Epilogue

Adele

ONE YEAR LATER

The Bentley's engine purrs into silence as we pull up to the Fortress. Gilded by the setting sun, Dante's profile captivates me – the tantalizing groove in his cheeks a testament to his reluctant joy.

I slide my hand up his thigh. "Happy birthday, carissimo. "

Dante's gray eyes meet mine, swirling with heat. "I still can't believe you arranged this," he murmurs, gesturing to the mansion.

It had taken weeks of cajoling to get Dante to agree to a joint celebration with the twins, and even longer to plan a party that could satisfy both toddlers and hardened mafiosos. My husband, ever the selfless one, would move mountains to surprise me or orchestrate a getaway for Nico and Sophie, but rarely spares a thought for his own happiness.

"You're forever putting everyone else first," I say, my fingernails tracing patterns on his expensive wool suit pants. "Me, Luca," – I nod toward our sleeping six-month-old in the backseat – "Nico, the whole fucking Outfit. Let us do this for you, baby."

Dante covers my hand with his, his thumb drawing circles on my skin. "You're all I want."

"You don't want much, do you?"

"Not when you've brought me the entire universe. Grazie, tesoro. "

I lean in, my lips brushing his ear. "Well, there's a reason the universe decided to share your birthday with the twins. It's telling us to pull that service stick out of your ass and enjoy being loved on."

His breath hitches. In an instant, his hand tangles in my hair, pulling me into a kiss that's all heat and hunger. I melt into him, my body responding with a familiar ache. Even now, Dante ignites a fire in me with a single look.

"If you wanted that stick out of my ass," he growls against my lips, "you should have just asked. I'd be happy to put it somewhere else."

A laugh bubbles up in my throat, equal parts arousal and amusement. "Promises, promises," I tease.

We lose ourselves in the moment, hands roaming, breaths mingling. I playfully nibble his bottom lip – a move guaranteed to drive him wild. Dante groans, dragging me across the console onto his lap. The kiss turns decadent. I repeat the move, and he tears his mouth away, sliding his thumb across my lower lip.

"Such a bad girl," he whispers.

"What? I'm just giving you a birthday kiss," I purr, catching his thumb between my lips.

In the backseat, Luca sleeps on, blissfully unaware of his parents' indiscretions. It's a rare moment of uninterrupted intimacy, and we're both reluctant to let it end.

Dante's voice grows husky with unmistakable desire. "Did you want to give me a party or a present?"

"Both. But you'll have to wait until after the first to unwrap the second."

"Fuck that." He slides the seat all the way back. "Get on your knees. Now."

I laugh. "Not a chance, perv. Not when Luca is two feet away."

"Sleeping like a rock. Do it."

His rough command sends a jolt of arousal through me. But before I can contemplate obeying, a sharp rap on the window shatters our bubble. Antonella stands outside, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "If you two are quite finished," she calls through the glass, "your guests are waiting."

Dante groans, resting his forehead against mine. "Saved by the bell."

"Yeah right. I wasn't going to do that!" I try to scramble off his lap, but he holds me fast, chuckling.

"Hell yes, you were, Addy. You were literally salivating."

"You're disgusting, you know that?"

"Disgustingly accurate," he deadpans, and we both burst into laughter.

Antonella raps again. "Anytime this year, kids."

We unlock the doors and pour out of the car, and I straighten my teal curve-hugging maxi dress.

Antonella immediately reaches into the back and lifts Luca from his car seat. Jarred from his nap, he blinks owlishly, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Then recognition dawns, and his round face splits into a gummy smile. His green eyes—so like mine—sparkle as a string of delighted squeals escapes him.

"There's my precious bambino! " Antonella coos, scooping him up with practiced ease. Luca immediately makes a grab for her diamond earrings, his taste in jewelry apparently as expensive as his father's taste in cars.

Dante's hand finds the small of my back as we follow Antonella into the house. The aroma of grilling meat and freshly baked bread mingles with the scent of flowers. Music drifts from the garden, a melodic backdrop to the cheerful chatter and laughter.

