And as they climbed the stairs to their bedroom—their shared space, their shared life, their shared future—Emma realized something that should have terrified her but instead felt like relief.
She wasn’t afraid anymore.
Not of loving Luca. Not of being loved by him. Not of building a life in a world that was complicated and dangerous and full of people like Camille who would always want to take what wasn’t theirs.
She wasn’t afraid because she’d finally found something worth fighting for.
And that something was standing beside her, holding her hand, looking at her like she was the only sure thing in his entire violent, beautiful world.
Three years later, Emma sat in the garden under the oak tree, watching Sophie chase Luca and Teresa’s great-grandson across the lawn.
The boy—Marco, named after the man who had saved Sophie’s life—was two years old and utterly fearless.
Sophie was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
Emma’s hand rested on her own stomach, where a second Moretti grandchild was currently making her nauseous and exhausted and impossibly happy.
Luca appeared beside her with water and crackers.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting.”
“You’re watching Sophie chase our nephew.”
“That’s very restful.”
Luca sat down beside her. “You’re impossible.”
“You married me anyway.”
“Best decision I ever made.”
Emma leaned into him.
They sat there, watching their family, until the sun began to set and Teresa called everyone inside for dinner.
As they walked toward the house, Emma thought about the maid who had stood in this same garden three years ago, trying to decide if she was brave enough to stay.
She’d stayed.
And in staying, she’d found everything she hadn’t known she was allowed to want.
Love. Family. Home.
A life that was messy and complicated and full of people who had learned to protect each other the way only the Morettis could.
That night, after Marco was asleep and Sophie had gone to her own apartment in the city and Teresa had kissed them both goodnight, Emma and Luca lay tangled together in the dark.
“Do you ever think about how this started?” Emma asked.
“Every day.”
“Regret any of it?”
“Not a single second.”
Emma smiled. “Not even the karaoke bar?”
