Page 120 of His Son's Ex

Tonight is everything.

EPILOGUE I

EVA

Ilet out a slow breath, smoothing a hand over my belly.

“We’re really doing this, kid,” I say. “You and me, making history. Petrov and Bellacino, forging a legacy that’ll keep everyone from shooting each other. No pressure, right?”

I’m not big on fairy tales, but I am starting to think life decided to hand me one anyway—mafia style.

I’m perched on a small, cushioned bench in the bridal suite that’s been set up just for me, adjusting my ivory gown around my very pregnant belly. The baby’s turning lazy somersaults, as if it’s excited for the upcoming festivities too.

Today is my wedding day.

The suite I’m in is surrounded by cream walls, gilded accents, and a vanity covered with flowers. Roses, lilies, and a few exotic blossoms I can’t even name. From the big bay window, I catch a glimpse of the sunny courtyard below where multiple Italian families and guests mingle amid high-top tables and artful flower arrangements. A string quartet plays while servers walk around with trays of hors d’oeuvres.

I spot a few Russians in tailored suits, looking entirely too comfortable around the Bellacino men. A sign of the times, I guess.

I take a look in the floor-length mirror. My reflection smiles back at me, lips painted a soft rose color. My hair is pinned up, a few loose curls framing my face.

A light knock sounds at the door. Halsey peeks her head in, eyes shining. She’s wearing a sleek lilac bridesmaid dress she absolutely hates, but she’s doing it for me.

“You ready?” she asks. “The ceremony’s about to start.”

I grin. “I’m as ready as a very pregnant bride can be. You’d think the baby might chill out for my wedding day, but it’s in there getting a head start on the dancing.”

Halsey laughs. “You look incredible. You’re going to wow the crowd. The mafia and Bratva royalty outside are dying to meet you. The pregnant Petrov princess marrying the Bellacino Don. They’re totally scandalized.”

“Good,” I say with a smirk. “Scandal is my favorite accessory.”

She adjusts my gown’s train, smoothing any wrinkles. “Dante is going to lose his mind when he sees you walking down the aisle. He’s been prowling around all morning, snapping at anyone who so much as mentions your name.”

A surge of warmth fills me. “That’s sweet. In a very Dante way.”

The wedding is being held in the grand courtyard of the Bellacino Long Island estate. Rows of white chairs are placedevenly in front of an altar decorated in gold and pink roses, soft greenery, and white satin. A slew of powerful figures, wealthy families, and stoic bodyguards stand along the perimeter.

Front and center, near the altar, is Dante, flanked by his lieutenants.

My breath catches when I see him. He’s wearing a crisp black suit, no tie—just a sleek open collar that shows a hint of his sexy collarbone. He looks commanding yet vulnerable, confident yet nervous.

His eyes lock on me the moment I appear at the end of the aisle, a wave of intensity passing between us.

I carefully walk down the aisle, focused on Dante the entire time.

Halsey is by my side, helping me navigate the tricky satin pathway covered in fresh rose petals.

When I reach the altar, Dante steps forward and takes my hand, tucking my arm into his. Halsey reaches for my bouquet, then moves off to the side. The officiant begins the ceremony with a calm, gentle voice. When he reaches the words “to have and to hold,” Dante raises a hand, signaling for a pause. His grip on mine tightens, steady and warm.

“I’d like to say something,” he says.

I blink, caught off guard. This wasn’t planned. My brows lift in surprise, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You’re winging it at our wedding? Should I be worried?”

“I’m not winging it,” he says quietly. “I wrote this.”

I’m speechless.

There’s a slight rustling as the guests lean in, sensing something profound and real is about to happen. Dante clears his throat, then begins to speak.

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