Epilogue

EPILOGUE

6 months later:

The crack of the gunshot echoes through the cavernous basement, but the silencer helps. I watch as Rosa squeezes the trigger again, her slender arms absorbing the recoil with a strength that belies her delicate frame.

Six months. It's hard to believe it's been that long since we escaped the clutches of our fathers, since I watched the life bleed out of them on that blood-soaked concrete floor. Some days, it feels like a lifetime ago. Others, the memories are so visceral, so raw, it's like no time has passed at all.

But we're healing, slowly but surely. The scars on my skin have faded to shiny pink lines, the bullet wound in my stomach nothing more than a gnarled pucker of scar tissue. But the scars on my soul, on Rosa's...those will take longer to fade.

That's why we're here, in the sprawling shooting range Alessio had installed in the basement of my Oregon home. I'm keeping the house for Rosa. I've been living with my mates since returning home, but Rosa needs a space to call her own.

We've been coming down here every day, and I've been training her. She's catching on quickly, and it feels better knowing that my sister will finally be able to defend herself.

Rosa empties the magazine into the paper target, each shot clustered tightly in the center mass. She lowers the gun, a fierce gleam of satisfaction in her bright eyes as she turns to face me.

"How was that?" she asks, a hint of challenge in her voice.

I can't help but grin, pride swelling in my chest. "Damn near perfect, sis. You're a natural."

She scoffs, but I can see the pleased flush rising in her cheeks. "I had a good teacher."

My smile softens, understanding passing between us in that wordless way only sisters can. We both know this is about more than just learning to shoot. It's about taking back control, about refusing to be victims any longer.

"A little to the left, in my opinion," comes a teasing voice from behind us.

Rosa and I both groan and we cast looks at Sarah, who sits at a small table by the far wall, sipping from a glass of white wine like she has no cares in the world.

Sarah and Rosa have become fast friends. She knows everything that's happened, and has been a huge reason why life seems to be getting back to normal. After everything went down, Sarah showed up in the Hamptons and demanded that she be able to take care of me while I healed from my gunshot wound. The woman is a force of fucking nature, but she's the best friend I never knew I needed.

"You're one to talk," Rosa retorts, rolling her eyes at Sarah's playful jab. "I seem to recall you nearly taking Hector's head off the last time you tried to shoot."

Sarah laughs, the sound bright and carefree. "In my defense, he deserved it. The man's ego could use a little puncturing now and again."

I chuckle, shaking my head at their banter. It feels good to laugh, to let the weight of the past lift, even if only for a moment.

"Alright, ladies," I say, clapping my hands together. "I think that's enough target practice for one day. What do you say we head upstairs get a little wine drunk and watch Twilight?"

Sarah's eyes light up, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Now that's the best idea I've heard all day. But on one condition—no men allowed. This is strictly a girls' night."

"Agreed. I love my mates, but sometimes a girl just needs a break from all that alpha testosterone."

Rosa screws up her nose as if the thought makes her want to gag.

I feel a rush of affection for these two incredible women who have become my rocks, my anchors in the storm. We make our way up the winding staircase, leaving the ghosts of our past in the shadows of the basement.

The kitchen is awash in the warm glow of the setting sun, the light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook old growth Oregon forest.

Sarah makes a beeline for the wine fridge, her fingers dancing over the labels until she finds the perfect bottle. "Ah, here we go," she says, pulling out a vintage Cabernet Sauvignon. "I'm ready to forget my own name tonight."

Rosa grabs three crystal glasses from the cabinet, the delicate stems glinting in the warm light. I rifle through the drawers until I find the corkscrew, tossing it to Sarah with a grin. She catches it deftly, wasting no time in uncorking the bottle with a satisfying pop.

The rich, heady aroma of the wine fills the air as Sarah pours a generous amount into each glass, the dark liquid swirling like liquid garnet. We each take a glass, the cool crystal a welcome weight in my hand.

"To surviving," Rosa says, raising her glass in a toast.

"To healing," Sarah adds, her voice thick with emotion. "And to kicking ass and taking names."

"To freedom," I whisper, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. "And to never letting any motherfucker take it from us again."

We clink our glasses together, the chime echoing through the kitchen like a promise. The wine is smooth and velvety on my tongue, the complex notes of chocolate, coffee and something fruity blooming across my palate.

We make our way to the living room, sinking down onto the plush leather couch that dominates the space. The massive flatscreen TV flickers to life, bathing the room in a soft, ethereal glow. Sarah queues up Twilight, the opening credits rolling across the screen in a wash of misty blues and grays.

"Maybe we should institute a 'no shirt' policy for our alphas," I muse out loud as I think about the delicious, shirtless werewolves we're about to meet on screen if we manage to get through the first movie without passing out.

Rosa and Sarah both groan, and Rosa fake gags. "Yeah, lets lot inflate their egos any more than they already are.

As the wine flows and the laughter grows more raucous, I feel a warmth blooming in my chest that has nothing to do with the alcohol. It's the warmth of sisterhood, of shared trauma and triumph. The knowledge that no matter what horrors we've faced, we've emerged stronger, more resilient.

All I know is; this wine tastes amazing, but freedom tastes better.

The End