Epilogue One

LORENZO

Sunlight spills through the large windows of our country estate, casting a golden glow that dances off the walls and fills the room with a warm light.

My men would have a field day if they could see me now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, trying to stay very still as Lilliana, our three-year-old daughter, works intently on my face, her little tongue peeking out in concentration.

"Hold still, Papa," she commands in her serious, high-pitched voice, wielding a glittery pink makeup brush like it's an instrument of magic.

"Yes, ma'am," I reply, trying to stifle a chuckle. "You're the artist." Her tiny fingers smudge some purple eyeshadow across my eyelid, and I groan, figuring I must look like a sight. I pucker up as she instructs and feel the cool touch of bright lipstick tracing my lips.

I can see the reflection of Mira and Lila hiding around the corner in the large mirror above the fireplace. Their muffled giggles slip through their failed attempts to stay quiet. I would do anything to keep my wife and daughter, the loves of my life, laughing and happy. Even let them take pictures of me in this insane getup.

Lilliana dabs more colors on my cheeks, her expression serious and focused. "You're gonna be so pretty, Papa," she declares with absolute authority.

"Oh, I have no doubt," I say, grinning. "With a talented artist like you, how could I be anything else?"

She giggles, her eyes sparkling with delight at the compliment, but doesn't break her concentration. I hold still, relishing the feeling of her tiny hands on my face, the innocent joy in her simple game. It's moments like these that remind me why I fight so fiercely to protect my family. I make sure to give them a world where laughter is frequent, and danger feels far away.

From the corner of my eye, I see Mira and Lila peeking around the corner, their phones out, documenting my transformation. I give them a playful glare, which only makes them laugh harder.

Lilliana finishes with a flourish, stepping back to admire her work. Her face lights up with pride. "All done! You're so beautiful, Papa!"

I smile at her, counting the seconds until I can wash the war paint from my face. How in the fuck do women wear this uncomfortable shit day in and day out. "Thank you, Lilliana. You're the best makeup artist in the world."

She beams at me, her little hands clapping together in delight. "Can I show Mama and Auntie?"

"Of course," I say, standing up, albeit with a bit of difficulty since my feet are completely asleep from the long time I've been sitting cross-legged.

Lilliana scampers over to the corner where Mira and Lila are waiting, her excitement bubbling over. "Look, look!" she calls out, pulling them into the room.

Mira steps out, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Lorenzo, you look stunning," she says, barely able to keep a straight face. I have no doubt she'll be texting the photos to Antonio and Luca shortly. Those fuckers got out of the impromptu makeup session by announcing an important business meeting they'd attend for me.

Lila nods, snapping another picture. "Absolutely gorgeous. I think it's your color," she says, referring to the various bright hues painted on my face.

I roll my eyes but can't help grinning. "Oh, I'm sure this will be quite the hit at my next meeting."

Mira crosses the room to wrap her arms around me, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek, careful not to smudge Lilliana's masterpiece. "Thank you for being such a good sport," she whispers. "And for making her so happy."

"I'd do anything for our little girl," I reply, pulling Mira close and rubbing my hand across her very round stomach. "And for you. But this had better be a boy. I need to up the testosterone in this home."

"This house has enough testosterone. Thank you very much." Lila looks up from her phone, her eyes widening comically. "You two are disgusting," she fake shudders. "But in the best possible way."

Lilliana, sensing the shift in the grown-ups' conversation, seizes the opportunity to climb into my arms. I hoist her up, kissing her forehead, and she beams at the attention, her tiny arms wrapping around my neck.

"Are you happy, little flower?" I ask her, using the nickname that always makes her giggle.

She nods enthusiastically. "Yes!"

As I hold both my daughter and my wife close, with Lila's presence completing our circle, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. The last four years have been a journey filled with challenges and moments like this, where happiness shines through even the daily struggles.

My life might be complicated and filled with a part I keep private from my girls, but we've found a way to make it work.

Seeing Lilliana's delighted face, Mira's loving gaze, and Lila's supportive presence, I know I would endure anything to protect this precious world we've built together.

"Alright," I say, finally addressing the laughter that's still simmering around me. "Since I'm now the most glamorous man in New York, who wants pizza for lunch?"

Everyone cheers, and we head toward the kitchen, our laughter filling the space. It's a simple pleasure, but it's one I cherish deeply. This is my family, my reason for everything, and together, we can conquer whatever the world throws our way.