Epilogue
Sienna
One month later…
The sun sinks low behind the trees, turning the sky the color of blood and fire.
Orange and pink bleed together over the courtyard, the last light stretching long shadows across the stone. From my bedroom window, I watch my father and his men escort Alessandro Gallo’s entourage out of the house.
Alessandro did not even come himself.
He sent his second. His lawyers. His soldiers. Men in dark suits who spoke in low voices, signed papers, drank my father’s whiskey, and decided my sister’s future as if she were nothing more than another clause in their contract.
The deal is done.
Signed and sealed.
In three months, my baby sister will walk down the aisle and marry Alessandro Gallo. Andrea’s younger brother. The new heir. The man who inherits everything now that Andrea is dead.
The alliance between the Carusos and the Gallos will be restored. The threat of war has been pushed back. Our enemies will see unity instead of weakness.
Everyone downstairs is calling it a victory.
I should feel relieved.
Instead, I feel like I am standing at the edge of a grave I dug with my own hands.
Behind me, the house moves on as if nothing terrible has happened. Maids pass through the hallway with soft footsteps, setting the table for dinner, polishing silver, carrying vases of fresh flowers as if beauty can cover the smell of sacrifice.
Tonight, after dinner, Eleonora, Camilla, Daniela, and I are supposed to meet in the sitting room to discuss Eleonora’s wedding.
Her wedding.
Her happiness.
The thought should warm me. And it does, in some small, aching corner of my heart.
Eleonora deserves every bit of joy she has found with Nico.
She has suffered enough. She has endured enough fear, enough loneliness, enough uncertainty.
When Nico looks at her, it is as if the entire world begins and ends with her.
My sister glows under that love.
I am happy for her.
Truly, I am.
But happiness feels strange inside me now. Like something I remember from another life. Something I can still recognize, but no longer touch.
Eleonora’s wedding is two months away. And now, because the alliance has been secured, everyone is already speaking of Camilla’s wedding too.
Camilla’s dress. Camilla’s bridal dinner. Camilla’s place beside Alessandro Gallo.
Camilla’s prison.
My throat tightens.
I close my eyes and press one hand against my stomach, trying to breathe through the guilt that rises so quickly it almost chokes me.
This is because of me.
Not because of Eleonora. Not because of Camilla. Not because of fate or duty or the cruel rules of our world.
Because of me.
I was the one promised to the Gallos. I was the daughter meant to marry Andrea. I was the one raised for that sacrifice, trained for it, warned about it, prepared for it in a hundred silent ways since I was old enough to understand what marriage meant in our world.
But I ran.
I ran with Domenico.
I chose love. I chose freedom. I chose one stolen chance to belong to myself.
And now Camilla has to pay for it.
The thought slices through me so sharply that I have to grip the window ledge to stay upright.
My sweet Camilla. My gentle, soft-hearted sister, who still believes peace is something you can earn if you are kind enough, quiet enough, obedient enough.
Camilla, who cries when servants are dismissed unfairly.
Camilla, who leaves pastries outside my door when I refuse to come down for breakfast. Camilla, who has spent the last month smiling too brightly whenever anyone mentions Alessandro, because she thinks pretending not to be afraid will make the rest of us feel better.
She is not made for a man like him.
And she should never have been forced to become my replacement.
A bitter thought tries to surface — it should have been me — but it does not come from envy. It comes from guilt so deep it feels like punishment.
It should have been me because I was the one chosen first.
It should have been me because I knew the role.
It should have been me because Camilla is innocent.
I am not.
In our world, women are expected to remain untouched until marriage. Pure. Silent. Perfect. Never alone with a man who is not family. Never wanting too much. Never choosing for themselves.
Men can do whatever they want. Lie. Kill. Betray. Take lovers. Break vows before they ever make them. And still, they sit at tables and decide the worth of women.
But a woman takes one step outside the rules, and she is ruined forever.
I know that better than anyone now.
I broke every rule.
I spent weeks with Domenico. I slept in his arms. I gave myself to him completely, recklessly, desperately. At the time, it felt like the only honest thing I had ever done. He was my escape. My choice. My freedom.
