Epilogue
Luna
NINE MONTHS LATER
“Reese, I don’t know when I’ll be in Paris next.”
It’s already dark when I pull my sleek Aston Martin into the private underground parking lot, my stomach sinking when I see the spot for Cade’s pickup is empty.
Shit. He’s still not home.
Three hours of negotiations with tech experts, and all I could think of was that Cade was in a meeting that could end in bloodshed.
Someone’s done the math, and apparently, once a dozen times Capos meet, blood spills. And this particular meeting is likely winning those odds since my husband and the Beast of New York are sitting face to face.
The last time they were in the same room, one of them had squashed the other inside a wooden crate.
Reese whines through the car’s Bluetooth, dragging me out of my head. “You can’t just abandon your best friend, Luna.”
I snort. “Oh, cut the crap. We didn’t speak for six months and you survived. Besides, I don’t know if you heard, but I’m busy running—”
She jumps in, “The business I broke my fucking back helping you brainstorm for? Yeah, I heard.”
“You mean the way you were helping while also fucking my uncle’s brains out behind my back ?”
Reese dissolves into cackles. “God, I’ve missed that mouth of yours.”
I gag. “Eww! Disgusting.”
Reese’s laughter only gets louder, filling the car.
I’m not sure if it’s because she’s finally broken up with Uncle Jacques—and is now dating her fifty-year-old boss—or because I’ve developed a thicker skin over the years, but somehow our friendship feels closer than ever. Maybe it’s both.
“I’ve missed you too,” I say with a smile. “But honestly, I don’t see Paris happening for another three or four months.”
“Luna!” Reese huffs in protest.
“What?” I snicker. “You could always pull your own weight and visit . . . Oh wait, you can’t. Last I heard, a certain someone would have you flattened with an eighteen-wheeler, scraped off the road, and set on fire. In no particular order.”
“Wow, bitch.” Reese’s mock horror carries through her snorting laughter. “You’re starting to sound like a complete psycho. Reflective of the company you’re keeping these days, no doubt.”
I grin because she’s not wrong. That’s what happens when you’re surrounded by the likes of Nico and Dante—the kind of big brothers whose idea of fun involves dropping their baby sister on her head just to see if she bounces. And don’t even get me started on the rest of those Capos.
My phone pings with a text, the sound unnaturally loud in the parking garage. “Got to go, Reese. I’m home.”
I disconnect and step into the private elevator, glancing down at the message from my assistant:
Market projections are in. You were right about Lisbon, boss.
Of course, I was right about Lisbon—just like Warsaw and Paris before that. Europe is hungry for Guilty Pleasures. Desire speaks every language.
The elevator doors glide open to our penthouse, and I kick off my Louboutin pumps with a relieved groan.
Saint bounds around the corner, but even in his excitement, he waits for permission, his whole body vibrating with anticipation.
“Come here, big guy.”
At my command, the dog presses against my legs, his tail wagging furiously. It’s hard to believe this is the same creature who tore out a man’s throat nine months ago.
“How’s Rex?” I ask, scratching behind Saint’s ears.
Without hesitation, he leads me to the terrarium to show me his pet iguana. Getting him to protect something smaller had been Cade’s idea, and now Saint guards his cold-blooded charge with the same vigilance he shows me—even if Rex seems utterly unimpressed by the toys Saint leaves in his enclosure.
I glance at my watch again, anticipation and dread curling in the pit of my belly. It’s getting late.
After three days away, Cade returned from Harmony, all bike, leather, and raw sex appeal, and right at the time I was pulling out of the lot this morning
Now I’m driving myself crazy imagining him in Armani, filling the shoulders and crotch of his suit to mouth-watering perfection.
Saint’s wet nose nudges my hand. Right. Back to work. I might run on love and raw need, but Guilty Pleasures runs on deadlines and projections.
I head to my home office, Cade’s massive form a shadow at my heels. The wall of windows frames a spectacular view of Chicago’s nighttime skyline, but my eyes, as always, snag on the photo on my desk.
Taken in Harmony on our wedding day—me in a wedding dress and biker boots, perched on the Ducati, Cade between my legs, looking down at me like I hung the moon.
