Epilogue
STEPHANIE
The autumn sun hangs low over the field, warm on my face but already starting to dip toward the horizon.
The grass smells faintly sweet from the morning’s dew, and the sound of cheering carries across the open space.
My hands rest on the small curve of my stomach—a habit I can’t seem to break these days—as I watch Jackson weaving between the other kids with that determined look he always gets when he’s seconds away from a breakthrough.
“Go, Jackson!” Gio’s voice booms from beside me, filled with so much enthusiasm it makes me laugh.
He’s cupping his hands around his mouth, as if his voice alone could push our son down the field faster.
And then Jackson does it—he takes the shot, the ball whistling into the goal.
The crowd claps, parents cheer, and Gio lets out a triumphant shout that turns a few heads.
He doesn’t care.
His smile is wide and unrestrained, like it’s the best moment of his life.
It’s such a simple moment, but it hits me like a wave—the three of us here, safe, happy, together.
I can’t stop smiling either.
Watching them together—father and son, finally able to be just that—has been like watching the pieces of a puzzle click perfectly into place.
I blink hard, not wanting to cry in public, but the emotion is too big. It’s been months since Gio came back into our lives for good, and in that time, he’s done exactly what he promised—he left his old life behind.
Completely.
No more dangerous plans in the middle of the night. No more enemies lurking in the shadows.
No more secrets.
Instead, he took a job teaching soccer at Jackson’s school. Not because he needs the money—he doesn’t—but because he said he wanted every excuse to be around his son, to make up for lost time.
He’s looking for every excuse to pour himself into something good.
And he’s poured himself into me too.
The past few months have been a steady stream of stolen kisses in the kitchen, sweet, thoughtful gifts delivered to the shop—hell, he even bought us a Mercedes so I don’t need to take the L to work anymore.
He’s made it his mission to romance me, and I can honestly say I’ve never felt more wanted, more cherished than I have these past few months.
The flower shop has thrived as well in the past few months, with Gio helping me market the business more and in other small ways that have only boosted my brainchild.
Miko even gifted me a considerable chunk of land around his property to build a greenhouse, so I’ve been able to produce so much more than before.
It feels like life couldn’t be better—and I’ve never been happier.
Jackson runs toward his team, high-fiving them, his cheeks flushed pink from the effort.
My chest swells with pride, my hands automatically pressing against my growing belly.
Beside me, Gio glances down and notices the gesture.
His hand covers mine, warm and steady, and for a moment we just stand there, silent in the noise of the game, sharing that quiet joy.
Life feels… good.
More than good.
It’s the kind of contentment I didn’t think I’d get to have again.
After the final whistle blows, Jackson bounds over, sweaty and grinning.
Gio sweeps him up before he can protest, spinning him around once before setting him down. “That was amazing! You killed it out there.”
Jackson grins even wider. “Did you see the goalie’s face when I scored?”
“I did,” Gio says, ruffling his hair. “I’ll never forget it.”
The three of us walk back to the car, the air cooling slightly now that the sun is dipping lower in the sky.
Gio’s hand rests on the small of my back, guiding me gently over a patch of uneven ground.
It’s such a small thing, but I’ve learned that with him, the small things add up to everything.
We celebrate with pizza at Antonio’s—Jackson’s choice, of course.
The three of us squeeze into a booth, the table littered with empty plates and paper napkins.
Jackson chatters nonstop about the game, reenacting his goal at least three times while Gio listens like every word is important.
I can’t stop watching them, my boys, the way Gio leans in to hear every detail, the way Jackson’s eyes light up when Gio praises him.
It’s like they’ve always been this way—like there was never a time when they weren’t in each other’s lives.
I don’t think I’ll ever get over the sight of them together.
In a way, it feels like the universe is making up for all the years they didn’t have.
By the time we leave, Jackson’s energy has finally caught up with him.
He yawns all the way to the car, slumping against the seat belt as we pull onto the road.
I glance over my shoulder just in time to see his eyes flutter closed.
“He’s out,” I say softly.
“Big day,” Gio murmurs, glancing in the rearview mirror with a smile.
When we get home, Gio parks in the driveway and comes around to Jackson’s side.
He unbuckles him carefully, lifting him into his arms with a gentleness that always makes my throat tighten.
Jackson’s head rests on Gio’s shoulder, his little body completely limp in trust as Gio carries him into the house with that easy strength I’ve come to love so much.
He takes Jackson straight to his room, and I follow quietly, leaning against the doorframe as Gio tucks him in, smoothing the blankets over him.
Jackson mumbles something sleepily that makes Gio smile, then he bends to press a kiss to his forehead.
I linger in the doorway, watching. The sight of Gio tucking in our son does something to me—something deep, something I can’t quite put into words.
I’ve seen him fight for us, bleed for us, but these quiet moments undo me more than anything else.
I could get used to seeing this for the rest of my life.
