Epilogue
LUCA
A FEW MONTHS LATER
My family runs loud on a normal day.
Tonight, they’re deafening.
The whole back patio at my father’s house overflows.
Kids tear through the grass like they’ve been shot out of cannons.
Men stand with drinks in their hands and an opinion about everything.
Women gather near the long outdoor table under the string lights, talking over one another while the smell of grilled meat and roasted garlic hangs thick in the warm Vegas air.
The pool throws blue light over the stone patio. Beyond it, the desert stretches dark and quiet, like it knows better than to compete with an Andretti family dinner.
I lean against one of the pillars by the outdoor kitchen and take a drink of scotch, pretending I’m not watching Natalia from across the yard.
She stands near Mia, smiling down at the baby in her arms, and for a second the rest of the yard ceases to exist. My world narrows to a single point. Her.
That keeps happening to me. I can be in the middle of twenty conversations, a dozen potential threats, a room full of people I love, and all it takes is one look at her and my brain goes, yeah, none of that matters.
Just her.
She laughs at something Mia says and reaches down to brush two fingers over the baby’s cheek. Valentina is maybe eight weeks old now, and my half-sister already has the entire Andretti organization wrapped around her tiny fingers.
“You look disgustingly domesticated.”
I don’t have to turn to know Dario is behind me. I take another sip before I glance over. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He stops beside me, following my line of sight straight to Natalia. “No. Just weird as hell. There was a time I was pretty sure you’d die in a ditch somewhere after pissing off the wrong woman.”
“There was a time I was pretty sure that too.”
Dario barks out a laugh and knocks his glass lightly against mine. “Fair.”
After a moment of quiet, he sobers. “She’s good for you,” His voice turns thoughtful now. “Natalia. She’s good for you, and she’s good for us. I’m glad you didn’t—” He stops. Swallows. “I’m just glad.”
I know what he’s not saying. I’m glad you didn’t kill her. I’m glad you made a different choice. I’m glad you came back to us with something other than blood on your hands.
“Yeah.” I nod my head, looking back at Natalia. “Me too.”
Her ring flashes when she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and a possessive streak flares hot and sharp inside me.
I’d put it on her finger at the beach house three weeks ago, just before sunset, with the ocean behind her and the wind kicking her hair across her face and my pulse hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal.
She cried before I even finished the question.
Laughed at herself. Cried harder. I kissed her until the roaring in my ears drowned out the goddamn ocean.
Ronnie made us celebrate at the fish shack that night—champagne she’d been “saving for something worth a damn”—and didn’t let us leave until we’d toasted at least four times. Then I took Natalia home and didn’t let her out of bed until morning.
Across the patio, Natalia looks up like she feels me watching her. Her gaze finds mine immediately. Her mouth softens.
Mine.
Not in the way men like Anton Kozlov ever meant it. Not ownership. Not control.
In the only way that matters.
Chosen. Claimed with love. Kept safe with teeth if I have to.
Natalia hands Valentina back to Mia and starts toward me, her shoulders relaxed, an easy smile on her mouth. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing her like this.
When she reaches me, I catch her by the waist and pull her into my side.
“Hi,” she says, smiling up at me.
“Hi, yourself.”
Her fingers slide against my stomach, light and absentminded. “You’ve been glaring at everyone for ten minutes.”
“I have not.”
She arches a brow.
I glance toward where Matteo is trying to stop one of the twins from launching a pool toy at somebody’s head while Paolo looks on like he’s already accepted that violence is inevitable. “Fine. Maybe a little.”
“A little,” she repeats.
“You wandered off.”
Her smile deepens. “I walked ten feet away to see the baby.”
“Exactly.”
Dario makes a gagging sound and takes himself elsewhere, which is probably for the best.
Natalia laughs under her breath and smooths a hand over my shirt. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you love me.”
“Inexplicably,” she says. “Against my better judgment.” She stands on her toes and kisses me anyway, soft and lingering.
It should not be legal for a woman to kiss a man like that in front of his family and then pull back looking all innocent. Criminal behavior.
My hand tightens on her waist. “You keep that up, we’re leaving early.”
“Luca.”
I grin. “Just being honest.”
She shakes her head, but there’s color high in her cheeks now, and I feel absurdly pleased with myself.
“How was work?”
She smiles. “Mrs. Delacroix wouldn’t let me leave until I promised to bring you by next week. She wants to see ‘the handsome one.’”
“I’m the handsome one?”
“Apparently.” Natalia grins, that new ease in her expression still catching me off guard sometimes. “Anna’s been talking about you. Showing off the sketch you did of her.”
