Epilogue
Six months later
Gabriella
Opening an art gallery wasn’t quite the walk in the park I thought it would be.
A part of me—the naive part that didn’t know anything besides painting—thought all I had to do was find a building with ample space and good lighting and hang my paintings on those walls.
I never quite considered the logistics of it.
The need for a business plan, setting up legal and administrative structures, marketing—and the most stressful of all, the emotional toll it would take on me.
I fought with everyone.
From my well-intentioned but meddling brothers, who wouldn’t stop calling every hour, as though on a schedule, to see if I needed anything, to my boyfriend, who was convinced I would be scammed if he didn’t attend every meeting with me.
Suffice it to say, everyone was happy when I announced that the gallery was open for business, and it was only fitting that mine was the first art on those walls.
Unlike my senior year project with a theme of escapism, this collection was made from a place of love.
Every painting here reflects the people in my life and my affection for them.
I guess it only makes sense that opening night would be family only.
A part of me still marvels that I ever wanted to run away from this.
Watching my family move through the gallery reminds me how lucky I am to have them.
“Your art will never cease to surprise me.” I turn at Sofia’s voice, my smile dropping into a frown when I spot the sparkling water in her hands. Her eyes follow mine, and her smile widens. “I’m avoiding alcohol for a while.”
“Umm, okay.”
“It’s a secret.”
“What is?”
Sofia looks around to make sure no one is within earshot before grabbing my arm and pulling me to the side.
“Promise me you won’t tell a soul,” she whispers, holding out her pinky.
I chuckle before hooking it with mine. “Okay, so you know how I’ve been feeling queasy all week, and you told me to go see a doctor?
” I nod, my brows furrowing with concern. “I did, and guess what? I’m pregnant.”
“What!”
“Shh,” she says, clapping a hand over my mouth. “Matteo doesn’t know yet. No one does. I got the results this morning, and I’m planning on surprising him tonight.”
A giggle rises in my throat, and the little red dress she has on finally makes sense.
“Congratulations, Sofia,” I whisper when she drops her hand.
“I can’t wait to meet my little niece or nephew.
The Rossi household is going to be overrun with kids now that both you and Emilia are having babies,” I tell her, alluding to my other sister-in-law, who announced her pregnancy a few months ago.
“Promise you’ll keep it a secret.”
“My lips are sealed,” I swear, and we exchange a grin before she goes to find her husband.
I watch her slip her arms around my grump of a brother and smile when his gaze softens the moment his eyes settle on her.
Who would have guessed the powerful Matteo Rossi would fall?
Heck, all my brothers started dropping like flies when he did, and now, they’re all either married or engaged.
I start to look away when my gaze falls on another Rossi, this one standing apart, an air of solitude as he stares at the large portrait of Antonia Rossi.
The smile on my face stills as I watch my father, debating whether to approach him or leave him alone. He and I haven’t always had the best relationship, but for the past couple of months, I’ve felt his effort to close the distance.
With a sigh, I move closer, stepping next to him to look up at the painting. My mother was a beautiful woman, and as I’ve been told, her face mirrored her heart. Pure, loving, and caring.
“You remind me so much of her,” my father finally says, his eyes on the painting. “You look so much like her—it’s uncanny. And sometimes, it hurts to look at you because of how much you remind me of her. The love we shared is impossible to recreate, Gabriella.”
“I’m sorry.”
He chuckles, and when he turns to look at me, I am startled to see tears in his eyes.
I’ve never seen my father cry, not once in my lifetime, and it breaks my heart to see him light this.
“An innocent child like you—what do you have to be sorry about?” he asks with another laugh.
“I was cruel and selfish, Gabriella. Lost in grief, yes. But I had no right to treat you the way I did. I lost a wife, but you lost a mother, and by staying away, I also robbed you of a father as well.”
I shrug, emotions clogging my throat. “It’s okay. You were hurting.”
“It wasn’t right,” he says, grasping my shoulders and turning me to face him.
“I’m sorry, Gabriella. You shouldn’t have had to go through what I put you through.
I failed you. Antonia would be angry and ashamed at my behavior if she were here.