The desk intercom breaks the moment. “There’s a signed delivery for you, Mrs. Quinn.”
“Thanks, send it up, Kevin.”
Thinking it’s the samples of Boundless —the newly launched anal beads I ordered—I head to the door.
Instead of the expected samples, I’m handed a flat white envelope addressed to me with Dante’s familiar chicken scratch.
“Okay, boy,” I murmur to Saint, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
I move to the hallway table and open it. There’s a folded note paper-clipped to a wrinkled medical report from Seaway Memorial.
My heart stops. I’ve never seen it before, but I know it’s the same one I crumpled and tossed into the bin nine months ago.
My phone lights up, Sophie’s name flashing on it. I let the call go to voicemail as I unfold the note:
Two things about breaking negative news: timing and tact. Too bad, I suck at both. Love you, Sorellina. DV.
My stomach plummets, freefalling into a hollow ache. I stare at the words, but they refuse to make sense at first—medical jargon swimming before my eyes, until one line stops me cold:
RESULTS: Negative – No genetic mutations associated with Lynch Syndrome were found.
I read it again.
And again.
“Oh my God.” The words feel too small, too inadequate for the magnitude of this moment.
I’m not sick. I’ve never been sick.
Shock hits first, then relief—so profound it makes my knees weak. Joy bubbles up, wild and uncontrollable, only to be slammed back by anger so sharp it steals my breath. Confusion follows, spinning my world off its axis.
How the hell did this happen?
My phone lights up again. Sophie. This time, I answer.
“Hey, how did the negotiation go?” Sophie begins, but I cut her off.
“Soph, get Addy on the line.”
“Luna? What’s wrong?”
“Conference call. Now.”
Less than a minute later, Addy’s slightly breathless Irish lilt comes on without preamble. “I have four alphas growling at each other in my study, about twenty armed guards roaming around my house, two of whom are in a stare-off with my boys, who, by the way, should be in bed, but otherwise, what’s up?”
Normally this would be gist fodder, but I can’t engage beyond the words spilling out of my mouth. “Guys, I’m not sick. I don’t have LS.”
I hear both women catch their breaths as the silence stretches, then breaks with them talking over each other:
“ What do you mean?” “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Dante sent me the test results he’d been hanging on to since that day.” I sink back into my chair, staring at the paper that just rewrote my reality.
“I’m going to kill him,” Addy’s voice hardens.
“Hey, Nico looked at those results too,” Sophie says slowly. “He knew.”
An ache blooms in my chest. Both of them kept it from me.
“Do you think Cade knew, too?” Addy asks.
“No.” On this, I’m certain. “He didn’t know. Or care either way.”
“Of course, he didn’t. That man would walk through fire for you,” Sophie quips.
“So would Dante and Nico,” I point out bitterly.
Sophie sighs. “They’d better have a damn good reason for this.”
“You need a reason?” I scoff. “How about they’re twisted bastards who like to play God on the side? And it’s high time that fucking meeting ended. I’m coming there to squash that shit—
“Wait, this isn’t an in-house Capo’s meeting. They’re negotiating with the Beast , remember.“ Addy warns.
My anger crystallizes into purpose. “So? He’s welcome to watch the family drama or fuck off. Either way, I’m wringing Dante’s neck tonight.”
“Not if I get my hands on him first,” Addy mutters darkly.
“Great, we’re crashing it then. Soph, you coming?” I prompt, noticing she’s been quiet.
“Oh, I won’t miss it for the world,” Sophie snickers.
I check my watch. “I’ll meet you two there in twenty minutes, then. And ladies? Dress to kill.”
I d on’t bother driving—I’m shaking too badly. Clutching the test result in my hand, I let the cab pull into Addy’s beachfront house. When I step out, I’m grateful for the paved path that saves me navigating beach sand on four-inch heels.
When Addy opens the door, I stop short. She’s wearing what can only be Dante’s shirt. It drowns her curvy frame and falls to her mid-thigh. A baseball cap holds her thick red braid in check, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. Her bare feet are tipped with glossy pink polish.
“Seriously, Addy?” I snort, taking in her garb.
Her lips curve wickedly. “Seriously.” She pulls me into a hug. “I’m so sorry he did this. He’s just… dammit, he’s Dante.”
