Epilogue
Roman
"Daddy! Santa came!" She launches herself into my arms, still warm from sleep.
"Let's wait for Isabella," I whisper, pulling her onto my lap.
"I'll get her!" Before I can stop her, Angelica races to our bedroom.
I follow, leaning against the doorframe as my daughter gently shakes Isabella awake. My wife, my real wife now, not just on paper, blinks sleepily.
“It’s Christmas, Mama-Bella.” Isabella’s smile is radiant. My heart is filled to overflowing to see my wife and my daughter like this.
What the fuck did I do to get this lucky?
I’ve never been religious. Never believed in angels.
But I wonder if maybe Emilia is behind my newfound happiness. I can totally see her bring me and Isabella together, two stubborn lost souls needing love.
Isabella laughs, letting Angelica pull her from bed. Our eyes meet over our daughter's head, and the happiness I see there is a fucking miracle. After everything, we found this.
The living room erupts in chaos as Angelica tears through her gifts. Isabella snaps pictures on her phone, capturing Angelica's joy as she discovers the art supplies Isabella picked out, the custom dollhouse we chose together.
“Daddy, this is for you. Isabella helped me get it.” Angelica hands me a little box.
I shake it. “Is it a car?”
“No, Daddy! Open it.”
I open the box to find a very expensive watch. “Wow. I didn’t realize I paid you this much allowance.”
“I might have pitched in,” Isabella says.
“I love it.” I give them both a kiss.
When the floor disappears under wrapping paper, I reach for the last gift hidden behind the tree.
"For you," I tell Isabella, placing the carefully wrapped package in her hands.
She unwraps it slowly, revealing a leather-bound photo album. On the cover, engraved in gold, The Ginetti Family.
"Open it," I urge softly.
The first few pages contain photos of Emilia and baby Angelica, memories I want preserved.
I watch carefully, hoping they don’t upset Isabella.
If she is impacted, she doesn’t show it as she turns the next page filled with snapshots I've been taking secretly—Isabella teaching Angelica to sew, Isabella sleeping on the couch with fabric samples spread around her, Isabella laughing with Elena. And the first sonogram of Baby Ginetti.
The rest of the album is empty, waiting.
"For our future," I explain. "I want to document everything. The baby, Angelica growing up, all of us together."
Isabella’s eyes fill with tears. “I love it. And I love you. Thank you.” She kisses me.
Two hours later, I adjust my tie, the one Isabella and Angelica spent hours crafting together, as we enter Marco’s grand home for holiday festivities.
Christmas with La Corona families has always been an elaborate affair. This year is Marco’s turn to host.
"Look, Daddy! The triplets are here!" Angelica tugs my hand, her new dress, Isabella's finest work yet, swishing around her legs.
"Go ahead, Angel." I release her hand, watching her race across the marble floor.
Isabella squeezes my arm. "She looks beautiful, doesn't she?"
"Like her Mama-Bella." I kiss her temple, savoring the blush that still rises to her cheeks when I show affection in public.
The grand room gleams with tasteful opulence. Marco spared no expense, which is nice considering he’s never keen to host holiday events.
I scan the gathering, taking mental inventory out of habit. Marco stands near the fireplace, deep in conversation with Don Monti, whose wife arranges presents under the tree.
Dominic Vitale hovers near the bar, watching his cousin Elena corral her triplets alongside Angelica.
The children's laughter rises above the jazzy Christmas music playing softly in the background.
"Roman!" Marco breaks away, striding toward us with open arms. "And the lovely Isabella." He kisses her cheeks before clapping me on the shoulder. "That's quite the tie."
I straighten it proudly. "My girls made it."
"It's hideous." Marco grins. "I love it."
The tie, emerald green with uneven candy cane stripes, is objectively terrible. Isabella told me she'd picked another fabric but Angelica insisted on this one. Angelica's tiny stitches and Isabella's patient guidance are woven into every inch. I'd wear it to my grave.
"Merry Christmas, old friend," I tell him, meaning it more deeply than I have in years. It’s amazing what the love of a good woman can do for a man’s outlook on life. If only Marco would consider giving love a try.
“Come get a drink.” Marco gets me a scotch while Isabella goes to chat with Elena. My wife's hands move animatedly as she talks, occasionally touching her stomach in that unconscious way new mothers do.
"She's good for you," Marco says, appearing at my side. "I haven't seen you smile this much since—"
"Since Emilia," I finish. "I know."
