Epilogue
CAMILLA
Two months later…
The late afternoon sky hangs low and heavy over the cemetery, a dreary sheet of slate gray that matches the sea of black coats gathered around the fresh open grave.
It has been an exhausting, suffocating day. The funeral mass at the cathedral dragged on for agonizing hours—a solemn spectacle filled with towering incense clouds, Gregorian chants, and hypocritical tributes paid to Luciano de Lorenzo, a man whose legacy was built entirely on fear.
Now, out here in the damp air, the priest’s voice drones on, a low, rhythmic murmur delivering final rites as the polished mahogany casket rests above the cold earth, ready to be lowered.
I lean back against Maksim, drawing strength from the steady warmth of his body.
His heavy arm is wrapped securely around my waist, his thumb gently caressing my hip through the thick fabric of my black coat, keeping me anchored.
On the other side of the plot, Sienna stands tucked against Alessandro’s side, while Eleonora rests her head tiredly against Nico’s shoulder.
And at the very front of the line, standing erect and unyielding, is Rosalia. Daniela stands quietly at her hip, a united front. Neither of us is crying. There are no veil-draped tears, no trembling lips, no dramatic displays of grief.
Rosalia simply watches the casket with a cold serenity—a woman who has survived her tyrant husband and stepped into the terrifying, beautiful vacuum of her own power.
Off to the far edge of the gathering, half-hidden beneath the shadow of a sprawling cypress tree, stands my father.
He skulks alone, isolated and sharp-eyed.
He hasn't dared to approach Maksim or me since the morning he stormed out of our estate two months ago, and frankly, neither of us gives a damn.
He is a ghost of a past I no longer belong to.
I try to tune back into the priest’s words as the velvet straps begin their slow, creaking descent, lowering Luciano de Lorenzo into the dark soil forever.
Luciano wasn’t a good man. That’s why I feel nothing but pure, unadulterated relief as the casket disappears into the earth, even if I can never say those words aloud.
He married my sister, Rosalia, when she was barely a teenager, and since that day, her life has been a silent sentence of pain and suffering. It wasn't just emotional torture; I knew the bastard physically abused her too, even if Rosalia was always too proud, too wary, to say much.
I saw the signs over the years—the way she would instantly freeze whenever he stepped close, the imperceptible flinch every time he reached out to touch her in public, the hollow look in her eyes whenever his name was spoken.
The old monster. It was high time he died.
Rosalia should finally be free. This day should have been a secret celebration, a quiet toast among sisters to the end of a nightmare. But instead, a heavy, suffocating cloud hangs over all of us.
Because Luciano de Lorenzo didn't die of old age, and he didn't die of illness. He was murdered in his own bed, choked on his blood while he slept.
No one knows who did it or why. But in the dark, vicious political machine of the underworld, every finger is already pointing straight at my sister.
According to the household staff, Rosalia was the last person seen leaving his private quarters late that night, and not a single soul entered after her.
The estate's internal security footage confirms it—her shadowy figure stepping out of his room, silent as a ghost, just hours before his cold body was discovered.
The syndicate wants blood. They want a scapegoat.
But I know my sister. I know Rosalia down to her core.
She wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone possess the cold, brutal lethalness it took to end Luciano's life without raising an alarm.
She was framed, or someone orchestrated this to throw the entire de Lorenzo empire into complete chaos.
But who? Who is truly behind it?
The last of the dark soil is shoveled over the top of the grave, burying Luciano and his secrets deep beneath the cold stone. The priest delivers a final, hollow blessing, bringing the solemn ceremony to an end.
The crowd begins to disperse, hushed whispers rippling through the dark-suited mob as eyes dart suspiciously toward Rosalia.
I freeze as Dante stalks straight toward my father, his heavy boots cutting through the damp grass. As Luciano’s brother, he has always carried the same cruel, aggressive air, but right now, he looks absolutely livid.
"Don't think this is over, Massimo!" Dante snarls, his booming voice ringing out loudly across the quiet cemetery for everyone to hear.
"She didn't bear him a single heir! Rosalia isn't entitled to a single cent of Luciano’s wealth or territory!
And she better not think she's free, either.
I will dig until I find the truth, and if I find out it was her who murdered my brother, it's a life for a life! "
He snaps a filthy, hateful glare toward Rosalia, who doesn't even flinch, before turning on his heel and storming off toward his motorcade.
I turn to Maksim, resting a hand on his chest. "Give me a minute."
He nods quietly, releasing my waist. I hurry across the lawn toward my sister, with Sienna and Eleonora stepping up right alongside me. The moment we reach Rosalia, the four of us throw our arms around her, forming a tight, protective ring of silk and wool against the cold afternoon wind.
As we pull back, Rosalia looks at our worried faces, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through her cold mask.
"You should all be happy," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind. "Because I am."
Despite the heavy gloom of the graveyard, a collective, smothered laugh escapes all of us.
"Are you going to be okay?" Sienna asks, her eyes searching Rosalia’s face with deep concern. "With Dante making threats like that?"
"I'll be fine," Rosalia says smoothly, smoothing down the lapel of her black coat. "I'm moving back into our father's house for now."
Eleonora playfully shudders, rolling her eyes. "Well... at least we know living with Massimo is still a million times better than Luciano."
Rosalia gives a soft, wry chuckle. "I definitely agree."
"Don't worry, guys," Daniela chimes in brightly, stepping up beside Rosalia and slinging an arm through hers. "I'll take good care of my big sister."
Before any of us can answer, a sharp, cold voice cuts across the lawn.
"Rosalia. Daniela. Get in the car. Now."
We all let out a synchronized, heavy sigh. Our father stands by the door of his sleek black Jeep, glaring at us with his usual rigid impatience.
"I'll organize a lunch at the house later this week," Sienna says quickly, squeezing Rosalia’s hand. "So we can all get together properly."
"We look forward to it," Rosalia and Daniela say in unison.
They offer us a warm wave before turning to hurry after our father, slipping into the back of his car. Sienna, Eleonora, and I share a few quick hugs, kissing each other's cheeks with soft goodbyes before heading off toward our respective husbands.
Maksim meets me halfway, taking my hand and guiding me toward our SUV. He opens the door, carefully helping me into the plush backseat before sliding in beside me. The door shuts and the car smoothly pulls away.
But there’s more…
Camilla and Maksim survived the auction, the blood, and the war that tried to destroy them. But another Caruso daughter is about to lose her husband.
Rosalia should finally be free. Instead, widowhood makes her more valuable than ever.