Something tightens at the base of my throat. I take a slow pull of scotch to wash it down. “That so?”
“She tells everyone you’re her grandson-in-law. Even though we’re not married yet and that’s not how it works.” Natalia laughs, and it’s lighter than I’ve ever heard it. Freer. “She had a good day. Remembered my name. Asked when I’m bringing you back.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Can’t wait.” She grins up at me.
She’s two months into the nursing program now. Working as an aide at Anna’s facility in the meantime, and she comes home every night with stories about the residents, the small victories, the hard days.
Last week, she held a woman’s hand while she passed. Came home quiet, crawled into bed with me, and didn’t say anything for an hour. Then she told me it was the most important thing she’d ever done.
She’s building a life. One she chose. No permission required. Watching her turn into this confident, sharp-edged woman... fuck. It knocks the wind out of me sometimes.
I squeeze her hand and lead her over to the table when my father announces that the food is ready.
Dinner happens the way dinner always happens at my father’s house: loud, overstuffed, and punctuated by at least three arguments that everyone forgets about by dessert.
Natalia ends up between Mia and Paolo’s wife Quinn, talking about something that makes all of them laugh, and I end up helping my father pull more chairs out because we never have enough, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Valentina spits up on someone’s shirt and no one even cares.
I used to think wanting this shit made me weak. Looked at the men in my family and thought they were going soft. I spent my whole life trying to prove I was the deadliest bastard in the room, terrified of being the family fuck-up. Never realized I was fighting the wrong goddamn war.
My father rises from his chair, lifting his glass.
“I’m not giving a speech,” he says, which is exactly how all his speeches start. “But there are things that need to be said, and I’m going to say them.”
“Jesus,” my cousin, Alessio, mutters. “That can’t be good.”
Mia elbows him without looking.
“This family has been through hell.” My father’s voice is measured, the way it always is. “We’ve lost people. We’ve made mistakes.” A pause. His eyes find mine across the table and hold. “I’ve made mistakes.”
My father raises his glass. “Luca. You came back from a mission I never should have sent you on, and you came back different. Better. You made choices I didn’t expect, and they were the right ones.” He pauses. “You’re a capo now. That’s official, and it’s earned.”
He sits down.
Then, quietly, almost to his plate, “I’m proud of you.”
I can’t speak.
My whole life, I wanted him to see me. To really see me, not as the screwup, not as the backup, not as the kid who couldn’t quite measure up. And here he is, in front of everyone, saying the words I didn’t know I still needed to hear.
Natalia’s eyes shine at me from across the table.
I find my voice somewhere. “Thanks, Dad.”
He nods once. And just like that, dinner resumes, because the Andrettis don’t do prolonged emotional moments. But I catch Dario’s eye across the table, and he raises his glass to me, and Matteo claps me on the shoulder as he passes, and it’s enough. It’s more than enough.
Later, when the party has wound down and people are starting to drift home, I find Natalia on the edge of the pool, her feet in the water, her head tipped back to look at the stars.
I sit down next to her.
“Big night,” she says. “How does it feel? Capo?”
I consider the question. A few months ago, it would have felt like everything. Proof. Validation. The thing I’d been chasing since I was old enough to understand I was losing.
Now?
“It feels good,” I say honestly. “But it’s not the thing.”
“What’s the thing?”
I look at her. The stars reflected in her eyes. The ring on her finger. The calm in her expression that used to be fear, anxiety, resignation—and is now just peace.
“You,” I say. “This. Having somewhere and someone to come home to.”
Her smile is slow, real, a little watery at the edges. “You’re getting soft, Andretti.”
“Your fault.”
“I’ll take responsibility.” She leans her head against my shoulder. “Anna asked about the wedding today. Whether she could come.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“I told her she’d better, because someone has to keep you in line during the vows.”
I laugh, and it feels like release. Like setting something down I’ve been carrying for years.
We stay like that for a long time, feet in the water, her weight against me, the distant sounds of my family cleaning up and saying goodbyes drifting across the lawn.
I think about the beach where I washed up half-dead and found her anyway.
I think about all the versions of this story that end differently. Worse. With blood instead of rings, with silence instead of happiness.
But this is the version we got. The impossible one. The one where the enemy’s daughter and the family fuckup somehow found each other in the wreckage and built something real.
“Hey,” I say into her hair.
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
She tilts her face up to mine. Smiles.
“I know.” She kisses me, soft and certain. “I love you, too. Now take me home.”
Home.
Yeah.
That’s the thing.
Thank you for reading Claimed by the Mafia Heir!