks both terrified and overjoyed. Luka, on the other hand, seems ready to faint. Mattia jumps up and down, shouting.
“The baby’s coming! Finally!”
I groan, clutching my stomach.
“You’re all useless. It just started. It’ll take hours.”
“I’m not taking any chances,”
Dante growls.
“You need to be under proper supervision immediately. Luka, get the hospital bag, it’s in the nursery.”
“On it!”
He bolts, only to catch his foot on the edge of the rug and go down hard. He scrambles upright in a flash, wide eyed and visibly rattled.
Whether it’s the fall or the prospect of childbirth that unsettles him, I can’t say. Perhaps both. With an awkward nod, he composes himself and sprints toward the nursery. A second later, I hear another stumble and sigh, rolling my eyes.
Bianca skids into the hallway, breathless but glowing.
“Madonna mia! Finalmente! I shall see to everything for your return, Signora. Buona fortuna!”
They half carry, half walk me to the car. Bags are loaded. Dante, Mattia, Luka, Mario, and Leonardo pile in. The rest follow in another vehicle.
In the car, I grip Dante’s hand tightly as contractions build.
“Go faster,”
Dante snaps.
“I’m already breaking every law,”
Mario replies darkly.
“Then break more.”
Another wave hits. I cry out, squeezing Dante’s hand like I mean to shatter bone.
“Fuck, leonessa,”
he growls.
“I hate this. I hate seeing you in pain.”
“So do I,” I hiss.
At the hospital, the car barely stops before Dante’s out, hauling open my door and lifting me into his arms.
“Get me a doctor! Right now!”
Every head turns.
A nurse approaches.
“Sir, what’s—"
“My wife is in labour.”
She looks from me to Dante, and her face pales.
“Don’t look at me like that,”
Dante snarls, voice low and dangerous.
“Get a doctor. Now.”
I press a hand to his chest, a quiet touch that reins him in slightly.
“This way, Signor,”
the nurse replies, subdued and swift.
At the registration desk, Dante plants both hands firmly on the marble counter, his voice a lethal growl.
“Why are we not already registered? I purchased the entire wing.”
I blink at him.
“You what?”
He leans down, brushing a kiss to my nose, his expression softening just enough to undo me.
Soon we’re escorted to a private suite, luxurious, quiet, but I scarcely register the surroundings. I’m trembling, breathless, clutching Dante’s hand with everything I have.
“Push, Harlow,”
the doctor instructs, calm but firm.
I push. I scream. I sob.
“Again.”
“I am pushing! What exactly do you think I’m doing?”
I snap, breathless. The doctor only smiles, undeterred. I exhale sharply.
“Apologies, I’m not usually this ungracious. But childbirth isn’t exactly for the faint of heart.”
“You’re extraordinary,”
Dante murmurs in my ear, his grip on me unrelenting.
“Shut up. I love you. But this hurts like hell.”
“You’re nearly there. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”
He breathes.
“One final push,”
the doctor urges.
“Come on, Harlow.”
I bear down with everything in me, pain, love, desperation, until a piercing cry cuts through the room.
Loud. Fierce.
“Oh my God,”
I whisper, shattered and whole all at once.
They place the baby on my chest, warm and trembling, impossibly small. Entirely perfect.
Dante kisses my forehead, his voice raw.
“You did it, love. I’m so proud of you.”
I glance down at our baby, heart thunderstruck.
“It’s a girl.”
He grins, triumphant and unsurprised.
“I told you.”
Later, in the stillness of the room, I hold her close against my chest, her breath a delicate whisper against my skin. Dante sits beside us, his broad hand supporting the back of her head as though she were crafted from the finest porcelain.
“She needs a name,”
he murmurs.
“A strong one,”
I reply, running my thumb along her cheek.
“I’ve always liked Alessia.”
I lift my gaze, startled.
“You’ve thought about this?”
His smile is slow, knowing.
“Of course. I knew she would be a girl. From the moment you told me you were pregnant. Alessia means defender. It suits her.”
I try the name on my lips.
“Alessia Vittoria Salvatore.”
Dante’s expression falters just slightly, his jaw clenched, eyes burning.
“For your mother,”
I whisper.
He nods once, his voice rough.
“It’s perfect. Alessia Vittoria.”
He kisses my lips, then bends to press his mouth to our daughter’s head.
Outside, voices rise, grumbling, pacing, the sound of boots shifting restlessly.
Dante glances at the door with a scowl.
“They’re all here. Shall I let them in, or tell them to come back tomorrow?”
I smile faintly.
“Let them in. They’ve been waiting for her almost as long as we have.”
Moments later, the room fills with voices and warmth.
My father enters first, his presence calm yet commanding. Without a word, he strides to my side, cups my cheek with a tenderness rarely shown, and presses a kiss to my forehead, his gaze then lowering to the newborn cradled in my arms.
I nod softly.
“It’s a girl.”
A faint smile tugs at his mouth, his voice rough with emotion.
“She’s perfect,”
he murmurs.
“Just like her mother.”
Niccolò claps Dante on the back.
“Another Salvatore to corrupt. Congratulations, dear brother in law.”
Darion steps forward, gruff as ever, but a faint smile tugs at his lips.
“You look good, sorella.”
Enzo reaches down and brushes a gentle hand over the baby’s swaddled form.
“She has your fire,”
he murmurs.
“I can feel it.”
Dante lifts Alessia and places her in the bassinet so everyone can admire her. Mattia barrels into the room seconds later, eyes alight.
“I want to see! Move!”
I pat the bed.
“Come here, piccolo.”
He climbs up beside me, peering over the edge of the bassinet.
“She’s so small. Like… really small. Do babies come in larger sizes?”
Luka smirks.
“She’s stunning. But fuck, we’ll have to fight off half the city in a few years.”
“Language,”
I mutter, rolling my eyes.
Mattia grins.
“More like the whole city. No one touches our sister.”
I laugh softly.
“You’re already planning her security detail?”
Dante crosses his arms, dark and brooding.
“She’s not marrying. Not until she’s fifty. Minimum.”
Mario cracks his knuckles.
“I’ll ready the arsenal.”
Leonardo scoffs.
“Over my dead body will some idiot even look at her.”
“She was born ten minutes ago,”
I groan.
“And you’re already plotting her love life?”
“Her protection,”
Niccolò says simply.
I lift my voice, drawing their attention.
“Everyone, meet Alessia Vittoria Salvatore.”
Smiles spread across the room, subtle and sincere, their hardened expressions softening for the tiny bundle nestled between us.
Eventually, the crowd begins to disperse, their voices trailing off into the hallway, until only the five of us remain, our family.
I settle back with Alessia latched at my breast, Mattia curled against the armchair, Luka on my other side. Dante beside me, fingers twined with mine.
Mattia lifts his eyes to me. “Mom?”
My throat tightens instantly.
“Yes, piccolo?”
“I love you.”
Tears sting. “Always.”
Luka, his voice quieter, nods. “Always.”
Dante’s voice joins theirs, low and solemn. “Always.”
I gaze down at the child in my arms, and everything inside me swells with a love so fierce it terrifies me.
“Our family,”
I whisper.
And at last, after blood, after fire, after storm, we are whole.
We are home.
The End