Epilogue - Caleb
Three Years Later
The Bahamas sunlight filters through the palm trees, casting dappled shadows across our expansive garden. I adjust another string of fairy lights, making sure they’re secure before the evening festivities begin.
The breeze carries the scent of salt water and frangipani, reminding me how this paradise has become our everyday reality these past three years.
We’d only planned to stay a few months originally. Then a few more. Then Aurora was born—on Dom’s birthday, no less—and somehow, we never left.
Not that I’m complaining.
I glance across the garden to where Amara stands with Poppy, both of them laughing as they arrange flowers on the long tables we’ve set up.
My daughter flew in three days ago from New York, taking a break from her grueling Juilliard schedule to be here for her little sister’s second birthday. And Dom’s fiftieth, of course, though he’s been grumbling about that milestone for weeks.
Amara catches me looking and smiles, her hand instinctively moving to rest on the gentle swell of her belly. Four months along now and glowing with it. I remember when she told us about this pregnancy, how Dom and I shared a look—not of competition, but of happiness.
Just like Aurora is, this baby is ours. All three of ours. No matter whose DNA they carry.
Still, there’s a small part of me that hopes for my genetic mark on this one. Not sure why it matters because the moment they placed Aurora, a tiny, squalling bundle in my arms, I was lost.
Just like Poppy, she’s my daughter in every way that counts.
“Hi there. Do you need some help with those lights?” Milly asks, approaching with a glass of iced lemon tea in her hand.
“I think I’ve got it covered,” I say, stepping down from the ladder. “But thanks.”
Milly nods toward where her sisters are gathered with my daughter. “It’s good to see Poppy smiling again.”
I follow her gaze. Poppy is still on crutches from an accident that left her with a broken tibia.
“She wasn’t sure about coming,” I confide in Milly. “I’m just happy that she’s now confident she’ll be dancing again soon. But right now, she is happy teaching and studying.”
“I’m glad she did,” Milly says firmly. “We’re all here. That’s what matters. Even Lia is here, and she is so pregnant she’s likely to drop any day.”
I glance at Lia. She looks radiant in a flowing sundress, her hair longer than I’ve ever seen it. Her husband Dante stands a few feet away, engaged in conversation with Rafe and Cade, but his attention never really leaves Lia. Old habits die hard, especially for a man obsessed with his wife.
“It’s not twins again, is it?” I ask, turning away from Lia.
Milly laughs. “Oh my god, that would be so cute. I have to ask her, because she’s keeping quiet about this one. Said she wants a surprise.”
At that moment, from across the lawn, Dante spots us talking. It’s like he knows we’re talking about his family. He raises his champagne glass in acknowledgment.
Dom’s son has grown into his role as head of the de Luca family with surprising ease. When he visits—which is more often than one might expect for a man of his position—he leaves the majority of his security detail behind. This isn’t neutral territory exactly, but it’s sacred ground in its own way.
“Caleb!” Dom’s voice booms across the garden. “Stop gossiping and help me with this damn grill!”
I laugh, excusing myself from Milly and making my way to where Dom is frowning at the massive outdoor grill like it’s offended him.
“You know,” I say, taking the tongs from his hand, “most men turning fifty would just let someone else handle the cooking.”
“Most men turning fifty aren’t sharing their birthday party with their two-year-old princess,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat in it. His eyes soften as they always do when he looks toward where Aurora is now being twirled around by Mateo, her laughter carrying across the garden.
“What will we name the next one?” I ask, checking the temperature on the grill.
Dom shrugs. “I don’t know. The first had to be Aurora. Like Amara, I feel she has her grandmother’s spirit.” He pauses. “And it’s better than what Amara initially suggested.”
“Domical,” we both say in unison, and laugh.
“Christ, could you imagine?” Dom shakes his head. “A little girl saddled with the female version of our names?”
“She was joking.”
“She was winding me up. Sometimes she is still so bratty,” Dom says, but chuckles. “But I love her. I love our family.”
It’s these moments—these unexpected glimpses of the man beneath the former mafia boss exterior—that still catch me off guard sometimes.
The Dom I first met years ago would never have spoken so openly about his feelings.
But Amara and then Aurora’s birth changed something in him. In all of us, really.
Lorenzo Bianchi approaches, an expensive bottle of wine in hand. “This place is beautiful,” he says, nodding appreciatively at the sprawling beachfront property. “I can see why Amara doesn’t want to leave.”
Dom accepts the wine with a nod of thanks. “It’s not just the property,” he says quietly. “She feels her mother here.”
Lorenzo’s expression sobers. “It’s sad that our families ruined Lia, Milly and Amara’s lives like that.”
“It is, but I think we’re all trying to make up for it.”
Antonio Conti joins our small circle, his presence still commanding despite the casual linen shirt and slacks he wears. “Speaking of the past,” he says, voice low enough that it won’t carry to the women and children, “the situation in Milan has been contained. Permanently.”
Dom’s shoulders relax a fraction. “Good.”
I don’t ask for details. Some things are better left unspoken, even now.
The transition of power was mostly peaceful, but there are always loose ends, always those who think they can take advantage of perceived weakness. Dom may have stepped down, but his influence still lingers.
“Papa!” Aurora’s voice cuts through my thoughts as she barrels toward me, a whirlwind of dark curls and boundless energy. I scoop her up, spinning her around as she squeals in delight.
“There’s my birthday girl,” I say, kissing her forehead. “Are you excited about your party?”
“Papa’s party too,” she says seriously, looking toward Dom with those startling blue eyes—Amara’s eyes. “We have to share.”
Dom reaches out to tweak her cheek. “And you’re doing a wonderful job of sharing, principessa.”