"No climbing on the— accidenti! Antonio! Put that down now! Tommy, don't eat that!" Enzo, looking like he's gone ten rounds with a tornado, is in hot pursuit of his six identical toddlers. The two-year-old terrors giggle maniacally as they duck and weave around priceless antiques, their father always a step behind and a curse word ahead.

Suddenly, one of the boys spots Dante. "Uncle Dante!" he shrieks, and like a well-oiled machine, all six toddlers screech to a halt and turn toward us. It's eerily reminiscent of how Dante's men snap to attention when he enters a room.

Dante grins, crouching down with open arms. "Come here, you little monsters!"

In a flash, the boys are upon him like a swarm of very small, very sticky locusts. Dante is suddenly buried under a pile of giggling toddlers. It's a sight that makes my ovaries do a little dance, even as my brain screams ‘not yet' in horror.

"Alright, troops," Dante announces in his best Don voice, somewhat undermined by the child hanging off his neck like a demented koala. "Let's move this party to the garden. I hear there's ice cream out there."

A chorus of excited squeals erupts as Dante marches toward the garden, his giggling entourage in tow.

Enzo watches with relief, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He offers me a weary smile. "I swear those boys listen to him more than they do to me."

I laugh, patting Enzo's shoulder sympathetically. "Don't worry, I'm sure that'll change . . . in about sixteen years. Or whenever they decide to stage their first coup."

Enzo groans good-naturedly, and we share a chuckle that's equal parts amusement and existential dread. As we follow the parade of mayhem out to the garden, I see that the event planners have brought to life exactly what Sophie and I wanted for the twins' first birthday and Dante's thirty-second: one part Sesame Street, one part ‘The Godfather', and all parts utterly amazing.

I find Sophie in the kitchen, her dark hair swept up in an elegant updo that makes her look even more radiant than usual. She's in the middle of what looks like a delicate negotiation with the curly-haired twins, Aldo and Celia, trying to get them to eat their vegetables. The elaborate birthday cake on the counter seems to be both the carrot and the stick in this particular battle.

"Just a few more bites, sweethearts," Sophie coaxes, her voice a mix of sweetness and determination that I've come to admire. "Then you can have cake, I promise."

I sidle up next to her, grinning at the scene. "How's it going, Supermom? Need me to play good cop or bad cop?"

Sophie's eyes light up when she sees me. "Addy! Thank God you're here. I was starting to wonder if Dante had whisked you off for some ‘private celebrating'."

We share a laugh, both of us all too familiar with Dante's tendency—and let's face it, mine also—to misbehave in public. "And speaking of missing in action," she continues, "what's this about Kira not coming? I was looking forward to having her spin something perfect for our dual theme."

"Triple theme," I correct, "if you count the mommies' corner. But yeah, Kira got a last-minute gig in Fiji. She was invited to some reality TV dating show to ‘treat the couples to a good time'."

As if on cue, the music changes to something upbeat.

"She would have had to fly for that," Sophie muses, and I can see her connecting the dots.

"Yes, she had to. She was going to have to break the fear at some point. But I don't think she's by herself."

"No, it would seem not." Sophie's smile widens, and I can tell she's thinking the same thing I am. "It just so happens that Sal has conveniently taken a week's leave of absence."

We share a look that speaks volumes. Everyone and their blind grandmother can see the attraction between Kira and Sal. Despite Kira's initial giddiness over him, she's now playing it cool, insisting that they're "just friends".

I sigh, hoping that whatever is truly going on between those two isn't too complicated. Knowing Kira, we'd be lucky if we find out they're dating before the wedding invitations arrive.

Just then, Nico sweeps into the kitchen, exuding his usual mix of suave confidence and fatherly warmth. I watch as he plants kisses on Sophie and the twins before turning to me with open arms. I step into his hug, grateful for how close we've become.

Once I got beyond his Don persona, I realized Dante is right about him. They are polar opposites yet also the same. Nico has Dante's warmth and humor on the inside, while Dante embodies all of Nico's ruthless intensity once you scratch his playful surface. It's a complexity I'm still unraveling.

