Epilogue
THE MAESTRO | Sixteen Months Later
Ihave never cared about immortality. I only care about the woman sitting on the edge of our outdoor stone hot tub, her bare feet dipping into the steaming water while the Mediterranean wind catches the hem of her silk robe.
I track the curve of her throat, moving down to the slight, beautiful swell of her stomach beneath the dark green fabric. Four months pregnant. Our second chance. A heartbeat I guard with every violent instinct hard-wired into my DNA.
“You’re staring, pervert,” Selene murmurs without looking back.
“I’m just thinking,” I say, stepping out of the shadows of the terrace.
I’m dressed in a loose black shirt, the top three buttons undone, the scars on my shoulder and ribs a faint white reminder of a past life.
I walk up behind her, my hands sliding onto her shoulders, my thumbs tracing her collarbone.
“How many minutes I have left before our guests arrive, and whether it’s enough time to tear that robe off your shoulders. ”
She laughs. She leans her head back against my thigh, looking up at me with those massive dark eyes. They are clear today. Not every day is clear. The nightmares still wake her at three in the morning, screaming, her skin drenched in sweat as she claws at her throat.
There are medicines. She hates taking them.
I make her. I watch her swallow the pills every day, my hand resting on the back of her neck, holding her to the present.
I don’t care about a perfect recovery. She fights the ghosts, but she doesn’t fight them alone anymore.
Every time she wakes up suffocating, I am there to shove the darkness back down its hole.
She paints sometimes when she gets overwhelmed. I do not stop her. I try to be gentle and patient, which I was not years ago. I give her time, even if it takes forever. I will be there for her, beside her, ahead and behind her, inside and within her.
She belongs to me as much as I belong to her. Our breath starts with the same air, and it’ll end with the same.
“You have exactly ten minutes,” she whispers, her fingers reaching up to grip my wrist, her thumb tracing my pulse.
“Judas is always early. It’s an incredibly irritating trait.
” I sink to my knees on the ledge behind her, my hands sliding down her ribs to cup her belly.
My chest tightens with a fierce, possessive heat that borders on sickness.
I press my face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her baseline—jasmine, expensive lotion, and the clean scent of the sea.
“Let him wait. All I want to do is fuck you until you forget what day of the week it is.”
“Zagreus,” she groans, a flush creeping up her neck as my hands slide beneath the silk of her robe, my rough palms brushing the smooth skin of her inner thighs. “The children are with them. Behave.”
“I am a multi-millionaire with a clean record and a pregnant wife, Dolcezza. I can behave exactly how I want.” I slide my hand higher, my fingers finding the damp, aching heat between her thighs.
She gasps, her back arching against my chest as my thumb locks over her clit. “Tell me you want me. Say it.”
“I want you,” she wheezes, her fingers tangling frantically in my hair, pulling my mouth down to hers. “Always. Damn you, always.”
The kiss is madness that sixteen months of domestic peace hasn’t diluted. I taste the salt on her skin, my fingers moving inside her, until she sobs against my lips. I want her consumed by me. I want my brand so deep inside her head that the nightmares don’t stand a fucking chance.
Before I can slide her panties down, a child’s screeching laughter echoes up from the lower terrace steps, followed by a damned sigh.
“For God’s sake, Vitale, put the woman down. There are impressionable youth present.”
I close my eyes as a low growl rattles in my chest. I slowly pull my hand out, tracing the dampness along her thigh before pulling her robe closed and tying the belt.
I stand up, turning my cold eyes toward the archway.
Judas Romanovski walks onto the terrace, looking too comfortable for a man who technically shouldn’t exist on a map.
He’s carrying on his shoulders a two-year-old boy who looks exactly like him—same arrogant smirk, same lethal pale eyes.
Walking beside him is his wife, holding the hand of their two-year-old daughter.
“You’re early, Romanovski,” I say, my voice dry enough to catch fire. “And your security perimeter was sloppy. My snipers had a red dot on your forehead for three miles.”
“They wouldn’t shoot,” Judas replies, lifting his son off his shoulders and dropping him onto the grass. “My men would burn your villa down, and you’re too soft now to handle the property damage.”
He steps closer, his arm sliding around his wife’s waist, his thumb hooking into the low dip of her dress, dragging her hip flush against his. He presses a kiss to the side of her jaw, his eyes locked on mine. “Besides, I brought the good Scotch.”
Seraphina rolls her eyes, slapping his chest lightly but staying melted against his side.
