Epilogue NICO
TEN YEARS LATER
Ten years later, the truce still holds.
Not because the city became kinder. Cities like this rarely do. It holds because the Five Families learned something the Pavlovs never understood. You don’t win by terror alone. You win by loyalty. By roots. By building something people would die to protect.
New York still belongs to us.
And for the first time in my life, it doesn’t feel like a burden. It feels like something worth guarding.
Izzy and I have a tradition now.
Once a year, on the anniversary of the night we met, we return to the club where everything started. Not to relive it like a fantasy. Not to pretend we’re still those reckless strangers who didn’t know what they were starting.
We come back to reclaim it. To take the place that once held our secret and turn it into something that belongs to us openly.
The club hasn’t changed much. Same velvet ropes. Same low lighting. Same music vibrating through the walls.
But everything about how it feels to stand here is different.
Izzy appears beside me like she always does. Ten years and she still moves through a room like she owns it. She looks up at me with that same playful smile she had the night we met.
“Come on,” she says softly.
She takes my hand and leads me through the club. Past the dance floor. Past the music.
Toward the hallway I remember far too well. The privé room.
The door closes behind us with a quiet click.
For a moment we just stand there.
It’s strange how the room feels both smaller and larger than it did that night.
Izzy leans back against the door, studying me.
“Full circle,” she says.
“Something like that.”
She crosses the room slowly and sits on the edge of the same divan where everything started.
“You know,” she says lightly, “for a man who insisted I should run from him that night, you sure seem comfortable repeating history.”
I step closer. “That night,” I tell her quietly, “I thought I was protecting you.”
“And now?”
“Now I know better.”
Her smile softens.
“Good answer.”
She reaches for me, pulling me down into a slow kiss.
The past ten years settle around us in that moment.
The wars.
The children.
The life we built from something that should have been impossible.
Her fingers slide into my hair.
Mine settle at her waist.
The same rhythm returns between us like it never left.
Our kiss deepens, tongues tangling as I taste the familiarity of her mouth, the faint hint of the wine she sipped earlier.
Izzy's hands roam down my chest, unbuttoning my shirt with deliberate slowness, her nails grazing my skin.
I pull back just enough to watch her eyes darken with that hunger I know so well.
She steps away, her fingers trailing to the hem of her dress. With a teasing glance, she lifts it over her head, letting it pool at her feet. No bra, no panties—just her, bare and confident, her curves softened by time and motherhood but no less intoxicating.
Her breasts sway slightly as she moves back to the divan, sitting on the edge and spreading her legs wide, inviting me.
I drop to my knees before her, hands sliding up her thighs, parting them further. Her pussy is already glistening, pink and swollen, begging for my attention. I lean in, inhaling her scent—musky, aroused, all Izzy.
My tongue flicks out, tracing her outer lips before delving between them, lapping at her folds. She gasps, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me closer.
I eat her out like it's the first time, sucking on her clit, circling it with firm pressure while two fingers push inside her slick heat. She's wet, so fucking wet, her walls clenching around me as I curl my fingers to hit that spot that makes her buck.
"Nico," she moans, hips grinding against my face.
I don't let up, tongue thrusting in alongside my fingers, tasting her juices as they coat my chin.
Her thighs tremble, and she comes hard, crying out, her pussy pulsing as she floods my mouth.
I rise, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my cock straining against my pants. Izzy's eyes lock on the bulge, and she reaches for my belt, undoing it with eager hands.
She frees my cock, thick and hard, veins pulsing, pre-cum beading at the tip. Her lips part, and she takes me in, sucking deep, her tongue swirling around the head before she bobs down, taking more.
Fuck, her mouth is heaven. It’s warm, wet, skilled from years of knowing exactly how I like it.
She hollows her cheeks, hand stroking what she can't fit, her other hand cupping my balls, rolling them gently.
I groan, thrusting shallowly into her throat, watching her eyes water but never stop. She's relentless, sucking harder, humming around me, the vibration shooting straight to my core.
But I won't come like this. Not yet.
