Epilogue
Loriana
The morning light filters through bulletproof glass as I cradle our son against my chest, his tiny fingers wrapped around mine with the kind of trust that makes my heart ache with fierce protectiveness.
Seven months have passed since that terrible day in the warehouse, and Alessandro Codella has transformed our world into something softer, more precious, infinitely more worth protecting.
“Stellina,” Simeone’s voice carries from the doorway, rough with the kind of exhaustion that comes from checking the nursery every hour through the night. “How’s our little prince this morning?”
“Perfect,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to Alessandro’s dark hair. “Though I think he’s going to be as stubborn as both his parents.”
Simeone moves toward us with that fluid grace that never fails to make my pulse spike, despite the fact that we’ve been married for eight months and I’ve seen him in every state imaginable.
The sight of him in rumpled pajama pants and nothing else, his hair mussed from sleep, makes me want to take him right here and now, even though my body is still recovering from childbirth.
“May I?” he asks, reaching for our son with the careful reverence he’s shown since the moment Alessandro entered the world.
I transfer our baby into his father’s arms, watching as Simeone’s entire posture shifts into something protective and tender. The Silver Devil disappears, replaced by a man who would do just about anything and everything to keep his family safe.
“Business meeting at ten,” he says quietly, settling into the rocking chair beside the window. “Legitimate investors interested in expanding the shipping operations. You could sit in if you’d like.”
The casual invitation makes me smile. This is how our life works now—I’m involved in everything that matters, consulted on every decision, included in every aspect of his empire that doesn’t involve violence.
The bar I once managed alone now operates under remote supervision, with Clay handling day-to-day operations while I coordinate everything from the security of our estate.
“I might,” I say, curling up in the chair beside him. “Though I have to admit, I’m perfectly content staying here with him.”
“Are you?” Simeone’s dark eyes study my face. “You don’t miss it? The independence, the chaos of managing Crimson yourself?”
I consider the question seriously. Seven months ago, the thought of being confined to an estate—no matter how beautiful—would have made me feel trapped.
Now, surrounded by gardens I helped design, in a home where every room reflects choices we made together, with a child who needs me completely, the answer surprises me with its honesty.
“I don’t miss the chaos,” I admit. “I miss the satisfaction of building something with my own hands, but we’re building something here too. Something bigger than a bar or a business.”
“What are we building?”
“A dynasty,” I say. “A legacy worth passing down to him.” I gesture toward Alessandro, who’s making soft sounds against his father’s chest. “A world where he’ll never have to choose between safety and happiness.”
Simeone’s smile is satisfied. “You’ve adapted well to this life.”
“I’ve adapted to you,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“This life, this protection, this beautiful cage—it only works because I trust the man who built it around me.” I lean forward, reaching out to trace the line of his jaw. “Because I know you’re not keeping me here to control me. You’re keeping me here to love me.”
“Every day,” he confirms quietly. “In every way that matters.”
The comfortable silence that follows is broken by Alessandro’s soft crying, and I watch Simeone automatically adjust his hold. The sight still takes my breath away—this dangerous, powerful man reduced to putty in his infant son’s hands.
“You know what I realized last night?” I ask as I prepare Alessandro’s bottle.
“What?”
“I feel safer now than I ever have in my life. Not just because of the security protocols or the guards or the bulletproof glass.” I settle back into my chair, accepting our son as Simeone passes him to me for feeding. “Because I finally understand what it means to belong somewhere completely.”
“You belong here,” he says simply. “Both of you. Forever.”
“I know.” The certainty in my voice surprises even me. “That’s what makes it feel like freedom instead of captivity.”
We fall into the comfortable routine that’s developed over the past months—me feeding Alessandro while Simeone handles morning reports from his operations, both of us stealing glances at our son like we still can’t believe he’s real.
This is our world now: contained, protected, absolutely secure within the boundaries of love and choice.
“Stellina,” Simeone says suddenly, setting down his tablet. “I need to tell you something.”
The serious tone makes me look up from Alessandro’s feeding. “What?”
“Things are going to get better,” he says, and there’s something almost boyish in his excitement. “Much better. Starting today.”
“Better how?” I ask, though I’m not sure what could improve on our current situation. “We have everything we need here.”
“We have everything we need,” he agrees. “But you’re going to have something you want.”
“Which is?”
“The chance to return to work if you choose to. Real work, not just remote management.” His eyes brighten with anticipation. “The freedom to move through the city again without my constant supervision.”