"Addy," Nico says, holding me at arm's length, his hands gently gripping my arms. "Thank you for doing this for Dante. He never takes the time to enjoy the spotlight—it's like trying to get George to take a bath."

I chuckle. George is even fatter now, what with the twins' habit of feeding him the bits of veggies they don't want. Sophie has had to keep him on a strict meal plan.

"I know, Dante is always too busy looking out for everyone else."

"True, but so are you, too, Addy," Nico points out. "You're just like him."

A flush of pride warms my cheeks at the comparison. Being likened to Dante feels like a high compliment. I duck my head, trying to hide my pleased smile.

"Speaking of," Nico continues, his eyes twinkling as if he caught my reaction, "you might want to head outside. There's about twenty Power Rangers there, and a few have been asking for you." He nods toward the garden.

"Twenty!" Sophie and I exclaim in unison, sharing a look of ‘what the hell?'

"Give or take," Nico shrugs. "I thought you wanted them here?"

"I did, but I only mentioned the party in passing to a couple of them, not really expecting so many to turn up." The Power Foundation, now affectionately called ‘Power Rangers' by Dante and the rest of the men, now supports close to fifty women.

This turnout is unexpected but heartening.

I scan the crowd, taking in the ‘Power Rangers' mingling with the guests. Each face tells a story of survival. My gaze lingers on the petite brunette in a fuchsia dress, chatting with a few moms. She throws her head back and laughs at what one of them is saying.

"Can you believe Mezhen? Out in the open and mingling," I murmur to Sophie, nodding toward the petite brunette.

Sophie follows my gaze, her eyes widening slightly. "I'm so proud of how much progress she's made in one year."

Mezhen not only had a severe case of Stockholm syndrome, but she also suffered from mild agoraphobia. But she was determined to get better and continues pushing herself daily. Her progress is a testament to the Power Foundation's work.

Nico's voice pulls me from my reverie. "Those women adore you, Addy. They'd go to war for you." His eyes light up, and I'm instantly wary of his next words.

"Actually, speaking of loyal soldiers—" Nico begins, a new idea clearly forming.

Sophie gives him a playful shove. "No thank you, Don Vitelli. Leave Addy's women alone. She's not running a paramilitary organization here."

Nico laughs, scooping up the twins with ease. As he heads out, he calls over his shoulder, "Well, we don't think you're fully ‘empowered' until you know how to break a man's arm in three places."

Sophie rolls her eyes, but as we head into the garden the wheels start to turn in my head.

It's not such a terrible idea, actually.

The party spreads over the massive grounds in three groups, each about fifty yards apart and with its own decor. The groups are close enough for convenience, but also far enough to pretend we're not all part of the same circus. The event planner was well worth every penny spent.

Nearest to the house is the children's party, a wild jumble of color and noise. Tables laden with treats dot the area. A "pirate" entertainer, who I'm pretty sure is actually one of Dante's enforcers in a costume, is captivating the rugrats with magic tricks.

Nearby, a giant pi?ata in the shape of a treasure chest dangles enticingly as blindfolded children flail at it with more enthusiasm than accuracy. A small soft play area sits to the side, more to the speed for toddlers like Aldo and Celia to roll around in.

By the tranquil lakeside, the men's gathering provides a stark contrast. Chicago's most lethal—and arguably most attractive—men surround Dante, sipping cocktails and exchanging good-natured barbs in rapid-fire Italian. Their voices carry across the water, and I find myself unconsciously translating snippets of their conversation, pleased at my growing grasp of the language.

It's the least I can do, considering how many languages Dante juggles. In our world, ‘hello' in a certain language can mean anything from a warm welcome to a deadly warning, depending on who's saying it and where their loyalties lie.

My gaze lingers on the group of men. Mafiosos aren't supposed to be this appealing, really. Their sculpted, tattooed bodies are barely concealed by expertly tailored suits—a necessity to hide their holsters. Not that their kids haven't seen those guns before, but discretion is always desired in public. So instead of casual wear, it's Armani and Brioni for these men.

