Page 82 of Forsaken Promises

The baker, a middle-aged Parisian woman, raises an eyebrow at Dom’s butchered French, clearly unimpressed. I can’t help but burst out laughing at the exchange, earning a playful glare from Dom.

“Pardonnez-moi,” I say to the baker, my French flowing smoothly. “Nous prendrons deux croissants et deux cafés, s’il vous plaît.”

The baker smiles at me, nodding in approval as she prepares our order of two croissants and two coffees. Dom looks at me, a mix of awe and amusement on his face. “Show-off,” he teases, nudging me with his elbow. “I didn’t know you spoke French.”

I shrug, looking smug. “Papa always wanted us to learn French, and I’m the only one who really showed an aptitude for it. Bianca’s French is even worse than yours.”

As we sit at a nearby table, savoring our flaky croissants and rich coffee, I can’t help but feel a surge of love and affection for this man, my husband, who is so determined to embrace the “normal” tourist experience.

“You know,” I say, reaching across the table to take his hand, “I love seeing you like this, so carefree and excited about discovering the world.”

Dom’s eyes soften, and he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “You make everything better, brighter, and more beautiful. I can’t wait to plan our next trip together. Where should we go?”

I take a bite of the delicate pastry, wanting to moan at how delicious it is. “Somewhere where you won’t butcher the language,” I tease.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Dom insists, sipping his coffee as his eyes glint with amusement.

“The waiter at dinner last night looked like he wanted to cry when he heard you ask where the bathrooms are.”

Dom shrugs, a smirk playing at his lips. “Let’s go to Spain next,” he says. “It’s close enough to Italian that I should be able to get by.” He finishes his coffee and stands up, holding out his hand. “Let’s go, Sofia. We have so much more to explore.”

As the sun begins to set over the Parisian skyline, Dom and I make our way back to our cozy Airbnb, tired but blissfully happy after a day spent exploring the city’s wonders. We climb the narrow stairs to our charming little apartment, the anticipation building with each step. Dom carries multiple shopping bags from several well-known French designers.

Dom may want to play the part of a normal tourist, butI’mstill a Marino, and Marino girls love the Big Three—Balmain, Dior, and Chanel. My mother and sisters would kill me if I didn’t buy them something while I was in Paris.

Once inside, Dom pulls me into his arms, his lips finding mine in a kiss that starts off tender but quickly deepens, igniting the ever-present spark between us. We stumble toward the bedroom, shedding layers of clothing along the way, our hands eagerly rediscovering each other’s bodies.

As we fall onto the soft, inviting bed, I can’t help but marvel at the love and desire that course through my veins. Dom’s touch, his kiss, his very presence consumes me, filling me with a sense of completeness and utter contentment.

Not too long ago, the thought of marrying Dominico Sicura, the man who had once shattered my heart into a million pieces, filled me with dread and despair. I had believed that my life would be over, that I would be trapped in a loveless marriage, forever miserable and alone.

But now, as I gaze into Dom’s eyes, those beautiful eyes that reflect the depth of his love and devotion, I realize how wrong I was. This man, my husband, has shown me the true meaning of love, of forgiveness, and of second chances.

He has healed my broken heart and filled it with a joy I never thought possible.

As we lay tangled in each other’s arms, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking, I rest my head on Dom’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In this moment, I am certain that this is my happily ever after, the fairytale ending I’ve always dreamed of.

“I love you, Dom,” I murmur, my voice soft and filled with emotion. “I love you more than I ever thought possible.”

Dom tightens his embrace, pressing a tender kiss to the top of my head. “I love you too, Sofia,” he whispers. “You’re my everything, my forever. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Drifting off to sleep, I know that no matter what the future holds, we’ll face it together. Our love story, with all its ups and downs, has led us to this perfect moment, and I am grateful for every step of the journey.

In the city of love, in the arms of the man who holds my heart, I have found my true home, my eternal happiness. As I surrender to the blissful pull of sleep, I am confident that this is just the beginning of our forever, a love story that will continue to unfold, day by day, for the rest of our lives.

EXTENDED EPILOGUE

RORK

I take a deep breath, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I prepare for the final round of the tournament. This is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for, the chance to win Bianca Marino’s hand in marriage and finally reveal my true identity to her father, the feared Mafia Boss, Don Marino.

For years, I’ve been plotting my revenge against the man who has always been my rival, who permanently scarred me. And now, as I step into the arena, I can hardly contain my anticipation. I know that when Don Marino realizes that one of his precious daughters has just been claimed by his enemy, it’ll shock him. Hell, I hope he drops dead of a heart attack.

I can picture it now—the shock, the rage, the utter disbelief that will cross his features when he sees me standing there, victorious, with Bianca by my side. He’ll know then that he’s been bested, that all his power and influence couldn’t protect him from the vengeance I’ve been planning for so long.

As I take my position, I feel a surge of confidence and determination. I’ve trained for this moment, honed my skills and my strategy to perfection. I know that I have what it takes to win, to claim my prize and my revenge in one fell swoop.

The roar of the crowd fades into the background as I focus on my opponent, my senses heightened and my mind clear. This is my destiny, my chance to finally make things right and to see the utter look of defeat on Don Marino’s face.

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