EPILOGUE
CARMELA
Istare at the calendar app on my phone for the fifth time today, counting the days since my last period. Six weeks. Six weeks and nothing.
The knowledge sits heavy in my stomach—or maybe that’s morning sickness.
I haven’t been able to look at eggs without gagging for days now.
From downstairs, Isabella’s voice rises in another argument with Maximo.
Two months of engagement haven’t softened their edges. If anything, wedding planning has given them even more to fight about.
“That’s not where the seating chart goes, you insufferable man!” Isabella’s voice carries up the stairwell.
“It’s a piece of paper, bella. Does it matter where I put it?” Maximo’s deep laugh follows.
“When it determines whether your uncle sits next to my aunt, whom he insulted at the engagement party, yes, it matters!”
I smile despite my nerves. For all their shouting about flower arrangements and guest lists, I’ve caught them in the garden at night, her back against a tree, his hands tangled in her hair. They’re fooling no one but themselves.
The pregnancy test burns a hole in my purse where I’ve kept it hidden for three days. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment—when Silvo is occupied with business and the house staff are changing shifts. That moment is now.
I lock the bathroom door and unwrap the test with trembling fingers. Following the instructions, I set the timer on my phone for three minutes and place the test on the counter.
Three minutes feels like three hours. I pace the marble floor, my mind racing with possibilities. A baby. Our baby. Silvo’s heir. A child born into this precarious peace we’ve built through blood and marriage.
The Tartarov threat has gone quiet—too quiet. Alexei hasn’t made a move since the ambush, but Silvo and Nico remain vigilant. Our families operate in an uneasy alliance, strengthened by Isabella and Maximo’s marriage but still fragile.
Is this the world I want to bring a child into?
The timer chimes softly. I freeze, suddenly afraid to look.
I force myself to take those three steps to the counter. My heart pounds in my chest as I reach for the test.
Two pink lines.
Positive.
I clutch the test to my chest as tears spring to my eyes.
A child—our child—grows inside me. The joy crashes over me in waves, stealing my breath.
This baby is the physical manifestation of what Silvo and I have built together, a love forged from arrangement and obligation into something fierce and real.
But fear follows close behind. Our world drips with danger. Just weeks ago, bullets flew and blood spilled. The Tartarov threat may have subsided, but for how long? The legacy of violence stretches back generations. What right do I have to bring an innocent life into this?
Yet hope burns brighter. This child could be something new—a De Luca born into peace rather than vendetta. A symbol of unity where there was once only division.
I find Silvo in his study, bent over maps and reports. When I enter, he looks up, concern immediately crossing his face.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
I place the test on his desk. “I’m pregnant.”
His eyes widen, darting between my face and the test. For a heartbeat, he’s frozen, processing.
Then he stands so quickly his chair crashes backward. In two strides, he’s around the desk, lifting me into his arms, spinning me in circles.
“A baby?” His voice cracks. “Our baby?”
I nod, tears streaming freely now.
He sets me down gently, his hands framing my face. “I never thought... I never imagined I could be this happy.”
“You’re not worried?” I whisper.
“Terrified,” he admits, pressing his forehead to mine. “But it’s you and me now. We’ll protect our child together. And with the alliance between our families, we’re in a safer position than we’ve been in years.”
His lips find mine, soft and reverent. The kiss deepens, and I melt into him.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Both of you.”
He lifts me into his arms, carrying me to our bedroom. His touch is different tonight—tender, gentle, almost worshipful. Each caress, each kiss feels like a promise.
Silvo lays me gently on our bed, his eyes never leaving mine. The tenderness in his gaze makes my heart swell. His fingertips trace my face as if memorizing every curve and contour.
“My wife,” he whispers, “the mother of my child.”
I pull him down, claiming his mouth with mine. Our tongues dance as his hands slide beneath my blouse, caressing the sensitive skin of my stomach where our child grows.
“I need you,” I breathe against his lips.
He undresses me slowly, reverently, pressing kisses to each newly exposed inch of skin. When I’m naked beneath him, he takes a moment to simply look at me, his eyes darkening with desire.
“You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he says, his voice rough.
I reach for him, unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders to reveal the tattooed expanse of his chest. My fingers trace the inked patterns as I’ve done countless times before, but tonight feels different—sacred somehow.
When he enters me, it’s with exquisite care. I gasp, arching beneath him as he fills me completely. He moves slowly at first, his forehead pressed to mine, our breaths mingling.
“I love you,” I whisper, clinging to his shoulders. “God, Silvo, I love you so much.”
His pace increases, his powerful body moving against mine. One hand slides between us, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and I cry out.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let me hear you, amore mio.”
Pleasure builds inside me, wave upon wave. His thrusts become more urgent, more desperate. I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “Forever mine.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yours. Always yours.”
My release crashes over me like a tidal wave. I call his name as my body pulses around him. He follows moments later, my name a prayer on his lips as he spills inside me.
We remain joined, our bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding in tandem. His hand finds my stomach again, splaying protectively over our growing child.
I wake the next morning to find Silvo watching me, his eyes soft in the early light. His hand still rests protectively over my stomach, as if he’s already guarding our child.
“Good morning,” I whisper.
He places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Morning, beautiful.”
We lie together in comfortable silence, savoring this quiet moment of peace.
Outside these walls, our world remains complicated—families once at war now cautiously allied, a Russian threat currently silent but not forgotten.
But here, in the warmth of our bed, there is only us and the miracle growing inside me.
“What are you thinking about?” Silvo asks, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my skin.
“Everything. Nothing. How strange life is.” I turn to face him fully. “At first, I hated you. Now I’m carrying your child and can’t imagine my life without you.”
His smile reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners. “From arrangement to love. Who would have thought?”
“I keep wondering when Alexei will make another move,” I admit. “This silence makes me nervous.”
Silvo’s expression sobers. “The Tartarovs are calculating. They’re watching, waiting. But we’re ready for them—both families united now.”
“Do you think our baby will ever know a world without all this?” I place my hand over his on my stomach.
“I’m going to make damn sure of it.” His voice carries the weight of a vow. “This child will be born into something new, something better than what we had.”
I believe him. Despite everything—the danger, the history, the blood that’s been spilled—I believe in the future we’re building together. Our families united, old vendettas buried, a new generation on the way.
“I love you, Silvo De Luca,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “With everything I am.”
“And I love you, Carmela De Luca.” He kisses me deeply, his lips promising a lifetime of tomorrows. “I love both of you.”