I notice the guards strategically placed around the perimeter and the subtle hum of drones in the air. Paranoia, thy name is The Outfit. But I get it, their most precious possessions are here. Letting their guard down completely would be unthinkable.

Finally, I turn my attention to the "normal" party. Wait staff weave through the crowd like ninjas, refilling drinks and offering hors d'oeuvres. The Power Rangers engage in animated conversation, mostly with each other and some of the parents not occupied with child-minding duties.

I can't help noticing some of them casting longing glances toward the lakeside gathering. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Those women have tasted danger; I doubt they'll ever be satisfied with ordinary men again.

Just then, Sophie joins me, following my gaze and noting the same thing.

"I wonder how long it'll take them to sidle toward the lakeside?" Sophie remarks.

I nod, unsure it was a good idea to put them in sighting distance of those hot-as-hell red flags. "PTSD much?"

Sophie follows my gaze and shakes her head. "Not PTSD, Addy. Just plain ol' temptation calling. Good thing kids are here. Otherwise, we could be hosting the prelude to an orgy."

I snort. "Not that it could ever stop them. Hello, cell phone and locked doors."

Sophie's phone rings, slicing through our conversation. She answers with an uncharacteristic eye roll that makes me wonder who is at the other end.

"Yeah, just come in," she says with exaggerated patience. "I promise there are no bioweapons with your name on it."

Sophie pauses to listen, then her expression morphs into one of exasperated fondness. "Cade, you do realize this is a kids' party, don't you? You're going to have to smile at a lot more people than just me and the twins. Lucky for you, it's also Dante's birthday. So I suggest you put out the fire on your breath, and try not to scare the children. We're in the garden."

She hangs up with a theatrical sigh. "Gotta love him."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Cade Quinn is here? I thought he hates Nico."

Sophie snorts. "He hates everyone. Well, except kids, and women—when they're in trouble. Not so sure about when they're not."

I feel a spark of curiosity. I've heard so much about this enigmatic brother of Sophie's, the man who indirectly propelled me toward my new career. My mind races with questions, but before I can ask any of them, the atmosphere shifts.

As if summoned by our gossip, a man appears at the large patio leading to the house. He scans the crowd for approximately half a second before making a beeline for us, moving through the sea of guests like Moses with a hangover. I watch, fascinated, as people instinctively step out of his way, their conversations faltering mid-sentence.

Holy shit. And I thought Nico looked dangerous. Cade Quinn is a fucking natural disaster in human form.

The first thing that strikes me is his raw, untamed beauty—and I use that term loosely, like calling a hurricane ‘breezy'. Dark blonde hair that's just shy of ‘I've been electrocuted' and more tattoos than skin. His simple T-shirt, leather jacket, and jeans ensemble screams ‘I could kill you with my pinky, but I'd rather not get blood on my boots'. He holds two large stuffed animals.

As he approaches, I can't help but notice how his movements are both fluid and predatory. It's like watching a panther stalk through a cocktail party.

He reaches us, and while his face remains stoic, something in his eyes softens imperceptibly when he looks at Sophie.

Sophie throws an arm around him in a bone-crushing hug. "Missed you, Cade!"

Cade simply drops a kiss on her head, endures the hug for a couple more seconds then gently disengages.

"Are you okay, Sparrow?" he asks Sophie, his voice like gravel being crushed by a steamroller. The concern in his tone contrasts sharply with his intimidating presence.

I notice one of the teddies is wearing a black eyepatch, a red bandanna, and what looks like a leather cut. The other looks to be in a police uniform.

"Of course I'm alright." Sophie retorts, her chin jutting slightly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Cade's lips twitch. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you're surrounded by a bunch of overgrown tigers?"

Sophie smirks. "Says the bad-tempered T-Rex. Anyway, here's Addy." She turns to me. "Addy is Dante's wife, and she runs that charity I told you about. Addy, my big brother, Cade."