“I know,” I manage. “It’s good news, but still…”
“He had no right,” she finishes firmly.
“Where’s Sophie?”
“Already here, darling.”
My jaw drops as Sophie steps into view. She’s weaponized herself in skin-tight black leather, a plunging neckline showcasing cleavage so perfect it could make a demon weep, with thigh-high stiletto boots completing the look. Her rarely-loosened dark hair cascades like silk, flowing all the way to her ass.
Their eyes track over my double-breasted power suit and severe chignon, understanding and approval gleaming in their gazes. We’ve each chosen our armor carefully.
“Ready?” I ask and they nod.
Addy leads us down the long hallway to the study, her barefoot steps silent except for the faintest hitch in her gait. Around us, dozens of armed men linger with practiced stillness, lending a sinister edge to the otherwise airy and serene beach house.
Low-pitched voices rumble and snarl behind the study door. I shake my head, unsurprised by the palpable rage emanating from t he room. It still boggles my mind that I sit at the same table with some of the country’s most dangerous alphas.
Cade ensures I attend enough meetings to hold my own. At first, I hated it, but now? I’m glad. Facing off with greedy businessmen feels like taking candy from babies in comparison.
When we reach the study, Sophie and Addy hang back, their expectant gazes landing on me. I’m the Mafiosa here, after all.
I roll my eyes at the unspoken deference and push the door open without knocking.
The room freezes like a tableau. Seconds ago, they looked ready to tear each other apart. Now, their attention snaps to us, the interruption radiating a sense of something potentially more dangerous.
Nico sits at the head of the long table, his only reaction a single raised eyebrow. The second shoots up to join the first when Sophie plants herself beside me. Even across the room, I see his eyes darken dangerously.
“Well, fuck.” Dante’s breath leaves in a rush when Addy takes her place at my other side. And then, to my utter shock, his face goes red. He’s actually blushing—at the sight of his wife. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
But it’s Cade who steals my attention. Three days apart feels like an eternity when he looks like that. Charcoal suit molded to perfection over his broad frame, his stubble hitting that ideal roughness I crave to feel between my thighs. Heat flares low in my belly, need pulsing with an intensity that borders on embarrassing.
Get a fucking grip, Luna. I scramble to hold on to the anger fueling me, channeling it from the medical report crumpled in my hand. But then his gaze rakes over me, deliberate and searing, and he clears his throat.
Fuck. He’s hard.
Cad e recovers first. Rising fluidly, he vacates his chair and moves to stand behind it—the position he always takes when we’re both in a room like this.
“Signora mia,” he greets, inclining his head with that maddening blend of respect and dominance.
He gestures to the chair, inviting me to take it. I move toward it, but protocol dissolves the moment I’m within reach. His chest expands on a deep inhale, and I make the mistake of looking into his now feral eyes.
The next thing I know, his hand wraps around my throat, and his mouth crashes down on mine. Three days of pent-up need, frustration, and longing pour into one brief but devastating kiss. For a hot moment, everything disappears.
When he lifts his head and takes a respectful step back as though he didn’t just blow my faculties to smithereens, my knees buckle and I sink into the chair.
However, my brain fog evaporates the moment I notice the fourth man in the room.
Still is the first word that comes to mind. Everything about him is dark, except for those incandescent blue eyes. They pull you in like a frozen whirlpool while the rest of him—long sable mane with a pure white streak on one side, full beard, and muscled frame wrapped in all black—blurs into insignificance.
What the hell gave Reese and I the idea that the powerful, reclusive Beast of New York was an ailing patriarch who’d be dead in a few years?
Why, he doesn’t look a day over thirty-five! That shock of white in his hair? Definitely not old age.
Wow. And my husband locked this creature in a box and dragged him across Europe?
And then a far worse thought hits me: This is the man hunting Reese ?
“Signora Quinn.” His voice emerges from somewhere impossibly deep, like the bottom of a well.
“Don Giovanni.”
My head inclines smoothly, belying the chaos in my head.
“Call me Gino.” A corner of his lips lifts. “You’ve earned it.”
Before I can decipher his meaning, Dante interjects, “Ladies, you want to tell us what’s going on?”
