Epilogue Federica
ONE MONTH LATER
One month later, we bury Tom and Michelle Greco properly.
The cemetery is quiet in the early morning. The city feels far away here, softened by damp grass, stone paths, and the kind of silence people use when words are too small for the thing they’re standing in front of.
There are two new headstones beneath the cypress trees.
Tommaso Greco.
Michelle Greco.
Beloved parents. Loyal friends. Honored always.
Their bodies came home two weeks after Mateo died.
Riccardo’s men found them in a small chapel outside the city, wrapped with care, sealed in plain pine boxes.
Nobody says Rafael’s name when we talk about it, but we all think it.
Rubio men didn’t show respect to their enemies. Mateo most certainly didn’t.
Rafael did.
Every time his name comes up, Valentina goes somewhere quiet and far away. Not the way she was when she first came home, when she woke from nightmares with her hands clawing at her own throat. This is different. Softer. More confusing. A wound, yes, but not just that.
I don’t pry. Some stories need air before they can be told.
Valerio stands beside me in a black suit with Alessio’s hand in his. Valentina is on his other side, pale but steady. She cut her hair last week, shoulder-length now, blunt and sharp at the ends. She said it was because cartel captivity was hell on split ends. I pretended to believe her.
Alessio shifts closer to me when we stop in front of the graves.
I put my hand on his shoulder, and he leans into it without looking up.
That still gets me every time.
Valerio kneels.
For a moment, he just looks at the names.
I can see the effort it takes him to stay composed. I know the shape of it now. The controlled breath. The still shoulders. The hand that curls once, then opens again because he promised me he’d stop carrying pain as if it were proof of strength.
I kneel beside him and take his hand.
His fingers close around mine immediately.
“Valentina is safe,” he says, voice low. “She’s home.”
Valentina makes a small sound behind us.
Valerio keeps his eyes on the stones.
“Our family has grown. I’m married.” His thumb moves once over my ring. “I have a son. Alessio is strong. Braver than any child should have had to be, but he’s safe too. I’ll raise him well. We’ll raise him well.”
I press my lips together.
He breathes in slowly.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you home sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t save you. But I will protect what you left. Your name, your house, your children, everything you built. You can rest now.”
His voice roughens on the last word.
I lean into his shoulder.
Behind us, Valentina clears her throat. “Ale, come help me pick flowers?”
Alessio looks at Valerio, who nods in approval.
They walk away together, Valentina’s hand resting lightly on Alessio’s back as they move toward a patch of wildflowers near the path.
I wait until they’re far enough not to hear.
“Two,” I say quietly.
Valerio turns his head. “What?”
“You said you have a son.”
His face stills.
I take his hand and bring it to my stomach.
“Actually,” I whisper, “you have two.”
For the first time since we entered the cemetery, Valerio forgets to look composed.
His hand spreads over me. His eyes search my face, and everything there opens at once. Shock. Fear. Joy so fierce it almost hurts to watch.
“You’re sure?”
“I checked twice,” I say, because if I don’t make a joke, I’ll start crying in earnest. “Three times, actually. The second test looked all wonky, so I did a third. But yeah. I’m sure.”
He breathes in. “Fede.”
Then he pulls me close and kisses me, with one hand still careful over my stomach and the other at the back of my neck. I send a mental apology to Michelle and Tom. But I tell myself they’d rather see their son in love than in pain. A little PDA just comes with the territory.
“I love you,” Rio says against my mouth.
“I love you too.”
His forehead rests against mine. “Maybe this marriage wasn’t such a bad idea, then?”
I sniff. “It’s not the worst you’ve ever had.”
He laughs.
God, I love that sound. It’s so rare. I could listen to it forever.
When we stand, he keeps his arm around my waist, and I let myself lean into him.
A month is not enough time to heal everything.
Valentina still wakes in the night. Alessio still checks the locks before bed.
Valerio still reaches for his gun when a car backfires.
I still find myself scrolling up our texts sometimes, searching for hints, for signs that should have tipped me off.
Though it doesn’t hurt anymore. Now it’s just one more link in the complex chain that binds us. A soft memory to hold.
Despite everything, my life is growing in impossible directions.
I’m finishing my Economics degree in the spring. The same degree my parents pulled me out of so Camillo could have his future instead.
Last week, my father named me company heir in Camillo’s place. He said it with a stiff face and wet eyes, and I accepted with the grace of a woman who absolutely plans to restructure his entire board.
Camillo is getting help. Real help. Gambling addiction, the therapist says, and maybe that explains some of it. Not all. I’m not ready for all. Erin connected him with her brother Jack, who survived his own gambling mess with Don Lucchese’s help.
Now, my brother calls me once a week. Sometimes, I answer.
Sometimes, I let it ring.
That, too, is healing.
Valerio’s phone lights up. “Do you need to take that?” I ask.
“No.”
But then it lights up again, and again.
Finally, a text comes.
He gives a frustrated sigh. “Let’s see what’s so important that Tito wants to risk his head for it.”
I find myself giggling.
Then Valerio’s face goes stony.
Concern washes over me. “What?”
He turns his phone to me.
TITO: Cisco Rubio has made a move in the Bronx. Leone is on it.
My heart goes rabbit-quick. “What does that mean?”
“It means what we already knew. The war isn’t over.” He pulls me close, presses a soft kiss to my temple. “But our part is done. Queens is safe. If Leone or Alberto need help down the line, I’ll be there, but that’s all. We’re safe, Fede. You hear me?”
It takes me a long moment to finally nod.
I trust Valerio. If he says we’re safe, then I believe him.
I tuck myself against his side and spot two figures walking back uphill.
Valentina and Alessio return with a mess of wildflowers. Mixed, imperfect, beautiful.
Together, we place them on the graves.
The past is still here. It will always be here. And while the cartel war isn’t over yet, we’re one step closer to it.
There will be blood. There will be pain. That’s inevitable. When you’re mafia, that’s just life.
But Valerio’s hand is on my waist. Alessio is pressed against my side. Valentina is breathing in the sunlight. And beneath my palm, too small to feel yet, the future has already begun.
We have the rest of our lives to make our world perfect.
One step at a time.