Epilogue （Tommaso）
Many years later
My three sons are in my office, each with a strong presence that rivals my own. Some men might feel threatened by it, but for me, it fills me with pride.
Massimo is the oldest. He’s built just like me—impossibly broad and muscular—but he has his mother’s dark brown eyes and her quiet strength.
To the world, he’s calm and controlled, just like me, but inside him lurks the same beast that he’s learned to control as I had, and lets it out only in rare cases.
Vito is my middle son. And so much like me, it hurts.
But unlike Massimo and me, Vito lets his unhinged side shine, and he’s the carbon copy of me from when I was younger.
He also has my six-five height, being the tallest of the boys and the leanest, and he bears scars like me, which speaks to his preference for being at the forefront to protect our family.
He loves his family hard, just like his mother.
Creed, my youngest son, just like his brothers, has characteristics like me.
We share the same unique crystal-blue eyes; he’s slightly less broad, but he still has some years of growth yet, so I imagine he’ll be similar to Massimo and me in that regard.
He’s got a sharp, cunning business mind like mine, but his quiet resolve and peacekeeping nature are exactly like his mother’s.
Recently, Creed came to me to confess he didn’t want a role in our mafia world.
I know how much this took for him to admit this.
Family is everything to him, as it is to all of us.
We’re Santoros, and family comes above all.
However, I knew this was coming from Creed; not because I think my youngest son is weak, but because I know my boys.
I’ve put them through trials and tests just as my father had with Riccardo, Marco, and me—not only to earn their positions but to illuminate where their strengths lie.
And everything has made it clear that Creed will be the corporate titan of our empire. But I needed him to come to that conclusion himself; just as my father needed me to come to the conclusion that yes, dammit, I deserved to rule and lead this empire, rather than accept I was his to control.
The room fills with laughter, and I smile as I watch my sons with their closest friends since birth. Massimo with Gabrielle, Salvo’s son. Vito with Raffaello, Silvio’s son, named after his deceased, beloved brother. And Creed with Alessandro, Marco’s son.
Marco and Silvio fell hard and fast for Gina’s friends from school, Alessia and Mia, when they came to our wedding, which was the legitimate vow renewal this time.
We didn’t plan for them to have sons the exact same age as Vito and Creed, but life has a nice way of working out.
And I know my sons will have their backs protected—metaphorically and figuratively—for years to come with each of their best friends.
The door to my home office opens, and my heart stalls like it always does whenever I see my wife. Il mio sole.
I bite back a smile because she has flour on the tip of her nose and on her left rosy cheek. Baking, especially with Etta, is something Gina loves.
“Mamma.” Creed smiles, wrapping his arm around her and kissing the top of her head. His adoration for her is apparent, as it is with all our sons.
She kisses him on the cheek, then Massimo and Vito. Gabe, Raf, and Andro—as they all preferred to be called—are next because these boys are just as much our boys.
“You have flour on you, Zia Gina.” Andro grins. “Does that mean there’s orange ricotta cake?”
“Of course, nipote.” Nephew. “It’s all in the kitchen for you boys, along with biscotti and torcetti.”
“Dibs on the biscotti.” Raf fist pumps.
Vito twacks his forehead. “Fuck you.”
“There’s more than enough for all of you,” she calls after them as they thunder out, pushing each other, turning into rabid, stampeding bulls at the mention of Gina’s baking.
Vito is the last one through the door, and he turns to look back at us. “Love you, Mamma.” She melts a little that her nearly grown son tells her that without hesitation. His blue-green eyes, so unlike anyone else’s in our family, swing to me. “You too, Babbo.”
He usually calls me that with a little shit-eating smirk, because everyone else in our family uses Papà. Once he found out that’s what Gina called her father—the version of him that we all keep alive in her heart—he refused to call me anything but.
Vito doesn’t have the impish look on his face right now, though, and the three of us exchange a look that’s filled with the love and loyalty that Gina and I cultivated within our family.
He gives his mother another tender smile, then closes the door behind him. I rise from behind my desk to go to my queen, knowing she’ll need me right now.
