Epilogue Carmela
The late afternoon sun catches the crystal champagne flutes scattered across the terrace, casting rainbows against the mansion's stone facade.
Months after Matteo's proposal, and the celebration feels endless—toasts and laughter echoing off marble walls that have seen too much violence and not enough joy.
I adjust my oversized sunglasses and smooth down my cream silk blouse, the one that makes me look effortlessly put-together even when my world is about to shift completely.
In two hours, I'll be on a private jet to Chicago.
Away from this life. Away from the constant weight of being a Rosetti princess who needs protecting.
"You're really doing this." Matteo appears beside me, his auburn hair catching the golden light. Even relaxed and happy, there's worry in his amber eyes. "Running away to play normal."
"I'm not running." I lift my chin, the gesture automatic after twenty-three years of being the baby sister who refuses to break. "I'm taking a sabbatical. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Isabella joins us, her emerald engagement ring catching the light as she slides her arm through Matteo's.
Engagement suits her—she's softer now, more grounded.
Less like a beautiful statue and more like a woman who's learned to live instead of just survive.
"Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're tired of the chaos. "
She's not wrong. I'm exhausted by the violence, the way every conversation carries the potential for bloodshed, the constant calculation of who can be trusted and who might put a bullet in your back.
After watching Matteo kidnap the woman he loved, seeing Emilio nearly destroy himself chasing ghosts, witnessing Dom carry the weight of an empire on his shoulders—I need to remember who I am when I'm not performing the role of Rosetti princess.
"Maybe I am," I admit, surprising myself with the honesty. "Maybe I want to wake up in the morning without checking for snipers. Maybe I want to have coffee with someone who doesn't carry three different weapons to breakfast."
Matteo's expression gentles. "Just don't get yourself killed, Carm. Chicago might be family, but it's still dangerous."
"Everything's dangerous." I stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of expensive cologne and barely contained chaos that defines my brothers. "That's what makes life interesting."
"Speaking of interesting," Isabella says with a smile that's all feminine mischief, "I heard Dom talking to someone about your... accommodations. Apparently you'll have a babysitter."
"I don't need a babysitter."
"Tell that to Dom."
Across the terrace, Rafe and Sloane are huddled together near the garden wall, her head on his shoulder as they watch the sun dip lower.
Even after everything they've been through, they still look at each other like they're sharing secrets the rest of the world isn't privy to.
Emilio and Mara sit at a small table, her hand covering his as they speak in low voices—still working through the aftermath of their complicated reunion, but stronger for having survived it.
Dom appears beside us, having emerged from whatever business call he was handling. His expression is carefully neutral, which usually means he's arranged something I won't like.
"So," I say, adjusting my sunglasses with deliberate casualness, "I hear I'm getting a babysitter in Chicago."
"Protection," Dom corrects smoothly. "Van is a trauma surgeon. Former military. Quiet type who keeps to himself and owes the family a favor."
"Useful skill set," Isabella observes.
"In our world? Definitely." I smile, the expression sharp enough to cut glass. "Though I have to wonder what a military surgeon is doing in Chicago that requires Dom's particular brand of trust."
Leonardo appears with Eleanor on his arm, both of them glowing with that specific happiness that comes from surviving hell together. Leo's wild red hair is slightly tamed for the occasion, though his tattoos still peek out from his shirt collar like promises of violence barely contained.
"You talking about Chicago?" he asks, overhearing the tail end of our conversation.
"Carmela's curious about her new guardian angel," Matteo explains.
Leo's expression shifts, becomes something harder. More serious. "Word of advice, little sister? Don't dig too deep into his past. Some stones are better left unturned."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning he's not who he seems. None of us are, but Van..." Leo shakes his head. "Let's just say Dom trusts him for reasons that have nothing to do with his medical degree."
The pieces click together in my mind like a puzzle I've been unconsciously solving. A surgeon who moves in Dom's circles. Former military with secrets dark enough to make Leo uncomfortable. Someone who owes the family a favor significant enough to warrant babysitting duty.
This isn't protection. This is payment of a debt.
And I have absolutely no intention of being anyone's obligation.
"You're getting that look," Eleanor says with amusement. "The one that means trouble."
"I don't know what you mean." I flip my hair over my shoulder, the gesture pure performance. "I'm just going to Chicago to lay low and live quietly. Maybe take some art classes. Read books that don't involve strategy or surveillance. Live a completely independent, civilian life."
"Right," Matteo drawls. "And I'm a monk."
"A monk who kidnapped his own wife."
"Fiancée," he corrects automatically. "And it worked out."
"Kidnapping usually does in this family," Leo adds helpfully.
The sun dips lower, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink that make everything look softer than it really is.
In an hour, I'll say my final goodbyes and climb into a car that will take me to a private airstrip.
From there, it's a short flight to Chicago and whatever waits for me in that cold, windy city.
Dom's green eyes find mine across the terrace, and something passes between us. Understanding, maybe. Or warning.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Born ready."
But as I gather my purse and check that my luggage is loaded, my mind keeps circling back to that phone conversation. A trauma surgeon who keeps to himself. Former military with secrets. Someone Dom trusts despite—or maybe because of—whatever he's hiding.
They think they're sending me away to keep me safe, to let me play at being normal while some mysterious doctor keeps an eye on me.
What they don't realize is that normal was never about having a babysitter.
Normal means freedom. Independence. The chance to make my own choices without someone looking over my shoulder.
And the first choice I'm making? Ditching my assigned guardian before he even realizes I'm in the city.
I slide into the back of the black sedan, waving goodbye to my family through tinted windows.
Matteo's hand is on Isabella's waist, protective and possessive.
Leo and Eleanor are already planning their next adventure.
Dom stands apart, watching everything with those calculating eyes that miss nothing.
They think they know what they're doing, sending their wild card sister to the quiet cousin in Chicago with a built-in babysitter. They think I'll meekly accept protection from some grumpy doctor who prefers solitude to conversation.
They have no idea I'm planning to disappear the moment I land.
I settle back against leather seats and smile to myself as the mansion disappears behind us. Chicago, here I come. And the first thing I'm doing is losing my mysterious surgeon before he even knows I've arrived.
Dom can arrange all the protection he wants. Doesn't mean I have to use it.
Poor bastard probably thinks he's getting a docile Rosetti princess who'll follow orders and stay out of trouble. Instead, he's getting me—and I'll be gone before he can say "trauma bay."