Page 108 of Ruthless Grace

“As one, principessa,” he vows softly. “Always.”

EPILOGUE

LUCA

ONE YEAR LATER

Once, I believed my legacy would be written in blood, secret ledgers, and the cold, unyielding arithmetic of Cosa Nostra.

Today, it is written in the steady thrum of life.

I sit at the head of the polished mahogany council table at Valentino headquarters. Around me sit my capos, tactical advisors, and Consigliere Moretti. On the screens mounted along the wall, live operational feeds show the border shipping corridors running at record capacity.

Berths 1 through 14 move freight without a single hitch, the zero-percent Santoro tariffs backed by an unshakeable, iron-clad alliance. At the center of the border land, Casa Lucia Hospital has treated over four thousand trauma cases since opening its doors, its Alessandra Valentino Survivor Wing operating at full capacity to shelter women fleeing violence across the entire region.

We built a kingdom out of ashes.

Moretti clears his throat, setting down a manila folder. He leans forward, his weathered face tight with the lingering rigidity of the Old Guard.

“The territories are quiet, Don Luca,” Moretti begins, his tone cautious. “The alliance with Dante Santoro is the strongest this outfit has seen in thirty years. But... there is a whisper moving through the council. It has been a full year since the formal union. The other families are watching. They are asking when the Valentino regime will secure its line.”

The room drops ten degrees in an instant.

I don’t shift in my leather chair. I don’t raise my voice. I simply lock my hands together on top of the mahogany table, my dark eyes boring straight into Moretti’s until the man visibly pulls back.

“My wife’s body is not famiglia business, Moretti,” I rumble. “She is Chief Surgeon of Casa Lucia. She saves lives while you sit here counting calendar pages. Speak of her womb or my bloodline in this council again, and I will personally sever your tongue.”

Moretti turns pale, lowering his eyes immediately. “Understood, Don Luca.”

“This meeting is over,” I state flatly, rising from my seat.

I don’t look back as I leave the council room. I step straight into my blacked-out sedan, telling my driver to head home.

The gates of the Valentino estate glide open silently, welcoming me into the quiet of our private grounds.

Night has settled thick and sweet over the territory. The air smells of night-blooming jasmine, damp oak, and the distant, muddy current of the river. I shed my suit jacket and shoulder holster in my private study before taking the winding marble staircase up to our master suite.

The balcony doors stand wide open, letting a warm, humid breeze billow through the sheer linen curtains.

Standing at the stone balustrade, bathed in the silver glow of a full moon, is my Queen.

My wife wears a floor-length robe of deep emerald silk, her dark hair tumbling down her back in loose, glossy waves. In her hand, she holds a warm mug of tea, gazing out over the glittering lights of the city.

My chest tightens with that same violent, unhinged devotion that has claimed me every single day since she walked into my life. I cross the threshold onto the stone balcony without making a sound, stepping up behind her.

I slide my heavy arms around her waist, pulling her back flush against my chest. I rest my chin on the soft curve of her shoulder, burying my face in her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent, jasmine, warm skin, and absolute home.

She lets out a soft, contented sigh, leaning back into my weight, her hand coming up to cover my forearm.

“You’re home early, husband,” she whispers softly.

“I had a council meeting that bored me to death,” I murmur against her collarbone, pressing a slow kiss to her skin. “So I came back to the only place that matters.”

She turns her head slightly, her dark eyes sparkling with quiet laughter under the stars. “Moretti again?”

“Moretti again,” I rumble. “The Old Guard thinks in terms of territories and heirs. They don’t understand that I built this entire realm just to give you room to breathe.”

She sets her mug down on the stone ledge. She turns around fully in my arms, resting her hands flat against my chest, right over my hammering heart.