I do not regret loving him.
Even now, with everything broken around me, I cannot make myself regret that.
But I regret being careless with the consequences. I regret believing my choice would only cost me. I regret thinking I could run from this world and leave no one else behind to suffer in my place.
I was selfish.
The truth lands with such force that my eyes burn.
I was selfish, and Camilla is the one being punished for it.
Outside, my father shakes Alessandro’s second’s hand. He smiles, that cold political smile I have seen a thousand times, the one that means he has survived another threat and sacrificed whatever was necessary to do it.
The men laugh softly. One of them claps another on the shoulder. Then the black SUVs begin to fill, doors shutting one after another.
No one looks up at my window.
No one wonders what Camilla felt when her future was handed away.
No one wonders what I feel, either. Perhaps they think I have no right to feel anything anymore.
The whole underworld knows what I did. News travels fast when a Caruso daughter runs away with a man she is not married to. In their eyes, I am tainted. Damaged goods. A warning whispered behind painted smiles.
At first, I thought the shame would fade.
It has not.
If anything, it has sharpened.
The women I once called friends keep their distance at gatherings. They look at me with pity and disgust, as if ruin is contagious. Mothers pull their daughters closer when I pass. Men stare too long, not with respect, but with the kind of curiosity that makes my skin crawl.
Last week, while shopping, a woman called me a whore loud enough for half the store to hear.
I stood there frozen, my hands wrapped around a pair of gloves I no longer wanted, while everyone pretended not to listen.
I wanted to disappear.
The first SUV starts down the driveway. Another follows.
My reflection stares back at me from the glass. Pale face. Hollow eyes. A woman the world has already judged and discarded.
Maybe that is what gives me power now.
I have already lost my reputation. I have already been whispered about, shamed, condemned. There is very little left for them to take from me.
But Camilla still has a future.
And I will not let them destroy it.
A tremor runs through me as the idea begins to take shape. It is dangerous. Reckless. Maybe impossible. But for the first time in weeks, something other than grief moves inside my chest.
Purpose.
I cannot undo what I did. I cannot bring Domenico back. I cannot make myself pure again in the eyes of men who never deserved the right to judge me.
But I can save my sister.
I can try.
No—I have to try.
Camilla does not deserve to wake every morning beside a man she fears. She does not deserve to be used as a peace offering because I broke the rules. She does not deserve to become the price of my freedom.
My fingers curl against the window ledge until my nails bite into the wood.
I make myself a promise then, silently, fiercely, with the last of the sunlight burning across my face.
I will not let Camilla marry Alessandro Gallo.
Whatever it costs me. Whatever I have to do. Whatever shame, danger, or punishment waits for me afterward.
I will find a way to save her.
This time, I will not run for myself.
This time, I will fight for her.
Extended Epilogue
Nico
Two Months Later…
Would it be wrong to kill my father-in-law on my wedding day?
I stand at the edge of the dance floor, whiskey in hand, watching Massimo twirl my wife under the soft lights. She’s smiling, small, polite, but real enough.
Their relationship hasn’t magically healed, but it’s… better. He knows now that if he ever lays a hand on her or her sisters again, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in his head.
Still, seeing his hands on her makes my jaw tighten.
She’s my wife now.
We said our vows a few hours ago in front of family, allies, and enemies alike. And she became mine in every way that matters. Mrs. Eleonora Lombardi.
I never thought I’d see this day. Marriage was never in the cards for me. Love? Even less. Before her, my life was blood, power, and endless nights of building an empire from nothing. Killing, fighting, expanding territory. That was all I had. All I needed.
Until her. She changed everything.
I watch her laugh at something her father says, and my chest tightens with something warm and foreign.
She’s more relaxed now. Knowing her sisters are safe has taken some of the weight off her shoulders.
But right now, I don’t care about anything but having my wife back in my arms.
Eleonora glances over at me mid-turn, and our eyes lock. She gives me a soft smile.
She’s mine now. Legally. Publicly. Permanently.