Aurora beams at him, then wriggles to be put down. “Cake time, Papa!”
As she races back to Amara, the men around me share knowing smiles. Some may have blood on their hands, but here we’re just parents watching the children around us run free. Here, they are unburdened by the evil that has defined our lives.
Amara catches my eye from across the garden, and I see the question there. I nod, letting her know everything is fine. Better than fine. She smiles back, her hand once again resting on her belly, and I’m struck anew by how lucky we are. How, against all odds, we’ve carved out this life together.
I make my way to her, wrapping an arm around her waist as Poppy helps Aurora arrange her birthday crown—a little tiara with fake diamonds—just so.
“Happy?” I ask quietly, pressing a kiss to Amara’s temple.
“More than I ever thought possible,” she replies, leaning into me. “Though I’m still trying to figure out how to tell Aurora she’s getting not one, but two new siblings.”
I pull back slightly, searching her face. “Two?”
Amara’s smile turns mischievous. “I had an ultrasound yesterday while you and Dom were picking up Dante and the clan from the airport. Twins.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “Twins,” I repeat, the word feeling foreign to my tongue.
“Don’t look so terrified,” she laughs. “Between the three of us, we’ll manage.”
“Does Dom know?”
She shakes her head. “I thought I’d let you both know with a special birthday surprise. Everyone is going to let off a color bomb that’ll let you know the sex of the babies.”
“You already know. Tell me.”
“No, I’ve already told you too much.”
I can’t help but laugh. “He’s going to have a heart attack. Fifty years old and about to be a father to twins.”
“And you too,” she says, brushing her lips against mine. “I don’t care who the dad is. You’re both their fathers, just like with Aurora.”
My throat tightens with emotion.
As if summoned by our conversation, Dom appears at Amara’s other side, sliding his arm around her waist opposite mine.
“What are you two conspiring about?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Amara just smiles. “Nothing that can’t wait until later.”
The three of us stand there, watching as our extended family—some bound by blood and some by choice—gather around Aurora, who stands proudly wearing her birthday crown, waiting patiently.
Lia and Cade have their hands intertwined. Dante stands behind Lia, his arms around her growing waist as Rafe holds their children in his arms.
And then there is Milly, laughing at something Rafe said.
Even Mateo seems more at ease.
And my daughter Poppy is recording everything on her phone.
But at the center is our daughter, the reality of the unlikely love that brought us all together.
“They’re bringing out the cake,” Dom says, a rare hint of excitement in his voice as he picks up Aurora in his arms.
As we join the circle forming around the elaborate birthday cake. It’s decorated with a princess theme. The top half was supposed to be a more sophisticated design for Dom, but it’s not.
I catch Amara’s eye over Aurora’s head. She smiles. And like every time before now, my heart pounds at the look we share. It contains everything: gratitude for the past, joy in the present, hope for the future. This isn’t the life any of us expected—oh no–it’s so much better.
As everyone sings “Happy Birthday,” I watch Dom tilt Aurora to help her blow out her candles. The former king of the de Luca crime family, now gray at the temples but no less formidable, and also completely wrapped around the finger of a two-year-old girl.
“Make a wish, principessa,” Dom whispers, and as he and Aurora blow out their candles together, cheers come from our family.
I stand beside Amara, my fingers intertwined with hers, hearing the ocean waves crash against the shore beyond our garden.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I think about what she told me. Twins. After everything we’ve been through—the blackmail, the lies, the near-death experiences—here we are, about to celebrate not just one new life, but two.
At the far end of the lawn, Milly and Poppy stand side by side, each holding what looks like a small cannon. My daughter leans on one crutch as she catches my eye and winks. She’s grown into such a confident young woman, accepting our unconventional family with a grace that still humbles me.
“DO YOU WANT TO KNOW THE SEX OF YOUR BABIES, DOM AND CALEB?” Milly shouts across the lawn, her voice carrying over the sound of waves and party chatter.
Everyone falls silent.
Amara squeezes my hand, her eyes bright with excitement. I look at Dom and he meets my gaze. Something passes between us. He shifts Aurora in his arms, balancing her on his hip as he reaches for Amara’s other hand.
He looks at Amara. “Babies?”
She smiles. “Happy birthday.”
He chuckles, turning to me. “Do you want to know?” His voice is uncharacteristically soft.
I nod, surprised by the thickness in my throat. “I’m happy with whatever we have.”
“Me too,” Dom agrees, the corner of his mouth lifting in a genuine smile.
“Just do it!” Amara shouts, practically vibrating with excitement beside me.
Milly and Poppy exchange a glance, counting down together. “Three...two...one!”
They release the color bombs, and suddenly the air is filled with glittering particles—pink and blue shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight, drifting down around us like magical dust.
“A boy and a girl,” I murmur, watching the colors dance in the air.
“Yes!” Dom yells, uncharacteristically exuberant.
Aurora claps her hands delightedly, trying to catch the falling sparkles.
“You’re okay with that?” Amara asks, looking between us with those blue eyes that first captured my heart years ago.
Dom kisses Aurora’s head tenderly. “She is keeping me young,” he says simply.
“Two more might kill you,” I say, deadpan.
“I’m fitter than you.”
Amara’s eyes fill with tears as she looks at us both. “I love you,” she says. “Both of you.”
“We love you,” I tell her. “So, so much. And this family is only going to get better.”
And it will.
We’re building this family of ours, and I know with absolute certainty that whatever darkness brought us here, we’ve found our light and none of us are letting go.
The End.
Amara's sister, Lia, has her own trilogy. It's a why choose, mafia romance. The series is complete.
Book one of the trilogy: Devious Vows
Book two of the trilogy: Deadly Vows
Book three of the trilogy: Beautiful Vows concludes the story.