I pull back, gripping her shoulders and pushing her down onto the divan, her body sprawling across the cushions. She lands with a soft laugh that turns into a moan as I climb over her, spreading her legs again. My cock nudges her entrance, slick with her arousal.
I thrust in deep, burying myself to the hilt in one smooth motion. Her pussy grips me like a vise, hot and tight, pulling me in. I start fucking her hard, hips snapping, the sound of skin slapping filling the room.
"God, Izzy," I growl, leaning down to capture her nipple in my mouth, sucking and biting as I pound into her.
She arches, nails digging into my back, legs wrapping around my waist to take me deeper.
This room—it's our lucky spot. Every one of our kids was conceived around this time of year, birthdays clustered like stars. Noah, Mia and Aria, Dom and Tito, then little Bianca five years ago.
Izzy took time after that, building her empire, raising them right. But last week, she whispered she was ready again.
Seven. Our lucky number. A seventh would seal it, make our family complete. I want that—want to fill her, breed her, watch her swell with my child again.
"I'm going to fuck a baby into you tonight," I murmur against her ear, thrusting slower now, grinding deep. "Fill this pussy until you're dripping with my cum, until it takes root."
Her breath hitches, eyes fluttering, and she clenches around me, turned on by the words.
"Yes, Nico," she pants, "give it to me. Breed me. Make me yours again."
I pick up the pace, slamming into her, feeling her build again. She comes first, screaming my name, her pussy milking me as waves crash through her.
I follow, roaring as I spill inside her, hot jets of cum flooding her depths.
But I don't pull out. I stay buried, plugging her with my cock, hips still to keep every drop locked in.
I kiss her neck, whispering, "That's it, keep it in."
She shudders, aftershocks rippling through her, and when I'm sure nothing's escaping, I start moving again, slow thrusts turning harder.
I flip her over onto her hands and knees, gripping her hips and driving back in from behind. Her ass jiggles with each slap, and I reach around to rub her clit, making her come again quickly, her walls fluttering.
"More," she begs, pushing back.
I give it, fucking her relentlessly. I stop and pull her up to straddle me as I sit on the divan.
She rides me, breasts bouncing, pussy swallowing my cock whole.
I suck on her tits, tasting the salt of her skin, and when she climaxes, soaking us both, I hold her down, pumping another load deep inside.
We shift again. Her on top, then me pinning her against the wall, legs over my arms as I thrust up into her. Each time she comes, sobbing with pleasure, I fill her anew, staying seated, grinding to seal it.
"You're going to be so full," I tell her, voice rough. "My cum breeding you, making you pregnant. Seven kids, Izzy. Ours."
She loses count of her orgasms, body limp and quivering, but she urges me on, whispering how much she wants it.
Hours pass in a blur of positions—side by side on the divan, her bent over the arm, me on my back as she grinds down.
By the end, she's overflowing despite my efforts, cum leaking down her thighs, but I know enough took hold.
We collapse together, my cock still softening inside her, arms wrapped tight.
The room smells of us—sex, sweat, promise. Ten years, and this tradition?
It gets better every goddamn time.
Later, when the club has quieted and the night finally ends, we return home.
The city glows outside the bedroom windows. Inside the house, everything is still. Our children are asleep down the hall. Noah in his room. The twins—both pairs—sprawled across theirs. Bianca curled up like a starfish in her bed.
I pull Izzy close against my chest as we lie in the dark, and draw in a deep breath.
There was a time I didn’t think this life was possible. I say it out loud before I can stop myself. “I thought I was doomed,” I admit quietly. “To destroy everything good.”
The words feel strange in the air. Like something I buried years ago and never expected to say out loud.
Izzy reaches up and cups my face. “You didn’t destroy me, Nico. You saved me.”
A small smile slips through before I can stop it.
Rare.
Real.
“Do you regret it?” I ask her quietly. “Any of it?”
She turns her head toward the hallway where our children sleep.
Then she looks back at me.
“No,” she says. “Never.”
I pull her into my arms. “I love you.”
Her lips part in a smile. “I love you now and forever.”