I stare at him, not understanding. “Simeone, the security risks haven’t changed. If anything, they’ve increased since Alessandro was born.”
“The risks have remained the same,” he corrects. “But our capacity to handle them is about to expand significantly.”
“I don’t understand.”
His smile turns absolutely devastating. “My best friend is getting out of prison today.”
Simeone has never mentioned having a best friend, let alone one in prison. In all our time together, he’s presented himself as a man who stands alone, who trusts few people beyond his immediate operations.
“Your best friend?”
“Mauricio Barone,” he says, and the name carries weight I can feel even without understanding its significance. “We grew up together in Sicily. Built our first operation together. He’s been serving a fifteen-year sentence for a job that went wrong when we were young and stupid.”
“Fifteen years? He’s been in prison since before we met?”
“Since before I built most of what you see around us.” Simeone’s voice carries notes of old loyalty and anticipation. “But he’s kept his mouth shut, served his time, and in six hours, he’ll be free to help me protect what matters most.”
“Us.”
“You and Alessandro,” he confirms. “With Mauricio handling external security, I can focus entirely on you both. You’ll have the freedom to make choices about your life again because we’ll have the manpower to ensure those choices are safe.”
The implications start settling in my mind like pieces of a puzzle. Another layer of protection, someone Simeone trusts absolutely, the possibility of reclaiming parts of my independence without sacrificing our security.
“You want me to be able to leave the estate again,” I say slowly.
“I want you to be able to choose whether to leave the estate again.” His voice softens.
“Right now, this works—you, me, Alessandro, everything we need contained in one beautiful space. But people change. Needs change. When yours do, I want options that don’t require choosing between freedom and breathing. ”
“And if I never want more than this?”
“Then we’ll make this place so fucking perfect you’ll forget there’s anything else worth wanting.” He reaches for my free hand, threading our fingers together. “But you’ll know it’s a choice, not a necessity.”
Alessandro finishes his bottle and melts against my shoulder like babies do when they’re completely satisfied.
This moment hits me hard—our son breathing softly against my neck, Simeone’s fingers tangled with mine, morning light filtering through glass that keeps every threat at bay.
It’s perfect in a way that makes my chest tight.
“What’s he like?” I ask. “This best friend who’s going to change our lives?”
“Dangerous,” Simeone says without hesitation. “Loyal beyond reason. Smart enough to complement my planning and ruthless enough to execute whatever needs doing.” He pauses, considering. “You’ll either love him immediately or want to throw something at his head within five minutes of meeting him.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” I tease.
“The difference is that Mauricio earned his arrogance through fifteen years of keeping his mouth shut under circumstances that would’ve broken weaker men.” His voice carries respect and something that might be affection. “He’s proven himself in ways most people never get the chance to.”
“When do I meet this paragon of criminal virtue?”
“Tonight. I’ll pick him up once he’s released and bring him here, before anywhere else. I want him to understand exactly what he’ll be protecting.”
“And you think I’ll approve of him?”
“I think you’ll recognize a kindred spirit,” he says quietly. “Someone who understands that some things are worth any sacrifice to protect.”
The conversation is interrupted by Alessandro stirring against my shoulder, making the soft sounds that usually mean he wants his father’s attention. I transfer him back to Simeone’s arms, watching as our son immediately settles into the security of his father’s embrace.
“Are you nervous?” I ask. “About seeing him again after fifteen years?”
“Terrified,” Simeone admits with characteristic honesty. “Prison changes people. I don’t know who he’ll be now, whether the man I trusted with my life still exists.”
“But you’re willing to trust him with ours.”
“I’m willing to give him the chance to prove himself worthy of that trust.” His eyes meet mine over Alessandro’s head. “And if he’s not, I’ll handle it the way I handle all threats to my family.”
The casual way he discusses potential violence should disturb me. Instead, it makes me feel safer, more protected, absolutely certain that nothing will ever be allowed to threaten the world we’ve built together.
“I love you,” I tell him, because in moments like this, it’s the only truth that matters.
“Ti amo, stellina,” he replies, the Italian endearment making my heart skip like it did the first time he said it.
As we sit in our beautiful home, our son peaceful in his father’s arms, I realize that this is what happiness looks like: not perfect circumstances or endless freedom, but the absolute certainty that you’re exactly where you belong with exactly the people who matter most.
The Silver Devil’s willing captive, raising the next generation of Codellas in a world built from love and choice and protection so complete it feels like benediction.
I lean back in my chair and watch my husband murmur nonsense to our son in rapid Italian, and I know with absolute certainty that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.
The End.