“I worried you’d resent me for arranging the marriage.”
I arch a brow. “I know you’ll do anything to avoid marriage. But it’s good, Marco. You should consider it.”
He shudders. “Be nice.”
Don Monti raises his glass to me from across the room. I return the gesture with a respectful nod. Even Don Ferraza, Isabella's father, seems at ease tonight, watching his daughter with something like pride.
"Look at them," I murmur, gesturing toward the children.
Angelica sits cross-legged on the floor with Elena's triplets, helping little Adalina arrange a tower of blocks while the boys chatter excitedly about trucks. My daughter's face glows with happiness.
"She'll be a good big sister," Marco observes.
"She already is," I say, watching her patiently show Adalina how to balance the blocks. "Isabella's been good for her too."
It strikes me suddenly how much has changed.
Six weeks ago, I was a widower going through the motions, devoted to my daughter and my work but hollow inside.
Now I have a wife who challenges me, a baby on the way, and a future I never imagined I'd have.
I never thought I'd love again, much less this fiercely.
“Looks like Luca and Gabriella are finally here,” Marco says of Don Monti’s grown children. Luca I rarely see as he works his father’s business in Italy. Gabriella is a surprisingly sunny woman with a zest for life her father has never been able to keep her from living.
“Excuse me, Roman.” I watch as Marco goes to welcome them.
I move to join Isabella near the towering Christmas tree. I watch as I do so, but today not so much to assess risk and potential danger. Today, I’m just observing the closest people in my life.
"Notice something?" I murmur to Isabella, keeping my voice low. "Elena hasn't gone within twenty feet of Luca all evening."
Isabella follows my gaze. "You think there's something there?"
“I don’t know. I thought once, maybe, years ago.” I sip my scotch. "Before she had the triplets. Before he went to Italy."
The triplets are shouting now, Rocco and Elio arguing over a toy while Adalina mediates with the authority of a tiny dictator. Elena kneels between them as she negotiates peace.
"Maybe she's just busy with the children," Isabella suggests, leaning into my side. "Three four-year-olds don't leave much room for social niceties."
I consider this, watching Elena smooth Adalina's hair back from her face. "You’re probably right. Being a parent changes your priorities," I say, my arm tightening around Isabella's waist. "Everything else becomes background noise."
"Even La Corona business?" she asks with a small smile.
"Even that." I kiss her temple. "Don't tell Marco."
She laughs. “Your secret is safe with me.”
My attention moves to Marco, standing off on his own, his attention fixed on Gabriella Monti. Interesting. Dangerous, but interesting.
"Is Marco paying extra attention to Gabriella tonight?" I ask, keeping my voice low.
“Since when are you so interested in the love lives of your friends?”
I shrug. “Just being observant.”
“Yes, well, Marco is nearly twenty years older than her.”
I can't help the laugh that escapes me. "I am twenty years older than you, you know."
"That's different," she says, but her cheeks flush slightly.
"Is it?” I pull her closer against my side, enjoying the warmth of her. "Marco deserves happiness as much as anyone. He's been alone a long time."
Isabella leans into me. "You're right. I suppose I'm just surprised. Gabriella always seemed so… independent."
"Maybe that's exactly what draws him to her," I suggest, watching my old friend's face soften as Gabriella laughs at something.
"You know," I say quietly to Isabella, "your father originally wanted Marco to marry you. The Don of the Calabresi family would have been a more prestigious match than me."
Isabella follows my gaze to her father, then looks back at me. "Is that what you think? That I got the worse end of the deal?"
"It would have secured your position better. The wife of a Don rather than his right hand."
She turns to face me fully, one hand reaching up to straighten my ridiculous Christmas tie.
"Roman Ginetti, I wouldn't trade you for all the Dons in Italy.
You gave me the truth when everyone else offered lies.
And you gave me your heart when you swore you never would again.
" She rises on her toes to press her lips gently against mine.
"I didn't just get the better end of the deal. I got more than I could have ever dreamed of.”
“Well, when you put it that way, I’m quite a catch.”
“Yes, you are.”
I lean in and kiss her. For a moment, I see our future. More Christmases like this, but with more children. More joy. More love.
When Marco told me to marry Isabella, he didn’t give me an assignment.
He gave me my life back.
And I plan to hold on to it, to savor it, until my dying breath.