The men don’t look annoyed—if anything, Nico and Dante seem relieved, like we’ve interrupted something far darker than a business meeting.
Sophie, who had been rooted to the spot, openly gawking at Giovanni, now struts toward Nico. Without missing a beat, Nico pushes back from the desk and she claims her place on his lap.
Only Addy remains standing, mouth tight with irritation.
“Right,” Dante glances at his empty lap, then his wife. “Where’s my cuddle?”
“You don’t get one, Fratello.” I throw the balled-up report at him, and he catches it. “What you get to do is explain that.”
Dante’s eyes narrow. Then he smooths out the crumpled paper against the table, his eyes glinting with instant recognition.
“This?” His mouth curves into an infuriating smirk. “Why, isn’t this your report from Seaway Memorial?”
Behind me, Cade goes rigid. His hand tightens on my shoulder as he leans forward and snatches the paper.
“You son of a bitch,” Cade growls, his voice carrying that deadly edge, and I catch Giovanni’s reaction to Cade’s voice: his lids slide shut in a prolonged blink. Otherwise, his frozen expression doesn’t waver.
The temperature in the room drops.
Note to Cade: Never turn your back on this man.
Dan te remains unruffled. “Quinn, you were a murderous nomad with an evil twin and you’d only known Luna less than a month.”
His gaze drops to mine, and his tone softens. “Sorellina , a month where he’d gone from planning to kill your father to suddenly wanting to marry you.”
“Newsflash, moron,” Cade snarls, “most people don’t need a failed engagement, two years, and three fucking wars to figure their shit out!”
Dante’s smirk broadens into an all-out grin. “God, I love it when we fight dirty.” He flashes me that look, and I desperately want to smack it off his face.
How the hell does Addy deal with this guy?
I glance at Addy, only to see her trying to school her expression into a passable glare while clearly biting back a smile.
To be fair, it’s the same question every single person who’s spent more than two minutes with Cade has asked me.
“Anyway, you’re welcome , “ Dante continues. “At least now you know Quinn loves you. He proved that in the hospital room. And he’s proven it every single day for the last nine months.”
“And you,” Addy interjects coolly, “can now prove your wisdom on the couch for the next nine weeks.”
“Excellent suggestion, Addy,” Nico quips, his tone all business.
Dante’s smirk disappears. He jabs a thumb toward his brother, indignant. “Now wait a minute. Nico was in on this too!”
All eyes swivel to Nico, who barely reacts. He only has eyes for Sophie. With a casual shrug, he murmurs, “It wasn’t my secret to tell, fiammetta. ”
Sophie stares at him for a beat—long enough for everyone else to hold their breath. Then she shrugs right back. “Makes sense to me.” And, just like that, she captures his mouth in a searing kiss.
“Oh, come on!” Dante scoffs, throwing his hands up as if the universe itself has betrayed him. He turns to Addy, his expression wounded. “ Tesoro… ”
“Don’t tesoro me, Dante,“ Addy snaps, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “That was one joke too far.”
Dante whirls on me next, exasperation written all over his face. “Luna, are you seriously going to sit there and act like you didn’t know?”
“How could I? I trusted you, jackass!” I fire back, already plotting my revenge. My brain settles on a particularly satisfying payback plan: long-acting laxatives.
Dante puts both palms on the table, spreading his fingers wide. “Well, I’m not taking the fall for your judgment lapse. You could have done any number of things. Checked the fucking result yourself, undergone new tests, or actually started seeing some geneticists. But you didn’t. Know why?”
He leans forward, his chin jutting in that way he knows gets on my last nerve. “Because you’re too wrapped up in Quinn to even know what fucking day of the week it is.”
Before I can throw myself across the table at him, a knife embeds itself between Dante’s fingers followed by a squirt of red that tells me something’s been nicked.
“What the—” Dante’s chair clatters to the floor as he shoots to his feet, gun drawn and aimed at a point above my head. Blood runs down his forearm, dripping onto the table.
Cade cut him. Bad.
I sigh, resigned. Good thing we have a surgeon on call twenty-four hours a day.
“ Nine fucking weeks,” Addy hisses at Dante, completely unfazed by the sight of his blood. She spins on her heels and stalks out with her signature gait.
