Epilogue
Serena
Six Months Later
June sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of what used to be my father’s office.
The space has been completely transformed with new furniture, new artwork, and new energy.
Gone are the dark mahogany and the oppressive atmosphere.
In their place, I’ve created something lighter, more modern, filled with the kind of hope I want people to associate with the DiLorenzo name now.
Isabella looks up from her laptop across the conference table, her dark eyes bright with satisfaction. “The Rossi Foundation just received final approval for its tax-exempt status. We can start distributing grants to trafficking survivors by the end of the month.”
The Rossi Foundation. Named after Lucia, the girl my father sold to a monster. She is living with a foster family in California, receiving the best trauma therapy money can buy. Paid for by Varese Inc.
It doesn’t undo what was done to her. Nothing can. But it’s a start.
“And the shipbuilding company?” I ask, scrolling through reports on my own screen.
“Profits are up fifteen percent this quarter. The rebranding is working.” Isabella grins. “Turns out people actually like cruising. Who knew?”
I laugh, which comes more easily these days.
Normal looks different now. Normal is rebuilding the DiLorenzo empire piece by piece, stripping away the rot and replacing it with legitimate businesses that help people.
It’s working alongside my sister to create something we can be proud of.
Coming home every night to a husband who loves me without reservation.
My hand drifts to my stomach, where a different kind of normal is growing.
“You’re doing it again,” Isabella observes.
“Doing what?”
“Touch your belly and get this dopey smile on your face.” She sets down her laptop. “You’ve been doing it all week. Either you’re having a torrid affair with carbohydrates, or there’s something you want to tell me.”
I should have known I couldn’t hide it from her. Isabella sees everything.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words hang in the air for a moment. Then my sister is out of her chair, rounding the table, pulling me into a hug that’s fierce and joyful and everything I needed.
“Oh my God, Serena.” She pulls back, her eyes shining with tears. “How long? When did you find out? Does Shelby know?”
“Eight weeks. Two days ago. And no, not yet.” I bite my lip. “I’ve been trying to find the right moment, but with the foundation launch and the quarterly reports and—“
“You’re scared,” Isabella says softly.
Trust my sister to cut straight through my bullshit.
“Terrified,” I admit. “What if there’s something broken in me that I’ll pass on to this baby? What if—“
“Stop.” Isabella grabs my shoulders, forcing me to meet her eyes.
“You are not Giovanni DiLorenzo. You chose justice. You’ve spent six months proving that the DiLorenzo name can mean something good.
” She squeezes. “This baby is going to be loved and protected. The baby is going to be extraordinary.”
I think of Shelby, who traded field operations for logistics so he could build a life with me. Shelby, who sometimes still wakes from nightmares. But now he allows me to hold him, comfort him back to sleep.
“I need to tell him,” I say.
Isabella smiles. “Yeah, you do. Go home, Serena.”
The penthouse is quiet when I arrive. The setting sun paints everything in shades of gold and amber, and for a moment, I stand in the doorway, taking it in.
This is the life I never thought I could have.
“Serena?”
I hear Shelby’s footsteps coming down the stairs that lead to his studio. There’s paint on his hands and a streak of blue across his cheekbone, which means he’s been working on the seascape he started last week. He paints more these days.
“Hey.” I cross to him, rising on my toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Good day?”
“Very. Ray’s team identified another safe house in Eastern Europe. We’re coordinating with Nikolai’s contacts to plan an extraction.” He pulls back slightly, studying my face with those intense blue eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I take his hand, with paint and all, and lead him to the couch. “I need to tell you something.”
Something shifts in his expression. Concern, maybe. Or the old fear, the one that whispers that everyone he loves ends up hurt.
“Shelby.” I squeeze his fingers. “It’s good news. At least, I think it is. I hope it is.”
“You’re killing me here, álainn.”
I take a breath. And then I say the words I’ve been carrying for two days, the words that will change everything. “I’m pregnant.”
The silence stretches for one heartbeat. Two. Three.
Panic pumps blood faster through my veins.
Then Shelby’s hands are cupping my face, and his eyes are bright with something I’ve never seen before—not the guarded hope he wears like armor, but pure, unfiltered joy.
“Pregnant,” he repeats, as if testing the word. “We’re having a baby?”
“We’re having a baby,” I confirm.
He laughs and pulls me into his arms. He’s trembling against me, and tears dampen my hair. He holds me like I’m precious and breakable and the most important thing in his world.
“I was so scared to tell you,” I whisper against his chest. “I kept thinking about my father, about what I come from, about—“
“Stop.” He pulls back, echoing Isabella’s word from earlier.
“You are not your father. You’re the woman who burned down an empire to build something better.
You’re the woman I love more than anything in this world.
” His hand moves to my stomach, resting there with infinite gentleness.
“This baby is going to have the best mother in the world.”
“And the best father,” I say, covering his hand with mine.
For a long moment, we stay like that. We’re connected, complete, whole in a way neither of us ever expected to be. The sunset blazes through the windows now, painting us in fire and gold.
“I love you,” I say, because the words never get old.
“I love you too.” Shelby kisses me softly. “Both of you.”