In front of this beautiful portrait of your mother, I want to ask for your forgiveness. ”
I turn away, trying and failing to blink back the tears, but they spill anyway.
When he reaches out to brush them from my cheeks, he only makes them fall harder.
I never expected an apology from him—never knew I needed it until this moment.
And to see a hard man like my father lay his heart bare, so open and vulnerable, free for me to do with it as I please, it undoes something in me.
“Okay,” I manage through the lump in my throat. “I mean, I don’t hate you or anything.”
He laughs, “That’s a relief, but I imagine I’ll need to put in the work to earn your trust the way your brothers do.
” When he pulls me into a hug, I all but melt into it.
We’ve never really hugged—not like this—so I lay my head on his shoulder and let go of the last bits of resentment I’ve been carrying.
“To mark this new beginning, how about I take my daughter to lunch and get to know her. See what else is happening in her life.”
I laugh, blinking back tears. “I’d love that.”
“Good, you can tell me all about your plans for the gallery at lunch tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.”
He steps back from the embrace then kisses my cheek, and with another smile, walks to Estella, who I realize has been watching us the whole time with a fond look on her face.
She nods at me before turning to her husband.
As I watch them together, I find myself feeling grateful for her.
They both understand the pain of losing a spouse, and I think my father is slowly his way back to himself—Estella helping to light the path.
Just like I would have lost myself without Nico. Speaking of which…
I turn and scan the room for my boyfriend.
Christ, even thinking of him as such gives me butterflies.
I spot him standing by a painting with Ghost—who is here after it took a lot of convincing on my part to get Matteo to allow it.
I explained everything to Sofia first, and she was curious to see the changed man.
While I know Ghost will never be fully welcomed back into the family, I did it for Nico and Estella, and for Sofia as well.
They all needed to see this new version of him to let go of some of the resentment.
I know all too well what resentment does to a person, and I didn’t want to see my sister-in-law carry it with her forever.
Ghost’s arrival had been tense at first, and everyone was wary.
But then, he’d walked over to Matteo and Sofia and apologized for his actions, promising to stay just the day.
And so far, he has wisely kept a respectful distance from Sofia.
Looking at Nico now, I can tell just how much it means for Ghost to be back, even if it’s just for a day.
And when he turns to look at me, I know there’s little I wouldn’t do to see him this happy—as happy as he’s made me.
***
Nico
The gallery is a buzz of hushed conversation and clicking champagne flutes.
This is a gathering of people I never thought I would ever see share the same space in this lifetime—and yet, here we are.
All of us. It’s strange, having my brother in the same room as my best friend, bracing for the moment when all hell breaks loose and guns come out, but so far, everyone has kept a respectable distance from each other.
For Gabriella.
I turn my head to seek her out, and when I spot her standing by her father, tears bright on her cheeks, my first instinct is to go to her.
To comfort her. To scowl at him for making her cry.
I’ll be damned if I let anyone hurt Gabriella, not even her own family.
But before I can take a step forward, Ghost grabs my arm.
“Don’t ruin the moment,” he tells me, nodding toward the pair. “I thought you were good at reading people.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, impatient. The need to get to Gabriella is overwhelming.
“Look at them,” Ghost says, hand tightening on my arm. I’m tempted to break it just to get it off me. “Goddamnit, Nico. You have blinders on when it comes to your girlfriend. Stop thinking with your heart and use your head for one second.”
I glare at my brother but look back at them, shifting my eyes from Gabriella’s soaked cheeks to Leonardo, and for the first time, I notice the tears in his eyes.
I watch with something like horror as they fall.
I’ve never seen Leonardo Rossi shed a tear.
Not even when his wife died. He stood by her grave, a boulder with an angry air about him that kept everyone at arm’s length.
For many years, he remained a very angry man, and it took a while for that to change.
Seeing him emotional in front of so many people feels surreal.
When he leans forward to hug his daughter, something in me loosens.
“Damn, Nico. You’re a goner, aren’t you?”
“Completely,” I agree, turning to my brother, content to leave Gabriella and her father to their moment. “She’s it for me.”