Epilogue

VALERIO

T he vista of a new ocean stretched before me.

In a bright and bold collage of sapphire and cobalt hues in the form of the ocean framed by soaring cliffs and native emerald flora.

The purity of the salt brine in the air tingled my nose. This was a world away from the Mediterranean, and I loved it.

From every angle, I tagged some of the world’s finest and most famous beaches, ranging from a few meters to several kilometers, along Sydney’s coastline and its harbors, bays, and rivers.

Our new home, too, was something out of a dream.

The sunlight spilled into the room, filling it with warmth and a sense of peace I had never imagined.

From where I sat, my view extended out over The Spit and Middle Harbor, an endless expanse of blue that seemed to merge with the sky.

The panorama alone made me feel like I’d hit the jackpot.

The house, built on solid sandstone foundations, perched on almost a thousand square meters of prime land.

I appreciated the tiny details everywhere I glanced: the high ceilings, flawless timber floors, and the craftsmanship of the place.

Even the kitchen, with its open-plan design and options for formal dining, delighted my eye.

The whole space had everything we needed, including more zoned air conditioning, security alarms, and plantation blinds, which made it feel like a private oasis.

The bedrooms, including the primary room with its northern aspect and serene views, offered immense comfort with Chiara’s modern sensibility and cream, black, and linen touch.

I was already planning renovations and maybe a few modern touches to bring out its best character.

Even as it was now, it was impeccable. It was a sanctuary—our resting place from the world’s madness.

I stood and moved to the veranda, where the breeze carried the salty scent of the sea, and the sun kissed my skin.

The expansive space was perfect for sitting with a glass of wine or coffee and letting your worry wash away.

Below me, the azure pool glistened, bordered by a sandstone sundeck as solid as the foundations beneath this house. Next to it was the pool house and studio with two ensuite rooms, a designer living space, and a gym.

The gardens were tiered, designed for quiet mornings or long walks in the evening, where you’d forget you were so close to the city.

I leaned against the railing, looking down at the gardens and pool below and beyond the ocean, shimmering in the sunlight.

My mind drifted to Clontarf Beach, a short walk away, where evening walks together were now part of our routine.

I turned back, studying the house anew.

This was our forever home.

Where we planned to make memories, perhaps with a brood of kids.

I didn’t only get lucky with this house—I got blessed with her.

She’d changed my life and made it better. She wasn’t just my lover or partner—she was my peace.

I had everything I ever wanted.

The house, the view, the bliss—but most of all, her.

Before Chiara, my life ran like a machine, purposed and focused on getting revenge for my parents.

Order, precision, and detail. My shit had sat in its rightful position, planned and considered from every angle, keeping me grounded, engaged, on mission.

It also meant a severe lack of color and life.

There’d been no room for mess, no place for spontaneity or laughter for the sake of it.

It was not until Chiara charged into my life—or rather, when I broke into her gallery—that she brought all her vibrancy and chaos, beginning with our shared experiences and love affair and spilling into our new life.

Now, I woke to the aroma of baked bread on a random Tuesday, yoga on the grass outside every other morning, spontaneous singing in the shower, and art books scattered everywhere.

It was heaven: each night, we cooked together, shared wine and conversations, and celebrated our love with out-of-this-world sex love, all of it framed by the stunning view.

She filled the silence with her music, laughter, and ideas.

It was like she’d painted over the straight, monochrome lines I’d spent years obsessing over. Splashing reds, golds, and blues wherever she pleased, as if my life had been waiting for that touch of wildness to finally feel real.

I hadn’t thought I’d like it, the messiness she brought.

But I did.

Before Chiara, I existed behind a looking glass in a dull, two-dimensional reality—until she smashed through it, dragging me out and turning my world into a three-dimensional, sense-packed experience.

Now, I craved the noise, the unpredictability, even the way she squabbled with me over little things that didn’t matter.

She argued with both hands, gesturing her emotions, voice raised because she was so excited about what she was trying to convey. She laughed until she bent over, convulsing with emotion, shaking with mirth.

