Epilogue Rafe
One month later, I'm reading the morning news on my tablet when the headline catches my eye:
"Scorpione Nero Leader Found Dead in Naples Warehouse."
I feel nothing at all as I scan the article describing what the police are calling a "gang execution" - three bullets to the head, very professional, no witnesses. The kind of death that sends a message without leaving fingerprints.
Enzo enters the breakfast room of our Capri villa, coffee in hand, his expression carefully neutral.
"You saw?" he asks.
"Yes." I set the tablet aside and reach for my espresso. "Took longer than expected."
"These things take time. The hit had to look natural. Random violence, you know how it is in Naples. Bad things happen." He settles into the chair across from me. "The remaining lieutenants have already reached out through intermediaries. They want peace."
"And?"
"I told them peace was never the issue. Respect was. They understand now."
Through the open terrace doors, I hear Nikki's voice, bright and animated as she films her morning routine for her followers.
Something about skincare and Italian sunshine.
Her engagement ring catches the light as she gestures, and I feel that familiar tightness in my chest, part possession, part protectiveness.
"And the video?" I ask.
Enzo pulls out his phone, shows me a screenshot.
"Carlo Messina's face has been completely scrubbed from every version online.
Our tech team's been working around the clock.
Deep fake technology, frame-by-frame editing.
As far as the internet's concerned, that thirteen-second mark shows nothing but empty space and shadows. For two days, his name trended in subreddits before we flooded the feed with misleading theories and burner accounts,” Enzo adds.
“The internet's memory is short. Especially when we feed it distractions.”
"And the original?"
"Gone. We bought two moderators, a cloud storage admin, and scrubbed four VPN trails.
It's not gone by accident." He pauses. "Also, your mother-in-law's flight landed safely.
Security confirms she's home in Orlando.
She thinks they're 'charming Italian tour guides' you hired as a wedding gift.
" I actually smile at that. "She'll be back next month.
Nikki's convinced her to 'visit' indefinitely. "
"Smart. Easier to protect what's close."
"If I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much more about the video. Nikki’s followers are more interested in your abs than background details anyway."
I actually smile at that. "She's good at misdirection."
"She's good at everything. The wedding video alone has forty million views. They're calling you two the 'couple of the century.' Very romantic, very public, very..." He searches for the word.
"Distracting?" I offer.
"Exactly. Hard to investigate a crime family when everyone's too busy shipping your relationship."
Nikki appears in the doorway, phone in hand, still in the silk robe I bought her. Her hair's pulled back, no makeup. She looks nothing like the polished influencer persona and everything like mine.
"Good morning, gentlemen," she says.
She slides onto my lap like she’s claimed it. Like she’s claimed me. Which she has.
I don’t feel like I’m losing power. I feel like I’ve found something worth giving it up for.
"Plotting world domination before breakfast again?" she asks.
"Always," I murmur against her neck, breathing in her scent. "How's the empire?"
"Thriving. The honeymoon content is performing incredibly well.
Apparently, watching you brood aesthetically by the Mediterranean is very good for engagement.
" She shows me her phone screen, a photo of me reading yesterday, unconscious of her camera, the sunset painting everything gold.
"This one has three million likes already. "
Enzo snorts. "Boss, you're officially more famous than most movie stars."
"Fame was never the goal," I say. I'm looking at Nikki, watching the way she scrolls through comments with practiced efficiency, hearting the ones that amuse her and ignoring the rest. “Protection was.”
"Mission accomplished," she says softly, meeting my eyes. "No more mysterious threats. No more shadow organizations. Just us and our very public, very documented, very boring domestic bliss."
As if anything with her could ever be boring.
"Speaking of boring," Enzo says, standing, "I have a conference call with legitimate businessmen about legitimate investments. Very tedious stuff."
He leaves us alone on the terrace. Nikki sets her phone aside and turns in my lap, straddling me properly, her hands coming up to frame my face.
"You know what I realized this morning?" she asks.
"Tell me."
"I was never really free before. I thought I was.
Making my own money and building my own brand.
But I was always performing, always calculating the angle, always worried about the next post, the next trend.
" Her thumbs brush across my cheekbones.
"With you, I'm actually free. Free to be real. Free to choose what matters."
"And what matters?"
"This. Us. Building something that isn't just for show." She grins, that dangerous smile that still makes my pulse spike. "Though the show is pretty spectacular too."
I kiss her then, slow and deep, tasting coffee and contentment on her lips. When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers.
"No regrets?" I ask, though I know the answer.
"One," she says, and my stomach tightens until she continues. "I regret not jumping you sooner. We could have been doing this for months longer."
I laugh and she beams like she's won something precious.
Outside, the world continues spinning. Social media algorithms push our carefully curated happiness to millions of screens. Former enemies lick their wounds and remember why crossing me was a mistake.
But here, in this moment, with my queen in my lap and our empire secure, there's only one truth that matters.
We didn't just survive the storm.
We became it.
The End
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Damon by Heather Carmel on .