Cade's gaze swings to me, and I beam at him. "Hello, Cade."

His eyes, a shade of green I've never seen before, meet mine briefly before scanning the area, then comes back to rest on mine.

When he says nothing, I continue. "I feel like I know you already, but yeah, thanks again for . . . you know, your help with the Shadow gang situation. And getting the women out."

At the mention of Shadow gang, the ghost of a smile flickers across Cade's face, gone so fast I almost think I imagined it. He gives a short nod, his fingers tapping once against his leg.

Seconds tick by, stretching into what feels like minutes. I resist the urge to fidget under his gaze. His look isn't lustful or hostile—it's assessing, like he's piecing together a puzzle.

Sophie eventually pokes him in the side, breaking the tension. "Use your words, Cade," she mutters.

He grunts, "Right, Addy. You're welcome."

His tone is neutral but not cold. It's direct and lacking in social niceties, but I find myself unbothered by it. There's something refreshing about his straightforward manner.

And then to my surprise, Mezhen sidles up to us, her face redder than a fire truck at a chili cook-off. "Hi, it's Special Agent Quinn, isn't it?" she squeaks. Her English has improved a lot, but it still carries the lilt of her native accent.

Cade's gaze flicks to her briefly before looking away. "At your service," he says, his tone unchanged. If he recognizes her, he gives no indication. I realize with a start that this is just who he is—uninterested in, or perhaps incapable of, the social niceties most of us take for granted.

Sophie, ever the tactful hostess, smoothly cuts in. "Oh, Mezhen, exactly the person I wanted to catch. Can you help me tear the twins away from their toy war so they can meet their uncle?" I can see the disappointment on Mezhen's face as Sophie leads her away.

Once we're alone, I face Cade again, and I already know he'll be perfectly comfortable standing there, silent until Sophie gets back. But if there's something I've learned from Dante, it's how effective poking the bear can be.

So I take a breath and say. "I hated Sean, you know—Sean Hall. My husband for, I don't know, all of two hours. He was the head of the Shadow gang."

Cade just continues to look at me.

"But of course, you know who Sean was. Anyway, in those few hours of marriage, I found out what pure hatred tasted like. And now, I love Dante more than I thought possible to love a person."

Cade's bored expression morphs into one of mild nausea. Gratified by his reaction, I press on. "But here's the kicker," I lean in slightly as if sharing a secret, "Hate feels so much better than love. Hate is a furnace that warms you from the inside while you plot your revenge. Love? Love's a mindfuck that turns you into a drooling idiot."

I notice a slight narrowing of the eyes, and a twitch at the corner of his mouth. He's listening, really listening.

"Your point?" Cade finally asks, his tone neutral but his body language more engaged than I've seen it since he arrived.

I glance pointedly at the teddy bears in his hand, the sight of the custom-made soft toys in his big tattooed hands striking me anew. "You hate Nico Vitelli. And yet," I nod toward where he is standing with the rest of the men by the lake, "there he is living and breathing free air, not even close to seeing the inside of a prison cell. And here you are, with two well-thought-out presents for his kids."

The corner of his mouth quirks up and he tilts his head, regarding me with newfound interest. "Missing your old job, Valentina?"

I don't even bother asking how he knows my real name. The man probably knows what I had for breakfast three Tuesdays ago. Instead, I meet his gaze squarely, a smirk playing on my lips. "Nah. I've just gotten better at profiling criminals."

And then, the impossible happens. Cade throws his head back and laughs—a real, genuine laugh that sounds like it's being torn from his very soul. The sound is startling in its richness and depth, completely at odds with his earlier demeanor. It's like watching a statue come to life.

Sophie returns with the twins, her eyes wide with shock as she takes in the scene. Dante also materializes beside me, tension rolling off him. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to make sense of what he's witnessing.

Cade, still chuckling, drops the teddies and scoops up the twins, who are already squealing, their chubby limbs kicking in excitement.

As Cade lets the twins pull on his necklace and hair and everything else they can reach, Dante leans in to whisper, his breath warm against my ear, "What the fuck just happened?"