I loved how her fingers trailed through my hair and how she called me her dolce metà when kissing me, sucking me, making me come.

She took to settling into our new life with that same aplomb she handled everything else with—effortless and unapologetic.

I adored how she transformed our home, filling it with her art, soft furnishings, and color.

She also fit in with my kin as if she’d always been a part of our tribe.

My fratelli and their partners cherished her for her strength, warmth, and quick wit.

I’d often find Mia, Cleo, and Chiara deep in conversation - most times at Lorenzo’s Blue Mountains spread - plotting the next family meal or laughing about some shared joke.

One night, she took over the kitchen, tossing us all out and cooking dinner, and hosted us all with effortless ease.

In our new life in Sydney, she surprised me even more.

She found friends—hell, she charmed the neighbors, including a grouchy couple who’d lived across the street for decades.

She reveled in their stories, where they came from, and even remembered their kids’ birthdays.

It wasn’t long before she assembled a close group of girlfriends. Their laughter spilled into the late hours whenever and wherever they gathered, their wine glasses clinking and filling our spaces with warmth.

It was as if Sydney had always been her home.

I chuckled often, thinking how my fastidious fixation on order and discipline had been messed up in the best possible way.

As for my grief, I came to terms with it.

The death of Olivio Tirone helped.

The demise of their family business, too.

Chiara, driven by guilt and love for me, was eager to help me overcome my sadness.

With her by my side, I understood that heartache is unpredictable and uncontrollable by nature. She let me brood when I felt sad and lifted me out of my malaise with her fire and love.

Together, we got the help we needed to accept, process, and seek support for our pain.

I’d also begun to plan a future with her.

Perhaps one with marriage on the cards, yearning for the same deep, unshakable, eternal love my parents shared.

Matrimony was no game to me, nor was it to Chiara.

A stunning diamond ring now sat in my office drawer, waiting for the right moment to get on one knee.

This time, for real.

I had no clue whether she’d say yes.

Or when we’d walk down an aisle, if ever.

Neither did I know what tomorrow held.

For once, I was comfortable with disorder and not knowing.

‘ Ciao !’

The front door clicked shut, and my soul lifted.

My woman was back from her day at work.

Unlike my brothers, we made Sydney our base and drove to their homes in the Blue Mountains for a break when needed.

We had to be close to Chiara’s art gallery in Manly, and our home was the midpoint between her showcase and our Calibrese family office in the city.

We loved the beach, the sand, and the sun, so Clontarf was a perfect compromise.

She sashayed through the entryway in heels and a flowing light summer trouser suit.

Her hair was wild and free, but her smile, Dio , so full of life and love, got my heart racing.

She flew into my arms, and I bent my head to kiss her.

I hissed as my cock went diamond-hard at her touch.

So stiff that as her lips glided on mine, I was in freakin trouble.

I pushed her off with a groan. ‘ Belleza .’

While we made love most mornings, she’d left earlier than usual today to run a school art class in Manly.

Thus, we’d missed out on sexy times.

My cock was not happy and was letting me know.

I was pushing on the front of my shorts to ward off its meteoric rise when Chiara gripped my wrist.

‘Let me, bello ,’ she growled.

‘ Leonessa , you touch me, lips on me, and I’ll blow.’

‘How hard, lover?’ she taunted as she yanked my shorts and then boxers lower, and I bobbed, throbbing hard, seeping, bobbing into view.

Her eyes dilated as she stroked, and I rocked my hips, sensation already traveling from my spine.

I hissed once more. ‘I’m going to fuckin’ cum woman.’

‘Then cum, dolce metà ,’ she teased with a wink as she fell to her knees and her lips slid over my bulbous head.

Just in time for seconds later, I erupted into a series of groans and hisses as she sucked my spouting scorching seed.

When she lifted off and licked the corner of her mouth, I growled.

Stepping out of my pants, I lifted her and strode to the couch.