When Gio straightens, he glances over his shoulder at me, and his smile shifts into something softer, meant only for me.
And when he joins me in the hall, I slip my hand into his.
“I love you,” I whisper.
His sensual lips curve, and he leans down to kiss me once, soft and lingering. “I love you too, vita mia.”
We make our way to our room, the house hushed around us.
As we step inside, our fingers laced together, there’s a lingering electricity in the air—leftover from the game, from the joy, from the love that’s been building between us for months.
I sit on the edge of the bed, kicking off my shoes, and Gio drops down beside me, close enough that our knees touch.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face, his fingertips lingering against my cheek.
“I still can’t believe this is my life now,” he says quietly, like it’s a confession.
I smile, feeling that familiar tightness in my chest. “You earned it.”
His lips find mine in a kiss so gentle it almost breaks me.
I slide my hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepens—slow, deliberate, a promise wrapped in warmth.
When he shifts to ease me back onto the pillows, his movements are careful, his weight braced on one arm like he’s worried anything more commanding might hurt me—like, now that I’m carrying something precious inside me, I might be made of glass.
As if he can hear my thoughts, Gio rests his other hand instinctively on my stomach, a silent acknowledgment of that life we created.
I can feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of my dress, steady and grounding.
“You’re so beautiful, Stephanie,” he murmurs against my lips.
Combing my fingers through his shock of dark hair to guide his head back, I cup his face, as I hold his gaze.
There’s so much love in his light hazel eyes, it’s almost overwhelming.
His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, and the soft touch says everything—how far we’ve come, how close we came to losing this, and how determined he is to never let me go again.
He kisses a slow path down my neck, his stubble scraping lightly against my skin in a way that makes me shiver.
My fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt, feeling the solid muscle beneath, the heat radiating from him.
I breathe him in—the scents of jasmine, amber wood, and cedar mixed with sunshine and something that’s just him.
Every movement feels like an unspoken vow.
His hand moves over the curve of my belly, lingering there.
A small flutter I’ve learned to recognize comes to life in my belly, and I smile as Gio stills. He lifts his head, meeting my eyes with a tenderness that steals my breath.
“Did he just… kick?”
I nod. “He’s decided it’s time to say hello.”
Gio’s eyes shift back to my belly, his face overcome with awe now. “I can’t wait to meet him—or her,” he whispers, smoothing his palm over me.
My throat tightens. “And I can’t wait to see you holding them.”
The words make something raw flicker across his face before he leans down to kiss me again—slower now, the kind of kiss that makes the rest of the world fade to nothing.
Heat coils in my belly, and I part my lips to taste him as I deepen the kiss.
Gio inhales sharply, his hand soft and inviting as he explores my curves.
He’s gentle as he palms my breast, kneading it tenderly until I whimper.
Excitement floods my core as a slow smile curves his lips.
“What would you like to do tonight, Mrs. Chiaroscuro?” he murmurs, the rough husk of his voice low and inviting.
“I think you’re already on the right track,” I promise, arching into his palm as I bring our lips back together.
Gio hums allowing his hand to wander down over my belly once again, then lower, following the line of my hip until his fingers find the hem of my dress.
“Maybe I ought to try putting another baby inside you,” he suggests playfully, making me laugh.
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” I tease, then moan as his fingers slide up the inside of my thigh to brush across my sex.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t try,” he insists, and he punctuates the suggestion by sliding two fingers beneath the satin fabric of my panties and pressing them inside me.
I whimper again, throbbing around him as he teases my clit, fingering me at the same time.
“Your pussy seems to like the idea,” he teases, his breath warm as it tickles across my throat.
“Mm-hmm,” I gasp, my hips rolling into his palm.
“You want my cock inside you?” he asks, and I know he’s toying with me, stretching out my sense of need until I feel like a piano wire about to snap.
“Please, Gio,” I beg.
“Only if you say it,” he teases again, his teeth brushing lightly along the shell of my ear.
I know exactly what he wants to hear.
It’s the single word that ties us together until death do us part, and I love how much he likes to hear it.
“My husband,” I moan as his fingers curl inside me. “I want you, Gio, my husband. Please, come inside me.” I let a hint of a beg trickle into my tone so he knows just how much I need him.
He practically purrs, the sound low and throaty as he slides his fingers out of me and curls them around the waistline of my panties.
He takes his time undressing me, each movement slow and purposeful, punctuated with a kiss.
And by the time he moves on to his own clothing, I’m a panting mess of lust-filled need.
Then he settles gently between my thighs, careful to hold his weight off me so he won’t hurt me or the baby.
And when he presses slowly inside me, the world around me falls away.
I close my eyes, my lips parting as an intense euphoria sweeps through my body.
This is everything I’ve ever wanted.
The pure joy of becoming one with the man I love.
I’m with the only person I was ever meant to be with.
And I’m ready to spend a lifetime wrapped in his arms.