Chapter 127 Epilogue

Chapter 127 Epilogue


A/N: sighs Marks book as completed. Contemplates which of my other 20+ story drafts to expand into a full novel.

(Incase you loved this and haven't read the first 2 books, be sure to check them out on my profile. Title is "SIR (A Mafia BDSM Romance)"

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It's been a hell of a ride guys. Can't wait to see you in the next one 💜

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~Epilogue~
Four years of early morning studio deadlines, terrible dining hall coffee, and endless hours spent staring at oil paints have officially led to this precise moment.
I smooth down the fabric of my graduation gown, adjusting the golden sash draped over my shoulders as the bright sun beats down on the open courtyard of the Metropolitan Institute of Creative Arts. The afternoon air smells like fresh lawn cuttings, cheap champagne, and the sweet relief of a couple thousand students realizing they never have to write another academic research paper again.
“If you adjust that cap one more time, I’m going to pin it to your scalp with a staple gun,” Priya warns, stepping into my field of view with two plastic cups of sparkling apple cider. She looks ridiculously good in her custom tailored suit under her gown, her hair pulled back into a tight bun.
“I’m just making sure I don’t look ridiculous in the family photos,” I reply, taking one of the cups from her hand and taking a small sip. “My mother has already threatened to frame the portrait and place it in the center of the main foyer. If my hair looks flat, I’ll have to stare at my own failure every single time I visit for Sunday dinner.”
“Please, you look disgustingly drop-dead gorgeous, as usual,” Emma says, appearing beside Priya and wrapping her arm around my shoulders. “Besides, your Dad brought three separate photographers. I saw Marcus directing them near the fountain ten minutes ago like they were setting up a freaking raid.”
I laugh, shaking my head as my eyes scan the crowded plaza.
It really is an ordinary, beautiful afternoon. There are no blacked-out SUVs waiting near the curbs with tinted windows. There are no concealed weapons resting against hips beneath tailored jackets. There are no earpieces, no codes, no hushed whispers about shipping docks or rival families. There is just an overwhelming sea of families, flowers, and graduates tossing black caps into the air.
My gaze lands on our group gathered near the shade of the large oak trees.
My mother is wearing a soft cream dress, her hand resting comfortably over my father’s arm. David Reid actually looks relaxed, his usual cold demeanor softened into something warm as he talks to Chloe and Garvin. Garvin is holding Chloe’s hand, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles while she laughs at something my mother said. They finally made things official during our sophomore year, and watching Garvin transition from an irresponsible flirty asshole to a hopelessly attentive boyfriend has been one of the highlights of my college life.
Beside them is Lucas and Tyler, both looking absurdly grown up in their formal suits. Lucas is currently showing something on his phone to Jacob, who is now thirteen, tall, and wearing a navy blazer that Zeke would have been immensely proud to see.
And then there is Emilia Arden who is sitting comfortably in a shaded bench chair, looking healthy and vibrant. The ongoing targeted therapy treatments have kept her condition completely stable over the last four years, and the color in her face is genuine. She is currently chatting with my mother, the two of them looking like old friends who have long buried whatever shadows once stood between their families.
“Hey,” a low, familiar voice murmurs directly behind my ear.
A pair of strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back against a warm, broad chest.
I lean my head back against Eli’s shoulder, smiling as I feel the steady rhythm of his heart through his formal jacket. He smells like cedarwood and clean soap, a scent that has felt like home for as long as I can remember.
“Congratulations, Bachelor of Fine Arts,” Eli says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of my neck.
“Congratulations to you too, Bachelor of Music,” I reply, turning in his arms to look up at him.
He looks infuriatingly handsome. His dark hair is neatly styled, his jaw clean-shaven, and his eyes hold that quiet, intense focus that still makes my breath hitch if I look at him for too long.
“Are you ready to head to the post-graduation dinner?” I ask, running my fingers lightly over his lapel. “My father keeps checking his watch. I think he’s itching to give his speech.”
“Actually,” Eli says, stepping back slightly and taking my hand, “there is one more thing I need to show you before we join everyone at the restaurant.”
I narrow my eyes at him, tilting my head suspiciously. “Elias Arden, what are you up to? If this is another surprise party, I swear to God–”
“It’s not a party,” he interrupts with a quiet smile, squeezing my hand. “It’s just an exhibit. Just give me ten minutes. Please?”
He flashes me that grin if his that still, somehow, after everything, manages to undo me a little.
“Ten minutes,” I concede, letting him lead me away from the crowd. “If my father sends a search party, I’m blaming you entirely.”
He guides me through the quiet glass doors of the campus arts center, stepping away from the noise of the graduation crowd. We walk down the long, quiet corridor toward the private student exhibition rooms.
Eli pulls out a key card, swipes it across the digital lock of Gallery Room 4, and pushes the large door open.
“After you,” he says softly.
I step inside, and the breath catches in my throat.
The room is dimly lit, with soft warm spotlights highlighting a series of curated pieces arranged along the white walls. I step forward slowly, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor as I take in what Eli has put together.
The first piece on the left wall is a large digital print of a high school party flyer, framed beside a sketch of a crowded living room. My mind immediately flashes back to the very first night I ever spoke to him – the night I tried to flirt with him at a house party while wearing an expensive dress, only for him to give me a flat, unimpressed look and walk straight past me.
“You really included the night you snubbed me?” I ask, a breathless laugh escaping my lips as I move to the next piece.
“It was the moment my life officially got complicated,” Eli replies from behind me, his hands in his pockets as he watches me walk.
The next display features an old, framed high school detention slip, mounted right next to a charcoal sketch of the detention hall where we spent hours bickering endlessly, yet stealing glances at each other while pretending we didn’t care.