With a growl, I pulled her trousers down, watching her kick them off her, along with her heels.

‘Wide, now!’

She parted those lithe legs for me, revealing her seeping wetness.

I throbbed harder, ready for my second cumming of bliss.

She managed to lean forward and throw off her bra and top. Then I was on her, greedy, hungry as a beast.

Lips on her folds, sucking, laving hard.

She bucked, untamed, her hair flying, tits jiggling, turning me back on with fiery intensity.

‘I need you now,’ she groaned, pushing my head off her.

Shit was wild.

I growled, gliding onto the couch, spine to its back, facing her.

She turned her delicious ass toward me, widened her thighs, and with my grip guiding her, she sank down on my shaft.

She hissed as her scorched hold enveloped me, head back into my neck as we kissed.

Then she was riding me.

Hands on my knees, waist swirling, backing up into me as I hit it from behind.

Cock sliding deep, pussy rippling, hips pistoning, my mouth heat-seeking for her nape, back of her ear, fingers pinching her nipples, plumping her, wild and so gone for her.

We came in a storm of white-hot searing, grunting, and moaning as we rode the wave of pleasure together.

‘ Cazzo, leonessa ,’ I breathed into her neck as I plumped her tits in my hand, gliding into her, coming off our high, balls embedded inside her.

She fell back into me, laughing. ‘Crazy sex is the best sex.’

I agreed with a grunt, also falling back, spent, hands stroking over her lush body, dipping between her thighs where we were still joined.

‘ Te amo, Chiara. Sono così innamorato di te ,’ I growled.

‘ Il nostro è un amore eterno ,’ she murmured. ‘An eternal love, Valerio.’

I kissed her temple, eyes on the ocean washing on the yellow sand, heart and soul flying free.

CHIARA

Rio, in sleep, was unguarded, his features softened.

A far cry from the brutal, commanding presence he carried while awake.

His usual sharp edges, the guarded tension he wore like armor, melted away in slumber when he became my dolce metà —vulnerable and at rest, which made me melt.

His inked, muscled chest rose and fell in a slow, peaceful rhythm.

The setting sun crept through the windows, casting a golden glow over the room, making everything warm, hazy, and dreamlike.

Outside, the beach stretched into the horizon, the waves catching the last rays of daylight as they rolled onto the shore.

It was quiet, only the soft rustling of the sea breeze filtering through the half-open window of our primary bedroom in the new home I utterly adored.

I exhaled, my heart full.

It was hard to believe I had survived so alone and uncertain about my life a few months ago. My past, filled with shadows, pain, and the constant gnawing fear that I was destined to always be on my own, was a distant memory.

So much changed so fast. Now that I lived in Sydney, my fears were replaced by a more profound and true love.

I shifted closer to my bello , careful not to wake him.

How had I gotten so lucky? How had this incredible man, with all his power and grit, chosen me?

How had he forgiven me for my family’s sins? That, to me, was the most selfless devotion possible, and I intended to make up for his grief all my life.

His strength had saved me more times than I was able to count, but it was his tenderness, hidden beneath all the layers of toughness, that made me fall in love with him daily.

He stirred, his mouth curving into the slightest smile even in his sleep, and a familiar warmth flooded my chest.

I leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against his temple.

I welcomed the heat of his skin, the pulse of his potency under my lips, grounding me in the present, in this beautiful, fleeting moment.

The sun continued its descent, painting the sky in shades of pink, orange, and violet.

Eyes canted on the view until the last of the sun’s light disappeared into the ocean.

Then I closed my eyes and whispered a silent thank you into the universe.

For Valerio.

For this love.

For the certainty that my days of feeling lost and adrift were over.

I had found my home, my world, my soul, with my amore , my King, my peace, my dolce metà .

THE END OF ONE BEAUTIFUL, INCANDESCENT ROMANCE

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The Kings of Omertà Series continues with

BOOK 4: KING OF OUTCASTS

Coming soon …

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