Epilogue Giovanni
epilogue: giovanni
GIOVANNI
“Do you see that croissant? Look at the lamination—those layers!”
Kit’s voice was breathless with wonder, her nose nearly pressed to the glass of the bakery window. Sunlight caught her hair, casting a soft golden halo around her, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
“I swear to God, I can’t eat another dessert—” Tommy groaned, patting his stomach.
“Pretty sure we’ve single-handedly boosted the entire French pastry economy,” Marco added, his grin reflecting in the glass beside hers.
“But they were all so good.” Kit practically bounced on her toes. “We could visit each one a second time.”
I chuckled. “We better keep a close eye on our Omega. If we’re not careful, she’s going to apply for French citizenship. I think she’s fallen for this city.”
“What’s not to love?” Kit sighed with a dreamy expression, as if the city had whispered sweet nothings straight to her soul.
Marco stepped closer. “You still love us more, though, right?”
She pursed her lips like she was truly considering the question. “Do you come with desserts?”
“I’ll buy you treats every fuckin’ day, Angel.”
Her lips softened into the sweetest smile. “I’m teasing. Though I will never say no to sugar.” Hooking her fingers in the collar of his t-shirt, she tugged him closer. “You know, I love you more, right? With or without the treats.”
“I do, Kit. And I love you right back. We all do.”
“But word to the wise,” I clamped my hand down on Marco’s shoulder, “she’ll love us even more if we ply her with baked goods,” I teased.
My mate giggled but didn’t deny it, and fuck, I loved to see her playful side.
We’d been in Paris for five days, and I’d made damn sure she saw every café, every patisserie, every sugar-dusted, chocolate-drizzled dream the city had to offer. I’d even booked her a private class with Julien Roche—a French baking legend whose macaroons were rumored to make grown men weep. She’d come out of that class glowing like sunlight on water, flour on her cheek, grin stretched ear to ear.
She’d never looked more alive.
I’d seen her strong. I’d seen her broken. But this? This was her light, unburdened and burning bright. And fuck if it didn’t undo me every time I looked at her.
We started walking again, leaving the café behind. On one side, Kit hooked her arm around mine while on the other she held onto Tommy’s hand, walking happily between us. Marco followed behind us, while Dimitri was ahead, sunglasses on, scanning the crowds like the overprotective Alpha he was.
He clocked everything—every passing face, every car that got too close—but even he couldn’t help but soften when Kit skipped forward and slipped her hand into his.
She was everything. Every goddamn thing.
“Are we close?” she asked him, always trusting him to know where we were and where we were going.
D didn’t answer, just gave her one of those quiet, knowing smiles that said more than words ever could.
Then we turned a corner—and there it was.
The Eiffel Tower, rising above the city, framed by that perfect sunset sky.
Kit gasped. Her hand flew to her chest, and she rushed forward as we walked onto the green. “Oh my god. It’s even more majestic close up.”
She turned to share the moment—then froze.
I saw the second her breath caught. Because we weren’t just admiring the view. We were admiring her .
The four of us stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed on our girl.
Tommy grinned. “Told you there’d be one more surprise.”
Dimitri stepped forward first, pulling a square velvet box from his pocket. “We’ve already claimed you in every way that matters. You’re ours, Kitten.” Using both hands, he opened it, presenting her with a beautiful gold band with a large diamond displayed in an intricate setting.
Marco flipped open a second box, without ever looking away from her, his band a perfect compliment. “But we want to be bound to you in every way.”
Tommas moved beside them, holding out his own. “Will you marry us?”
Then it was my turn. I stepped up beside my brothers, my heart damn near pounding out of my chest. “Say yes, Sweetness.” My voice was gravel, rough around the edges, like everything else I was.
I opened my box, revealing a simple gold band. No diamonds. No frills. Just solid, strong, and steady—like what I felt for her. I knew it was perfect the second I saw it.
On the inside, I’d had it engraved with two words: Mine. Always.
Because that’s what she was. What she’d always be.
Her eyes went glassy. Her bottom lip trembled. She looked at each of us, completely undone, the Paris sky glowing gold behind her like a goddamn movie.
“Yes.” She nodded, breathless and beautiful. “Of course, yes!”
We slid the rings onto her fingers. Each one was different, but together they formed something whole. They complemented each other—just like us.
Kit laughed through her tears as we wrapped her up in a tangle of limbs and warmth and love. Tourists cheered. Someone took a photo.
But all I saw was her—shining like the fucking sun, standing in the middle of my world, making it turn.
And I knew, right down to the marrow in my bones, I’d spend the rest of my life protecting that light. Loving her so hard, it would never have the chance to go out.