I shrug, still a bit shell-shocked myself. "No clue. We were just talking." But even as I whisper it, I realize it's not entirely true.

Dante turns to Cade with a smile that looks more like a baring of fangs. "Quinn. Didn't think you'd show."

"Chicago's finest all in one place? Couldn't resist." The sarcasm in his voice is thick enough to cut with a knife, but I sense there's no real venom behind it. Or maybe that's just my na?ve desire to have everyone get along.

As Cade abruptly turns away, presumably to play with the twins in peace, he tosses a "thanks" to Dante. The casual way he says it like he's thanking Dante for passing the salt, catches my attention.

Dante's eyebrows furrow, voicing the confusion we're all feeling. "For what?"

Without turning, he says, "The Shadow gang was never on my radar. But they proved very useful in the end."

And with that cryptic bombshell, he heads for the kids section. As I watch him walk away, I know he's a man who operates outside the norms of society, dangerous and unpredictable, yet capable of incredible acts of heroism. Like all the other men in my life.

I turn to Dante, "Well," I say, a grin spreading across my face, "that was interesting."

"Fucking weirdo," Dante mutters.

I clear my throat pointedly, and Dante has the grace to look sorry, and then he pulls Sophie into an apologetic hug.

"Bella," he huffs, "you know your brother."

"I know you too," Sophie replies, then she turns to me. "By the way, what did you say that got Cade laughing?"

I admit, "I think it was because I called him a criminal."

"I can see why Cade would love that." Sophie chuckles, shaking her head. "You do know he's an FBI agent, right?"

I shrug, and Sophie's laughter grows. "Yeah." I also know he's a criminal.

Dante pulls me close, his breath hot against my ear. "You disarming our arch-enemy in two minutes flat. Do you have any idea how sexy that is?"

I laugh, trying to play it cool despite the fire igniting in my core. "I was just playing host."

"And you're just my wife," Dante deadpans, his hands roaming possessively over my hips. "Maybe we should sic you on him permanently. To manage all negotiations relating to Cade Quinn and the FBI, since he and Nico can't string a single civil sentence between themselves."

"Why does he hate Nico so much anyway? "

Dante looks at me like it should be obvious. "Nico is Cade's worst nightmare, and he married his baby sister here. I don't think that ever gets forgiven."

We all share a laugh, but I can't help adding, "Actually, I think what he can't admit is how much he likes us."

Dante grunts, clearly uninterested in discussing Cade further. His hands tighten on my waist. "Can you come to your old room? I need to show you something real quick."

Sophie rolls her eyes and leaves us with an exasperated huff, and I whirl on Dante in mock outrage. "Dante! You can't just disappear from your own party!"

"It will only take a few minutes."

"Not a chance."

His eyes only darken with desire. "You, me, a house full of guests and a soundproofed room? It'll be a fucking warzone, tesoro . Not at all sure it's a chance you should be passing up."

The temptation is almost overwhelming. I bite my lip as I consider it. The responsible part of me knows we should stay, mingle, and be the perfect hosts. But the other part, the part that's been setting me on fire since I met this dangerous, irresistible man, is screaming to throw caution to the wind.

I lean in close, my lips brushing his ear. "I'll consider it . . . but only if you behave yourself for the rest of the party."

I hear Dante's sharp intake of breath. "Be there in ten minutes. Naked on the bed with your legs spread."

He saunters away, heading for the toddlers section. I watch as he tosses a squealing Luca in the air, laughing as if he's without a care in the world. As if he hasn't just torched my self-control and seized my breath. As if in exactly ten minutes, he won't be showing me again why I trust him with my body and soul.

I can't help but marvel at the turn my life has taken. From a shy woman desperately searching for clues to the puzzle that my life was. To a bold Mafia princess, a wife, and a mentor.

As I head toward the house to do as I'm told, I realize that whatever comes next, whatever challenges we face, one thing for certain: life with Dante Vitelli is never going to be boring.

And honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.

THE END

Thanks for reading!