Page 102 of Claimed By the Enemy
“What happens now?” Sophie asks.
“Now we plan a wedding,” I say. “A real one this time.”
“And after that?”
“After that, we live happily ever after.”
Sophie laughs, the sound bright and joyful and full of hope. “Is it really that simple?”
“It is now.”
And for the first time in sixteen years, I believe it.
We’re free. All of us. Free to love, free to build something new, free to give our child the world our parents should have given us.
A world without family feuds.
A world built on love instead of revenge.
A world worth fighting for.
And a world we’ll spend the rest of our lives protecting.
Epilogue
One Year Later
“She’s got your eyes.”
I look up from where I’m sitting in the shade of the old olive tree, our three-month-old daughter Isabella sleeping peacefully in my arms.
Dom is walking toward us through the vineyard rows, carrying a picnic basket and wearing the kind of relaxed smile I never thought I’d see on his face.
“She’s got your stubborn streak,” I counter, adjusting the soft pink blanket around our baby. “She refused to nap for two hours yesterday.”
“Why sleep when there’s a whole world to explore?”
Dom settles beside me on the blanket we’ve spread beneath the tree, the same tree where I used to play as a child when this vineyard belonged to my parents. Now it belongs to us -a wedding gift from Uncle Enzo, who said it was time for the property to come home to the Bellini family.
Even if that family now includes a Moretti.
“How did the meeting go?” I ask as Dom unpacks sandwiches and fruit.
“Better than expected. The Rossi family is interested in the shipping partnership, and they’re willing to work with both our organizations.”
“Both our organizations.” I shake my head, still amazed by how much has changed. “A year ago, that would have been impossible.”
“A year ago, a lot of things would have been impossible.”
Dom’s hand finds mine, his thumb tracing over my wedding ring. We had a real ceremony six months ago, here in the vineyard, surrounded by friends and family from both sides. Uncle Enzo walked me down the aisle, Raff served as Dom’s best man, and even Amara cried during the vows.
It was everything our first wedding wasn’t—joyful, voluntary, and born out of love instead of necessity.
“Do you ever miss it?” Dom asks quietly.
“Miss what?”
“The excitement. The danger. The adrenaline rush of thinking we were enemies.”