I didn’t know how empty my life was until she crashed into it. How cold and meaningless everything felt.
She gave me a reason to come home. A reason to look forward to tomorrow. A reason to want more than power and blood.
Marco, my best man, walks up beside me, drink in hand, and lets out a low chuckle.
“Why does it look like you’re about to murder your father-in-law right now?”
I don’t take my eyes off the dance floor. “Because I am considering it.”
He laughs again, shaking his head. “Hold on a little longer, man. Your wife will be back in your arms in a minute.”
The song ends. Massimo releases her, and I don’t wait another second. I set my glass down and walk straight onto the dance floor.
Eleonora meets me halfway, slipping into my arms. I pull her close, one hand on her waist, the other threading through her fingers.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Better now,” I murmur against her temple.
“My father wanted another dance,” she says.
“It's a good thing I saved you then.”
She tilts her head, giving me that look I love. “Did I need saving, or did you just want me to yourself?”
I smirk, leaning down to brush my mouth against her ear. “Glad you know me so well Mrs. Lombardi.”
For the past week, she decided we needed to be “celibate” until the wedding night. Some tradition about purity or waiting or whatever the hell she called it. I didn’t understand it then and I still don’t. But I agreed because I love her, and whatever she wants, she gets.
It’s been a week of pure torture. No waking up with her warm body pressed against mine. No falling asleep buried inside her. No touching her the way I crave.
Seven days of hell. I’ve been hard and frustrated and counting down every single hour.
Now she’s my wife. And I’m done waiting.
I take her hand and start leading her off the dance floor. She laughs, tugging lightly. “Nico, the song hasn't even ended.”
“Fuck the song we're leaving.”
“We haven’t cut the cake yet—”
“Fuck the cake,” I growl, pulling her faster.
She’s still laughing as I lift her into my arms and carry her toward the private elevator that leads up to the bridal suite. Her arms wrap around my neck, her face buried against my shoulder as guests watch us with knowing smiles, some laughing and cheering.
The second the elevator doors close, I’m on her.
My mouth crashes down on hers, hungry and desperate. She moans into the kiss, fingers threading through my hair as I press her against the wall.
The ride up feels endless. By the time we reach the suite, I’m already rock hard and aching for her.
I kick the door shut behind us and set her down just long enough to unzip her wedding dress. It pools at her feet in a whisper of white silk, revealing what she’s wearing underneath.
Fuck me.
She’s in pure white lace lingerie, a delicate corset-style bra that pushes her breasts up beautifully, matching panties, and a garter belt with sheer stockings clipped to it. She looks like sin and heaven wrapped in one.
I groan, drinking in the sight of her. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I’ll never get tired of seeing you like this. Never.”
I drop to my knees, hook my fingers into the garter, and slowly pull it down her leg with my teeth. She shivers, hands in my hair. I kiss my way up her thigh, then bury my face between her legs, licking her through the lace until she’s moaning and trembling.
“Nico… we should go back down…”
I pull her panties aside and drag my tongue through her soaked folds. “They can wait.”
I devour her. Licking, sucking, fucking her with my tongue until her legs shake and she’s crying out my name.
Only then do I stand up, unzip my trousers, and free my aching cock.
I don’t even fully undress. I lift her, wrap her legs around my waist, and thrust into her in one deep stroke.
We both moan loudly. She’s so wet, so tight, so perfect. I fuck her hard against the wall, deep and relentless, days of built-up need pouring out of me.
“I love you,” she gasps, nails digging into my shoulders as she comes hard around me, clenching and pulsing.
“I love you Eleonora,” I growl against her mouth, kissing her fiercely as I thrust deep one last time and come inside her, filling her completely.
We stay like that for a long moment, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
She starts laughing softly, still wrapped around me.
“What’s funny?” I ask, kissing her neck.
“The guests… they’re probably wondering where we went.”
I smirk, carrying her toward the bed without pulling out.
“I'm sure they have a good guess of what we're doing,” I murmur, laying her down and kissing her again.
And as I start moving inside her again, slow and deep this time, I know this is exactly where I’m meant to be.
With her. Always.