She turns when I reach her, her luminous dark brown eyes shimmering with tears, and I use my thumbs to brush them away.
“He’s such a little shit.” She laughs through watery eyes.
He is. Although the version that the world gets of Vito is more serious, the deadly, dangerous vibes rolling off him, rather than the joking nature he has with us.
He’ll do well as our family’s protector, while Massimo will be a strong Don, and Creed will be the corporate titan.
Together, our boys will lead and grow our empire and the legacy Gina and I have built.
Her arms wrap around my waist as she lays her head against my chest.
Her memories have come back over the years; all except the events of what happened in her father’s office with her and her mother, where Vincenzo had confirmed she watched him break her mother’s neck.
When we had finally laid Guila to rest and Gina had a proper chance to say goodbye to her mother, it had nearly broken her.
I know that her mind blocks the events in that office to protect her; Reese, Johnathon, and Marie all agree, and none of us has ever tried to coax those memories to return.
Instead, our family focuses on the version her father had been—Babbo—rather than the man who had planned to give her as a prize to further his human trafficking business.
I had put that version of her father in the ground, quick and merciful as my queen had chosen.
But for Arturo and Leandro… Well, I had played with them for days in Vittorio Candreva’s basement, letting my unhinged beast come out.
To the world and the rest of the ‘Ndrangheta, Carmine and Arturo had been killed because they stupidly entered Cosa Nostra territory. By the rules in our world, Vittorio was entirely within his rights to attack. Rosa was collateral damage, assumed to be an innocent bystander taken out with her father. Leandro was cut into small pieces and fed to the sharks. It galled me to keep the truth hidden, but it was necessary. Plus, it didn’t bother Gina; as long as we had our family, she didn’t care about the principle of it all.
Vincenzo, my father, and I had all made sure Caruso’s human trafficking business was dismantled and destroyed, and the ‘Ndrangheta continued with its stance that this was not an allowed source of revenue within our syndicate.
Vincenzo and I aren’t friends, but we’re cordial with each other. I know he still covets my wife, even if he married and now has a family of his own, but he’s no threat to me. Especially not with the secret I know of him.
Gina inhales deeply and turns her head to rest her chin on my chest, gazing up at me. “Riccardo and Gemma should be arriving in an hour.”
Gemma is Riccardo’s daughter. His wife, Cecilia, had gotten her wish—one son and one daughter—but as Riccardo had feared it would, childbirth had taken Cecilia from them all.
As a result, he’s insanely protective of his bambina.
Gemma is wild and headstrong, though. Similar in age to Massimo and Gabe, the three of them are close, even if Gemma lives in Italy.
“Gabe will be happy.” My wife has a twinkle in her eye.
“No match-making.”
“They’re almost nineteen,” she pouts. “And anyone with eyes can tell that Gabrielle Ricci is head over heels for Gemma.”
“Don’t meddle,” I warn with a smile. “They’ll figure it out on their own. Just like our sons will.”
Since we were only blessed with three children, Gina can’t wait to grow our family with partners being welcomed into the fold.
She sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes. “God, you’re impossible.”
I grin, and she knows she’s screwed. She drops her arms from around my waist and walks backward toward my desk while I stalk her.
“Does my queen need to be reminded that my name is the only one she’s to use?”
“You’re impossible,” she repeats, but her eyes gleam with excitement. She thrusts her hands out in front of her, pressing the wrists together. “But yes, I do need to be reminded.”
I undo my tie and pull it off, wrapping it around her wrists, then gently push her to lie back on my desk.
Pulling her arms over her head, I tie the ends of my tie to the handle of my drawer.
I leave her to walk over to my office door, locking it, before I stalk back to my wife, splayed on my desk.
I shrug out of my jacket and start to undo the buttons of my shirt.
She squirms and wiggles, testing the restraints, but they hold her arms over her head. Her dress has ridden up her thighs, and I can’t wait to sink inside her to reclaim the piece of heaven that I always do whenever I’m within her. She’s a celestial being here on Earth. My sun.
Just like the first time I laid eyes on her, her light is radiant. Stunning and gorgeous.
And she’s all fucking mine.
Thank you so much for reading Tommaso!