Epilogue 1 #3
He stepped forward, and when he took her hand, his fingers were shaking.
“I’ve spent my entire life,” Nico said quietly, “being the smartest person in the room. It was my armor. My weapon. The thing that made me valuable.” He paused, and his eyes, those sharp, clever eyes that missed nothing, were bright with unshed tears.
“And then you came along and made me realize that being smart meant nothing if I didn’t have the courage to be vulnerable. ”
“Oh my sweet Nico” She placed her hands on his face.
“You taught me that love isn’t a weakness,” he continued, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes.
“That letting someone see you, really see you, all the broken, messy, imperfect parts, isn’t surrender.
It’s strength.” He brought her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
“You see me, Beatrice. Not the strategist. Not the youngest awkward brother. Not the man who always has the answer. Just… me. And you love me anyway.”
“I love you because of it,” Bea managed, her voice breaking.
Nico’s smile was soft, real, devastating. “Then marry us. Let us spend the rest of our lives proving that you made the right choice. Let us show you every single day that you deserve this, deserve us, deserve love, deserve everything.”
For a moment, Bea couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Could only stand there on the balcony with the sunset painting everything gold and the three men she loved more than she’d ever thought possible looking at her like she was their entire world.
Six months ago, she’d stood here and thought about survival. About how far she’d come from the girl who’d learned that love was something that hurt, something that left, something that chose bottles and bad men over their own daughter.
Now she stood here and thought, I get to keep this. Not because she’d earned it through suffering. Not because she’d survived long enough to deserve it, but because love, real love, the kind that stayed, wasn’t about deserving. It was about choosing, and being chosen back.
“Yes,” she said, and it came out as a sob and a laugh all at once.
“Yes, of course, ye-” She didn’t get to finish because Killian was lifting her off her feet, spinning her around while she laughed and cried and held onto him like he was the only solid thing in a spinning world.
When he set her down, Dimitri was there, pulling her into a kiss that was soft and deep and full of promises.
And then Nico, his hands framing her face, his kiss gentle and thorough and perfect.
From inside the bedroom, she heard Marco’s voice, thick with emotion: “I’m not crying. You’re crying.”
Alexei laughs and kisses his cheek, “Shut up and get the champagne.”
Dimitri pulled back, reaching into his pocket, and when he opened the small velvet box, Bea’s breath caught all over again.
Three rings. Not identical, but clearly a set, each one unique, each one unmistakably them.
The first was platinum, sleek and modern with a single diamond set in clean lines.
Dimitri’s choice, obviously. Precise. Perfect. Timeless.
The second was white gold, the band textured and organic, with small diamonds scattered like stars.
Killian’s. Beautiful and fierce and just a little wild.
The third was rose gold, delicate and intricate, with a vintage design that looked like it had been pulled from another era.
Nico’s. Thoughtful. Romantic. Exactly right.
“We couldn’t agree on one ring,” Nico said, his mouth curving. “So we got three.”
“One from each of us,” Killian added.
“You can wear them together,” Dimitri said softly. “Or separately. However you want. They’re yours.”
Bea looked at the rings, then at the three men, then back at the rings. “You’re all ridiculous,” she said, laughing through her tears. “I love them. I love you. All of you. So much.”
Dimitri slid the platinum ring onto her finger first. Then Killian added the white gold. Then Nico, his hands gentle and sure, added the rose gold.
Three rings. Three men. One promise.
Forever.
Marco appeared in the doorway with champagne and glasses, Alexei right behind him with what looked suspiciously like tears on his face that he was absolutely not acknowledging.
“To Bea,” Marco said, pouring champagne with only slightly shaking hands.
“The woman who survived everything the world threw at her and still had the courage to love these three idiots.”
“To Bea,” Alexei echoed, raising his glass. “Who proved that family isn’t about blood. It’s about choice.”
“To Beatrice,” Dimitri said quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Who taught us that love isn’t about control. It’s about trust.”
“To Bea,” Killian added, his voice rough with emotion. “Who made us better men.”
“To Beatrice,” Nico finished softly. “Who showed us that being vulnerable isn’t weakness. It’s the bravest thing we’ll ever do.”
Bea looked at all of them, her men, her family, her home, and raised her glass.
“To us,” she said. “To surviving. To choosing each other. To building something beautiful from all the broken pieces.”
They drank, and the champagne was perfect, and the sunset was perfect, and the moment was perfect not because it was flawless but because it was theirs.
Later, after Marco and Alexei had finally left (with many hugs and threats and promises to plan the most chaotic wedding in mafia history), after the candles had burned down and the fairy lights had been turned off, Bea stood on the balcony with her three fiancés and looked out at the city below.
“So,” Killian said, pulling her back against his chest. “How does it feel to be engaged to three men?”
“Exhausting,” Bea said immediately. “I’m going to have to deal with three times the opinions about wedding planning.”
“We’ll be very reasonable,” Nico said.
“You’re never reasonable.”
“I’m always reasonable.”
“You argued with me for forty-five minutes about whether The Empire Strikes Back or Return of the Jedi was the better film.”
“Because I was right.” His words defensive.
“You were wrong.”
Dimitri’s arms came around her from the other side, and she was surrounded by them, held by them, home in a way she’d never been before.
“I love you,” she said quietly. “All of you. Even when you’re wrong about Star Wars.”
“We love you too,” Dimitri murmured against her hair. “Even when you’re a brat about fictional characters.”
“Especially then,” Killian added.
“Always,” Nico finished.
Bea closed her eyes and let herself feel it, the weight of the rings on her finger, the warmth of their arms around her, the absolute certainty that this was real, this was hers, this was home