EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE


Martina's POV

Two years.

That's how much time has passed since the last shots were fired on that dreadful island. Since blood-stained sand, since screams fell silent, and since we buried Leonardo Moretti in a coffin burdened by grief.

We buried him under a sky that had wept for days. It rained during the funeral, yet no one left. Not Knight. Not Antonio. Not Isabella, who'd not uttered a word from the instant she'd seen his corpse to the moment the casket was lowered into the soggy ground. She appeared as if her spirit had been lost with him. She went away afterward, vanishing over borders and seas in pursuit of something none of us could define. Herself, perhaps. Peace, perhaps. But she kept her promise to come back when it mattered. And today it mattered.

For today, Seraphina was getting married.

I sat in a pew close to the front of the old cathedral, the air heavy with frankincense and anticipation. It was a warm day, light filtering through stained windows, dancing across the smooth pews in shards of color. Soft hums of conversation surrounded me, but I was focused only on the wiggling boy in my arms.

"Salem," I breathed, settling him on my lap.

He looked up at me with large brown eyes, a shade between my own and Silvio's. His fat little hands flailed up in a try to grab the strand of hair that had fallen into my face.

He was but a year and four months, our miracle child. Our survival child. We had named him Salem because it meant peace. Not like peace is silence, but like peace after struggle is victory. He was born out of suffering, out of fire, out of strife. And yet he was there, alive and warm, testament that some things are definitely worth the fight. And we knew. We just knew. Salem was going to be one of the very best at anything he ever did. He was born with that fierce light burning in his eyes. The same glare that Silvio had when he kept getting back up, again and again, when the world tried to kill him.

The doors at the back creaked open, and I turned.

Silvio.

And there he was, striding in with his customary cool presence. The scab over his brow was still there, a discreet reminder of what we'd been through. His body had recovered, but his soul had softened in those two years. Less war, more sophistication. But his eyes? Still fire. Still storm.

His eyes found me nearly at once. A smile crossed his face.

"There you are," he whispered, kneeling beside me and placing a soft kiss on my lips.

He scooped Salem from my arms and held him aloft, making him silly faces. Salem gurgled and cried out, trying to touch his father's nose.

"You are beautiful," Silvio said, his eyes shining as he bounced Salem high. "But then you always are."

I chuckled. "Flatterer."

"Truth teller."

He sat next to me, with Salem in between, and I laid my head on his shoulder. For an instant, the rest of it disappeared. The cathedral. The sea of people. The gossiping. It was only us.

Then the music started.

It was low-key at first, a plodding piano piece that gave way to violins. Everyone rose.

At the other end of the aisle, Antonio emerged.

I inhaled sharply.

He looked. different. More powerful. Fancier. His black hair was slicked back, trimmed closely at the sides. His suit was perfect, tailored, black like a midnight sky with silver thread that quietly sparkled in the sun. And he walked with his cane—yes—but there was pride in his step, authority in the way he stood.

He'd built the Moretti estate from the ground up again. Knight at his side, they'd erased the taint of the past and carved something new. Something clean. Strong. Honorableness.

The cane was never a crutch—it was a reminder.

Antonio arrived at the altar, took a breath, and smiled.

And then Seraphina materialized.

She was beautiful.

Her dress glittered with tiny crystals, delicate lace adhering to her arms and collarbone like morning frost. Her hair was curled in soft waves, and her flowers—a loose collection of white roses and bluebells—were like the smile on her face.

As she glided down the aisle, every eye turned to her. But Antonio? Never once did he tear his gaze from her. Not once.

I felt Silvio shift next to me, his hand lightly on the small of Salem's back, the other in mine.

Seraphina walked down the aisle, and Antonio stepped forward, encasing her hand around his as if it were a religious relic. They stood before the priest, joined hands, eyes fixed.

The priest grinned. "We are gathered together today to witness the joining of Antonio Moretti and Seraphina Russo in holy matrimony."

I barely heard the words. I was too focused on the way Antonio looked at her. As if she were his all. His final page and his start.

Vows were exchanged, hands shaking with sobs. They talked of forgiveness. Of second chances. Of loving not despite the scars, but because of them.

The priest smiled. "Antonio Moretti, do you take Seraphina Russo to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Antonio had answered, voice firm and deep.

"And Seraphina Russo, do you take Antonio Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

She laughed, the tears glinting on her cheeks. "I do."

The cathedral exploded.

There was cheering in the air. Laughter. Cheers. Flowers had been thrown into the air, petals showering like confetti. I looked around, watching as the moment Silvio's eyes met mine.

He moved forward.

And he kissed me.

Not a little peck. A deep, soulful kiss that said it all for every year we survived, every wound we closed, every promise we made at the quiet hours of the night when we thought we might not make it till dawn.

This was it.

This was the beginning of something not even the darkest turns of destiny our foes could ever stop.

I had been married as a subst
itute bride. But now?

And so, I was married to him as his all.

And this. this was our forever.