Epilogue
ENZO
The garden at the Marchetti estate stretches out under a bright early June sky, the kind of day that makes the white roses practically glow.
The air is warm and heady with their scent, drifting lazily through the crowd of guests who’ve filled the rows of chairs.
But the hum of conversation, the rustle of silk and linen, the subtle creak of wooden chairs—it all fades until there’s only one thing in my focus.
Her.
Zara.
She moves toward me with a grace that has nothing to do with the gown and everything to do with the woman wearing it.
The lace sleeves skim over her skin, delicate but strong, and the skirt floats over the grass with a whisper, each step bringing her closer to me.
Her eyes never leave mine, steady and sure, locking me in place as if she’s the only reason I’m still breathing.
The sun catches on the amethyst at her throat, turning it into a flare of light that feels like it’s aimed straight at my chest. Alongside it is the garnet pendant I added in last month when we found out she is pregnant with our second child.
I hope to fill that entire chain with symbols of our children.
Symbols of our home full of chaos and love.
To my right, Lars stands in a tailored black suit.
Best man. Brother in everything but blood.
His presence is steady, grounding—a silent reminder of every war fought and every victory earned to get us here.
He doesn’t smile often, but there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth when our eyes meet, and that’s enough.
Beyond the altar, Violette sits in the front row, elegance wrapped in a dove-gray dress, our daughter, Arazella, resting in her arms. Four months old and already ruling my world with a fist no bigger than my thumb.
She’s swaddled in soft cream lace, a tiny bow nestled in her dark hair, blissfully unaware of the weight of the moment or the path that brought us here.
Still, when Violette leans down to kiss her forehead, I swear my chest aches with something fierce and unshakable.
The scene is perfect, but it’s more than just beauty—it’s proof. Proof that a year can change everything. Proof that a life can rise from the ashes of the one you once lived. And as Zara draws closer, step by step, I realize I’m standing in the exact place I was always meant to be.
She stops in front of me, the soft rustle of lace falling into silence. Her hand slides into mine, warm, steady, grounding me in this moment. For a second, the rest of the world fades.
The officiant speaks, but my mind is locked on the curve of her mouth, the way her lashes lower when she exhales.
I catch Lars in my periphery, pulling the rings from his pocket, his hand steady as he passes them over.
He doesn’t look at me, but I know what he’s saying without words—don’t fuck this up.
I take her hands. “From the second you walked back into my life, I knew I wasn’t going to let you go.
I’m not an easy man to love. But you still do it with grace.
You’ve matched me—fire for fire, sin for sin, love for love.
You’ve given me the two most important things I’ll ever have—your heart and our daughter.
I swear to protect them both with my life.
Every day, every breath, for as long as I walk this earth. ”
Her eyes glisten, but her smile is steady.
“Enzo…you have been my undoing and my protector. You’ve seen me at my worst, and you’ve never looked away.
You’ve taught me that love isn’t just something you accidentally fall into—it’s something you choose, over and over, even when it’s hard.
I choose you today, tomorrow, always. And I will love you until the last beat of my heart. ”
She slides the ring on my finger. The weight of it sits heavy, full of promise, because this time, she chose me. This time, it feels eternal.
“You may kiss your bride,” the minister says.
I pull her in, tasting the salt of her tears and the warmth of her smile all at once. The crowd claps, but I only hear her soft laugh when I whisper against her lips, “Mine.”
Because she is. Forever.
When we finally pull back, Lars is the first to step forward, shaking my hand before pulling me into a hard, wordless embrace. It’s quick, but it says everything—respect, loyalty, and the unspoken promise that he’ll always have my back.
Violette rises, feisty and tearful, bringing our daughter into my arms. “Go on,” she tells Zara, pressing her close. “Kiss your girl and then go get ready for the reception.” She glances at me. “And Enzo, don’t make your wife late for the party.”
“No promises.” I’m honest, because all I can think about is finding out what’s under Zara’s dress. I press a gentle kiss to Ella’s head and pass her back to my mother.
Violette laughs softly, rocking our daughter in her arms as she heads for the house. The sight nearly undoes me—my mother holding my child, the two of them framed by sunlight and roses.
The crowd begins to stand, moving to our ballroom for the reception.
Lars stands off to the side, a small bundle in his arms. His expression softens in a way I’ve never seen outside of war or loyalty—pure, unguarded love as he glances between the baby in his arms and the two people beside him.
A gentle wink to a man who could be his mirror in confidence, his free hand brushing knuckles over the hand of a woman with eyes full of fire.
No explanations. No words. Just a quiet picture of a family that’s his.
Zara’s fingers lace through mine, drawing my eyes back to her. As we walk down the aisle together, our daughter cradled in Violette’s arms ahead of us, it hits me that this isn’t the end of our story but the beginning of something far greater.
We’ve both fallen—hard, deep, forever. And somehow, in the ruins of what came before, we built a family, a legacy, and have ushered in a new era of power.
~ The End ~