“Ignore him, please. He’s been insufferable since we left Moscow.
” She breaks away from his grip with a warm smile as she walks over to Selene, her eyes instantly dropping to the curve of my wife’s stomach. “Oh, look at you. You’re blooming.”
“I’m heavy,” Selene corrects, standing up with a smile that actually reaches her eyes. The two women fall into conversation.
Judas walks over to the outdoor bar, pouring two glasses of the strongest whiskey I have without asking. He hands one to me, his smirk fading into an expression of a man who still controls the shadows of the Russian Bratva.
“The transfers cleared this morning,” Judas says softly, his eyes tracking his wife across the terrace. “The Davenport holdings are dissolved into the Scottish shell companies. The feds closed the file yesterday. They think the money vanished into a black hole.”
“It did,” I say, taking a slow sip of the burning liquid. “A black hole named Selene Vitale.”
“The rogue men from Vane’s outer circle?” Judas asks, tilting his glass. “Two of them tried to set up a pipeline in Marseilles last week.”
“They won’t make it to next week,” I reply, my voice devoid of any emotion. “Kyle handled the coordinates. The federal task force raided their warehouse six hours ago. They’ll be spending the next thirty years in a concrete box.”
Judas lets out a short, dark laugh. “You really are a bastard, Vitale. Turning the government into your personal hit squad.”
“It’s efficient,” I say, my gaze drifting back to Selene. She’s laughing at something Seraphina said, her hand resting comfortably over our baby. There is a slight shadow under her eyes, but she is alive. She is smiling. She is mine.
Judas tracks my look, his features softening into a rare moment of understanding. He taps his glass against mine. “To the ruins,” he murmurs.
“To the ashes,” I correct.
Judas walks back toward his wife, his hand immediately finding the small of her back, his fingers digging in as he whispers something in her ear that makes her blush and swat him away.
I set my glass down on the stone counter and walk back toward the edge of the terrace where Selene is standing, watching the sun dip into the sea. I step into her space, my chest pressing against her back, my arms wrapping around her waist to pull her back against me.
She lets out a sigh that vibrates through my ribs, her hands covering mine over her womb.
“They’re a chaotic family,” she whispers, leaning her head against my chest.
“They’re annoying,” I correct, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “But they’re leaving in three hours. And I’ll spend the night reminding you exactly who owns every single inch of this beautiful body.”
Selene turns slightly in my arms, her fingers curling into the collar of my shirt, her dark eyes flashing with the fire I bled for.
Her gaze drifts, just for a second, toward the children playing, and while she watches the boy, a very familiar look crosses her face. The one we never talk about.
“Do you ever think about it?” she asks.
My expression softens. “Every day.”
“What he’d be like.”
I lower my head, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Stubborn.”
She snorts. “That comes from you.”
“Impossible.”
“Zagreus.”
“Fine. Mostly from me.”
Her smile widens. The sight still stops my heart. After everything, she still smiles. And somehow she still smiles at me.
“What if he was nothing like us?” she asks quietly.
I tighten my arms around her. “Then he would’ve been lucky.” Her eyes shimmer.
I see the old grief there.
The ghost that still visits us sometimes. The child we lost.
The life stolen before it ever began.
My hand covers hers. “We’ll tell them about their sibling one day.”
Selene’s breath catches as I kiss her temple.
“He’ll know he was loved.” A tear slips down her cheek.
“He would’ve had your eyes,” she whispers.
I rest my forehead against hers. “Maybe.”
“And your obstinacy,” she adds. “Definitely.”
She laughs through the tears. I would burn a thousand empires to hear it.
The wind shifts around us, and behind us, Judas and Seraphina are arguing about something ridiculous.
Ahead of us, the sea glows beneath the dying sun. And right here, in my arms, is everything that matters.
Not the throne. Not the money. Not the power. Her.
Only her.
“I love you,” Selene whispers.
Three simple words. Yet they hit harder than bullets ever could. I brush my thumb across her cheek.
“I know.”
She narrows her eyes immediately. “That’s your response?”
“It worked for Han Solo.”
“You’re impossible.”
“But you love me anyway.”
A reluctant smile appears. “Yes,” she says, leaning into me. “I do.”
I hold her a little tighter as the sun disappears beyond the horizon. Let the world remember me as a monster. Let history curse my name. None of it matters. Because when the dust settled, when the blood dried, when the throne finally turned to ash… she stayed.
And that will always be enough.