Dante’s entire body goes slack as he watches his wife leave the room. He holsters his gun then grabs his chair and sits. Reaching into his jacket for a handkerchief, he shoves it between his middle and ring fingers and makes a tight fist to staunch the blood.
“You know I love you, Luna.”
“Wrong fucking words,” Cade growls, his voice laced with warning.
Dante throws Cade a withering look. “Better words. But since we’re being petty,” his gray eyes drop to mine, bright with insincerity. “I’m sorry, sorellina. ”
My lips curl into an equally fake smile, relishing my payback. “I forgive you, fratello. ”
“Great, I’ll get the doctor,” Sophie mutters, shaking her head as she slips out of the room, somehow turning even that into a runway-worthy exit.
“Well, then,” I glance at Nico, who nods to excuse me. “I’ll let you gentlemen finish here.”
Cade’s hand splays on my lower belly as I start to leave. “Baby,” he whispers against my temple. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I whisper back. And then I shoot a final glance at the room.
Nico and Dante are locked in one of their wordless conversations—entire arguments conducted through subtle shifts of expression and body language. Meanwhile, Giovanni just... looks on.
There’s something chilling about the man. He’s not just controlled, he’s deliberate. He’s making himself act that way. Like a ghost trying to simulate breathing so no one notices he’s actually dead. It’s more than unsettling.
And I know I can never tell Reese what he’s really like. She has enough nightmares as it is.
In the hallway, Sophie is already on the phone, presumably with the doctor. Addy and I pause, forming a little circle of unspoken relief as we wait for the meeting to grind to a halt.
Cade’s concentration is shot. And judging by their expressions, so are Nico’s and Dante’s.
I notice Addy’s shaky fingers. I can’t believe Addy dragged her husband over hot coals just to support me.
“You’re off the hook, Addy,” I tell her softly.
“What?”
“Oh, please, I know you can’t even hold out nine days on Dante.”
“Days?” Sophie snorts, slipping her phone into her pocket with a sly grin. “Try nine minutes. By the way, girls, The Beast? Like, what the fuck? Those pale eyes . . .”
“Total heebie-jeebies,” I declare, and Sophie and I dissolve into laughter.
Addy’s brows furrow. “There’s nothing wrong with his eyes. Dante’s are lighter.” Then, to our collective horror, she adds. “Actually, he’s quite attractive.”
Sophie and I whirl on her like she’s just lost her mind. “What?” we demand in unison.
Addy shrugs. “Oh, come now, he’s hot. And yes, it’s creepy how he makes himself act like a decent human being. But if people like us bolt at first glance, is it any wonder he’s a recluse?”
“Way to imply we’re not normal, Addy,” Sophie chirps, though she doesn’t argue with Addy’s logic.
How does Addy manage to read these men, anyway?
Cur iosity wells inside me. Cade never talks about the man, and I never asked, determined to keep my husband’s demons firmly where they belong: in our past. But damn if I’m not tempted to dig them up.
We should break out some pot this weekend. Cade does get remarkably agreeable when he’s stoned. The problem is, I won’t remember whatever he tells me when I get sober.
Footsteps echo behind us, and then Cade is striding down the hall, his eyes locked on me, not slowing until he reaches me, his hand sliding possessively around my waist. “Meeting’s over.”
“So soon?” I fake surprise, catching Sophie and Addy’s knowing smirks out of the corner of my eye.
A moment later, Dante heads straight for Addy. His arms slip around her waist, and despite her earlier fury, she melts back against him like gravity has reclaimed her.
“Tesoro,” he whips off the baseball cap and buries his face in her hair, and just like that, we know all is forgiven.
Giovanni approaches next, flanked by Nico. His gaze sweeps over us, and then he grins, all perfect white teeth. “Interesting evening. We should do this more often, Nico.” And just like that, he’s gone, vanishing into the night like smoke over water, his two-dozen entourage trailing behind him.
Yep. Nope. Sorry—can’t get past the aura.
“Home,” Cade growls, his voice rough with promise. “Now.”
The city blurs past as Cade drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting possessively on my thigh. The silence between us pulses with the weight of tonight’s revelations and three days of separation.
