Epilogue
Lorenzo
Mario adjusts my tie for the third time.
“If you touch it again, I am going to remove your hand.”
He ignores me and straightens the knot anyway. “It was crooked.”
“It was fine.”
“It was crooked,” Ricardo says from behind him.
I look at my brother. “You are supposed to be helping me.”
“I am helping you.”
Diego laughs from the other side of the room, while Edoardo leans against the wall with his arms folded, and Alessio sits on the edge of a chair, looking far too entertained by all of this.
“I am surrounded by traitors,” I mutter.
“That seems excessive,” Alessio says. “Mario fixed your tie.”
“For the third time.”
“Maybe stop moving.”
I turn toward him. “Whose side are you on?”
“Donna’s.”
“Of course you are.”
His grin widens. “She’s nicer.”
“That is objectively untrue.”
Edoardo laughs, and even Mario’s mouth twitches as he finally steps away from me.
I look toward the clock.
Less than ten minutes.
That is when the nerves hit me.
They have been there all morning, buried beneath getting dressed, answering questions, and enduring my brothers’ opinions about my tie, but now there is very little left to distract me from the fact that in less than ten minutes, Donatella Costa is going to walk toward me and become my wife.
Edoardo must notice something in my face because his expression grows serious.
“You good?” he asks.
I look at him. “Yes.”
It is the truth, although it feels inadequate. Good does not begin to cover it.
I have spent most of my adult life believing I understood the boundaries of my future.
I had Gemma. I had my sons. I had my family, my work, my responsibilities, and enough memories to fill the years ahead without needing to imagine anything beyond them.
For a long time, that felt like enough because it had to be.
Then Donatella arrived and changed every assumption I had made about the rest of my life.
Alessio gets to his feet and smooths a hand over the front of his jacket. “You’re doing that thing again.”
I glance at him. “What thing?”
“Looking like you’re about to have a very serious thought.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Diego says.
“It usually is,” Ricardo adds.
I ignore all of them and look at my sons instead.
Seeing Edoardo and Alessio here matters more than I expected.
They are grown men now, but part of me still sees the boys they were when it became the three of us.
I spent years trying to make sure they never felt the absence of what we lost more than they had to, and somewhere along the way, I stopped considering whether my own life might ever open up again.
Alessio catches me looking and lifts a brow. “Now you’re definitely being weird.”
“I am looking at my sons on my wedding day.”
He grins, but Edoardo only watches me for a moment before stepping away from the wall.
“We’re happy for you,” he says.
The simple statement hits me harder than I expect.
Alessio’s expression softens too. “Yeah. We are.”
I nod once because anything more feels risky.
Mario checks the time again. “We should go.”
That finally gets everyone moving.
The room empties in stages, my brothers heading out first while Edoardo and Alessio linger long enough to straighten their jackets and make one last comment about my tie before following. By the time I am left alone for a few seconds, the quiet feels strange after all the noise.
I look at myself in the mirror.
This is really happening.
A few months ago, I was standing in Mario’s office while he asked whether I had ever thought about having more children, and I had no idea what to say because the idea of children was one I had long ago stopped thinking about.
Now Donatella is carrying my child. And in a few minutes, she will become my wife.
I smile at my reflection at the thought.
Then I head out.
When I walk down the aisle, I pass most of my family in their seats. Mario, Ricardo, and Diego are near the front, with Edoardo beside them. Victoria is holding Leonardo, who is determined to grab anything within reach, while Julia has Cecilia in her arms several seats away.
Matteo, Tomasso, and Dante are together near the front, and Rinaldi is a few rows back, fully healed after his injuries a few months ago.
He notices me looking and gives me a small nod.
I return it.
There are losses from that night that cannot be undone, but there is also this.
Life continuing.
Then the room quiets.
I turn toward the entrance.
Alessio appears first, and beside him is Mocha.
A quiet ripple of amusement moves through the room as they start down the aisle together. Mocha walks at Alessio’s side with the focus he usually reserves for actual work, apparently unaware that the small pouch fastened securely to his collar contains our wedding rings.
I cannot help smiling.
Donna had been adamant that he needed a role in the ceremony, and Alessio volunteered before anyone else had the chance.
When they reach the front, Mocha follows Alessio to take his spot with the others.
Then I look toward the entrance again.
And there she is.
Donna stands at the far end of the aisle, the bouquet in her hand resting against the curve of her stomach.
For a second, I forget everyone else is here.
Her dress fits her beautifully, elegant without trying too hard, and the pregnancy is unmistakable now.
She has been complaining for weeks that the baby has started making certain positions uncomfortable, that her clothes no longer fit, and that everyone in my family has decided her stomach is public property.
None of that is what I see.
I see her.
I see the woman who walked into my life because my son was accused of murder and somehow became essential to me before I knew what was happening.
I see the woman who challenged me at every turn, who worked to free my son, who stood beside me while bullets were flying and then cried over the sound of our baby’s heartbeat.
I see the woman I love.
Donna’s eyes find mine, and her smile grows.
The sight of her affects me more deeply than I expected, and for a moment, my thoughts still.
Apparently Alessio was right.
I am emotional.
She starts walking toward me, and with every step, the rest of the room seems to recede until all I see is Donna coming toward me.
When she reaches me, I take her hand.
Her eyes soften, and for a second, she looks every bit as overwhelmed as I feel.
“You look beautiful,” I say.