I walk slowly down the line. Every major moment of our chaotic, beautiful, terrifying journey is preserved here through art.
There is a painting of the rain-slicked roof where we hid together, a detailed sketch of the small café booth where we conducted investigations, a photograph of the bronze statue of Zeke standing watch over the estate, and a mixed-media piece depicting the campus yard where we spent our first quiet autumn together without a war waiting for us.
It is our entire story, stripped of the horror and elevated into something beautiful.
“Eli,” I breathe. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“How long have you been planning this.”
“Longer than you’d probably be comfortable knowing.”
I move slowly along the wall, my throat tightening with every piece, and at the very center of the room, the final piece stops me completely.
Standing on a wooden easel is a completely blank canvas. Directly beside it, resting on a music stand, is a sheet of manuscript paper with blank staff lines, waiting for notes that haven’t been written yet.
Two incomplete things side by side.
My future as an artist. His future as a composer.
I stare at them both, my chest aching in a way I don’t fully have words for, and beside the canvas hangs a small plaque. The engraved text reads:
YOU DON’T HAVE TO KNOW HOW THE STORY ENDS TO CHOOSE WHO YOU WRITE IT WITH.
I gasp, a sudden wave of heat washing over my eyes as the realization hits me all at once. I turn around slowly.
Eli is already standing right behind me.
“For most of my life,” Eli begins, “I thought my future belonged to my father. I thought my entire existence was meant to be consumed by his legacy, by his debts, and by the revenge I was raised to carry out.”
He takes a slow step closer, his eyes looking at me with a quiet unshakeable devotion that makes the rest of the world fade into white noise.
“After that, I thought my future belonged to the violence,” he continues softly. “To the ring, to the streets, guns, and to the war we were stuck in. But then… I met you.”
A tear leaks out of the corner of my eye, and I quickly wipe it away with the back of my hand, letting out a soft, watery scoff at myself.
“You showed up in my life,” Eli says, a faint, tender smile touching his lips as he reaches out to wipe another tear from my cheek. “And you made me realize that I could actually have a life that wasn’t inherited from anyone. A life that belonged to me.”
He takes a deep breath and lowers himself onto one knee.
My hand flies to my mouth, and somewhere behind me I’m distantly aware that the gallery door is still propped open, that anyone could walk in, and I find I don’t care even a little.
Eli pulls a small, red-lined box from his pocket and flips it open. Inside is an elegant platinum ring holding a brilliant cut diamond that catches the gallery lights.
“Since the day I took the job of protecting you,” Eli says, looking up at me with absolute clarity, “there hasn’t been a single night where I didn’t fall asleep thinking about you. Every single day that we didn’t speak felt like a battle I didn’t want to fight.”
He takes a deep breath, his hands steady as he holds the box up.
“I spent my whole life being told who I belonged to,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “But every good thing I’ve ever had in this life began when I chose you.”
He looks directly into my eyes, and holds the box out to me.
“So, Lucia Reid… choose me again?”
The tears come freely now, streaming down my cheeks in absolute defiance of my careful morning makeup.
“You are such an idiot, Elias Arden,” I choke out, laughing through the sobs as I wipe my face furiously. “You made me cry on my graduation day! I am furious with you!”
“Is that a yes or a no?” he asks softly, his eyes sparkling with quiet amusement.
“Yes, you idiot! Of course it’s a yes!”
Eli stands up quickly, slipping the ring onto my finger before pulling me flush against his chest. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, burying my face into the crook of his shoulder as his arms lock around my waist, lifting me slightly off my feet. He kisses me deeply, his lips warm and desperate against mine, anchoring me to him in the exact same way he has done for the last four years.
When we finally pull back, my heart feels light, buoyant, and completely free.
“Look at this,” I say, holding up my hand to admire the ring as the diamond catches the light. “It’s gorgeous. You actually have good taste.”
“I picked you, didn’t I?” he replies smoothly, smirking at me.
I laugh, rolling my eyes as I hook my arm through his. “Come on. We have to go back outside before my father sends Marcus with a squad.”
As we walk out of the gallery room and head down the corridor toward the glass doors, I look at him sideways, a witty smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth.
“Speaking of…” I say, tilting my head. “Does my Dad know about this?”
Eli lets out a quiet, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “The day I went over to the house to ask for his blessing, he was sitting on the patio cleaning three different handguns. Casually. In the middle of the afternoon, for absolutely no reason at all.”
I chuckle. “That tracks.”
“So I had my mum bake a pie instead. Sweet talked your mother into eating three slices of it, and had her pass the message along for me.” He shrugs. “Felt healthier for everyone involved that way
I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “So you’re telling me you negotiated your way into marrying me the exact same way you negotiated your way out of getting shot in his office all those months ago. Through my mother and baked goods.”
“I go with what works.”
“That is deeply concerning and also, somehow, exactly right for us,” I reply, squeezing his arm as we step through the double doors into the bright afternoon sun.
Ahead of us, under the shade of the large oak trees, our families spot us walking down the stone steps.
My mother smiles widely, nudging my father’s arm as she points toward my hand. My father looks up, his eyes landing on the ring, and for a fraction of a second, a small, proud smile breaks through his usual stoic expression. Emilia steps forward with a bouquet of yellow roses, her face glowing with happiness, while Emma and Priya start screaming and waving their arms frantically from the lawn.
I look over at Eli as we walk, his hand warm and certain around mine, and think, not for the first time, that every single thing we survived to get here was worth it, every warehouse and every lie and every impossible choice, because it all led to exactly this.
Our hands linked. Our families waiting. A blank canvas and an unfinished song, both of them ours now, both of them ready to be written however we decide.
For the first time in my life, the future wasn’t something waiting to happen to me.
It was something we would make.
Together.
~end~