“Nine months,” he says finally, his voice low and controlled. Too controlled. “And you never raised it.”
I stroke the back of the hand on my thigh. “Neither did you.”
“ Luciana.” His voice softens just a fraction. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. Waiting for you.”
I watch his profile in the passing streetlights—the strong line of his jaw, the tension coiled in every muscle—and everything I feel for this man overflows.
“I know, Cade,” I whisper. “It’s just . . . our life has been so full.”
I count on my fingers. “Between business school, Guilty Pleasures, the Reaper Druids, Outfit drama, Nico, Dante, Sophie, Addy and their kids, Reese, Uncle Jacques . . . and you.” My breath catches, my throat tightening. “You, Cade . . .” Tears blur my vision as my words falter. “You’re . . . a lot.”
Eyes still on the road, his hand squeezes my thigh, grounding me without a word.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine being loved like this. Cade loves with a quiet intensity, with a depth no man so full of shadows and sheathed violence should be capable of. “Cade,” I sob softly, overwhelmed. “I just . . . I can’t believe we have this. Us.”
“Shh, baby.” He takes the next turn too fast, but the Ford holds steady under his control. “Dante’s right. You’re too wrapped up in me.”
I find myself smiling through my tears. “I know. It’s so fucking unhealthy. We should break up.”
We both burst out laughing, the sound easing the weight of the moment.
Suddenly, the future isn’t a bleak question mark. Suddenly, I can give him more.“So, what do you want Caden?”
Cade doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls into our private parking garage with a squeal of tires, kills the engine, and turns to me.
His eyes are almost black in the dim light, the intensity in them making me melt. His hand moves to splay over my belly. “I want to put a baby inside you. Tonight.”
I laugh, even as heat races down my spine. “I don’t think it works that way, Tarzan.”
“No?”
Before I can say more, he’s rounding the hood and yanking my door open.
My back hits the side of the truck as his lips meet mine, nipping and teasing until my mouth opens wide on a ragged sigh, begging for more.
I slide my tongue along his, kissing him the way I’ve only been dreaming of in the last three days. My sigh morphs into a moan as he tears off his jacket and his shirt, and my greedy fingers dig into warm skin and gloriously hard muscles.
“We’re not making it upstairs,” he growls against my mouth, as unzips his fly. “You know that, right?”
Only last week, we agreed to only have sex behind closed doors, but . . .
God, his cock . . .
I cave instantly, wrapping my fingers around him. “I’m sure we can make an exception on this occasion—”
Cade’s hands fist in the nape of my buttoned-up jacket, and the sound of ripping fabric fills the garage.
“Hey!” I shriek, shoving at his chest. “That was couture!”
“It was in my way.” He pulls the torn fabric from me, and I’m shocked to find I’m left only in my lacy bra.
He ripped my suit and shirt clean—in one single tug.
God, he’s strong.
My core melts, and all thoughts of ruined designer clothes evaporate as I leap on him.
My scream echoes off concrete walls as he fucks me hard and deep against the Ford.
“Mine,” he rasps against my neck. “You’re mine.”
“Forever. I want forever.” I whisper, finally brave enough to demand it.
He stills on a long drawn groan, then buries himself to the hilt. The word crackles in the air between us, heavy with promise, weighted by everything we’ve survived to get here.
“What else do you want?” His thumb finds my swollen clit, stroking in maddening, perfect circles. My moan catches in my throat, and I clench hard around him, pulling him even deeper.
“Everything that makes you, you.” Pleasure spirals low in my belly, building fast, unstoppable. “Your scars. Your pain. Your children. A little girl with her daddy’s eyes . . . Matilda.”
“Fuck, Luciana,” Cade groans, his forehead falling to mine as his thrusts become savage. “I’m so wrecked for you.”
Stars explode behind my eyes as I break, and his raw groan fills the air as he spills deep inside me.”
We collapse together, breaths mingling, sated limbs trembling. My fingers slide into his damp hair as his gaze bores into mine.
We’ve survived the worst, Luciana. Now, let me give us the best.”
A tear slips fre,e and I can only nod, too lost for words.
For the first time, there’s no fear. No past chasing me, no shadows between us, no doubt about the future.
Just Cade.
Just us.
THE END