“So do you.”
Then the ceremony begins, and before I know it, it is time for the vows.
I take both of her hands in mine and look at the woman who, in a matter of minutes, will be my wife.
There are things I could say about fate, or second chances, or how unexpected she was, but none of them feel quite right. She deserves something simpler and more honest.
“Donatella,” I say.
Her eyes immediately shine.
I smile. “Do not start crying yet.”
She gives me a look. “Then don’t make me.”
A few people laugh behind us.
I tighten my hold on her hands.
“I spent a long time believing I already knew what the rest of my life would look like. I had my sons, my family, my work, and I thought that was where the story ended for me.”
Her expression softens.
“Then you came into my life and made it very clear that I had no idea what I was talking about.”
That gets another laugh, including one from her.
“I do not love you because you made me forget what came before. I love you because you never asked me to. You understood that my life had already been full before you arrived, and somehow you made room for yourself without taking anything away from it.”
Her fingers tighten around mine.
“You gave me something I did not know I was still allowed to want. More time. More love. More family. More reasons to look forward instead of only appreciating what I already had.”
Now she is definitely crying.
I brush my thumb over her knuckles.
“I choose you. I choose the life we are building.”
Her lips tremble.
“And I promise I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret saying yes to me.”
Donatella takes a breath and looks at me for a long moment before she begins.
“I had a very good speech prepared.”
“I am sure you did.”
“And now, I'm going to cry through the whole thing.”
She blows out a breath. I squeeze her hands in reassurance.
“When I met you, I thought I knew what I wanted and what came next. But I was just lying to myself. I had no idea. I was starting over and learning how to trust myself again.
“Then I met you. And somewhere between arguing with you, navigating life with your family, and watching you become one of Mocha’s favorite people, I realized you had become mine too. That's when my life really started to feel like mine again.”
She looks at me, and there is nothing uncertain in her expression now.
“You never made me feel like I had to become someone else to fit into your life. You trusted me to do the work I know how to do, and you taught me that trusting someone does not mean giving up who I am.”
She looks down briefly at her stomach before meeting my eyes again.
“And now we’re doing this.”
I smile.
“I love you. I love your sons. I love the life we have built together, and I love knowing there is still so much of it ahead of us.”
She smiles through the tears in her eyes.
“I choose you, too, Lorenzo. For all of it.”
The officiant asks for the rings, and Alessio steps forward with Mocha beside him.
Mocha sits when he stops, looking entirely serious about the responsibility he has been given. Alessio crouches and unfastens the small pouch secured to his collar, then takes out the rings and hands them over.
I take Donna’s first.
She holds out her left hand, and I slide the ring onto her finger beside the engagement ring, repeating the officiant’s words.
Then she takes mine.
Her hands are still a little unsteady from crying, but she smiles as she pushes the band into place, saying the same words.
I turn my hand slightly, looking at it for a moment before I look back at her.
The officiant continues, and I reach for both of her hands again as we wait for the words that will make this official.
The officiant looks between us and smiles.
“By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Donna’s fingers tighten around mine.
“You may now kiss your bride.”
I pull her toward me and kiss her as our family erupts into applause behind us.
For a long time, I believed I had already had my great love.
I had already built a family.
I had already imagined forever and watched it end.
Then Donatella Costa walked into my life with blue eyes, a German shepherd, a private investigator’s license, and absolutely no interest in making anything easy for me.
She did not replace what came before.
She is what comes next.
With her, I understand something I should have learned years ago: A life can be complete and still have room to grow.
And ours is definitely growing, I think, as I feel the curve of her belly press against me.
She laughs against my mouth, and when I finally let her breathe, she looks up at me.
“Husband.”
“Wife.”
“That sounds strange.”
“You will get used to it.”
“Yes, I will,” she says, finally agreeing with me.
I guess all I had to do was get her pregnant and marry her.
Hours later, after dinner, speeches, dancing, and enough food to prove once again that my family has no concept of moderation, I find Donna outside on the terrace with Mocha beside her.
Her shoes are off.
I smile as I approach.
“I wondered where my wife had disappeared to.”
“I needed five minutes without someone touching my stomach.”
“That bad?”
“No one has any boundaries, apparently.”
“You married into this willingly.”
“I was clearly tricked somehow.”
I chuckle as I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her. She leans back into me.
For a few minutes, we simply stand there while the noise from the reception carries through the doors behind us.
Then Donna reaches for my hand.
“Here.”
She places it against her stomach. A few seconds later, something moves beneath my palm.
My smile widens.
“I think someone's enjoying the wedding,” I murmur.
“I think someone's enjoying all that food I ate,” Donna corrects.
“I see this baby has the same priorities as its mother,” I say.
Donna grins. “It's a good thing you're obsessed with feeding people.”
“A match made in heaven?” I suggest.
She tips her head back against my shoulder and laughs. “Not quite.”
“Maybe not,” I say, grinning. “But I still think I got pretty damn lucky.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she quips.
But before I can get out another response, the baby moves again beneath my hand, making me emotional again.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
Inside, our family is still celebrating, but right now, I am content to stay right here with my wife and child in my arms.
“I love you, Donatella.”
She turns her head to look up at me. “I love you too,” she says softly.
I lean down and kiss her.
The years ahead look nothing like the ones I once imagined.
They look better.
This is my life now.
And I cannot wait to live it.
THE END