The Italian
: Epilogue

Four months later

The sea breeze blows through my hair, and I look into the big brown eyes opposite me.

Enrico and I are standing on the sandy beach outside our house. We’re as happy as happy can be.

It’s our wedding day.

I’m in a tight, crochet white dress with my baby bump proudly on display. My hair is down, and I have a yellow flower tucked behind one ear. Enrico is wearing white hippy clothes and is completely barefoot. It’s so unlike Enrico Ferrara.

But so Australian.

We had to change locations after Lombardi found us.

After the ordeal I went through, Enrico decided that he wanted to have more time alone before we went back to Italy. He wanted my pregnancy to be as stress-free as possible. At first, it was going to be for just one month. That then turned into two, two turned into three, and now here we are, living on an island just off the Australian North Coast.

Of course, our mothers know we are safe… but nobody else just yet. We’re flying completely under the radar.

Giuliano is in training, while Lorenzo is currently running Ferrara.

For now, we can stay where we are in our stress-free little bubble.

Alone and happy.

Without enemies, bodyguards, or family.

We have never had this in our relationship: time alone.

It’s so precious, and we are savoring every second together.

We talk, laugh, and lie in the sun. We make love endlessly. This time alone in our pregnancy is his gift to me, and we are so looking forward to our baby coming along in eight weeks.

Life is surprisingly… normal.

That is, until you see the mansion we live in. Enrico couldn’t live in any other type of home.

Luxury is who he is. He’s a Ferrara to the bone.

The priest continues, “Do you, Enrico Ferrara, take Olivia Reynolds to be your lawful wife?”

Enrico blinks back his tears, and I smile softly. He’s the most sentimental man I have ever known, and most definitely a far cry from the hardened mafia boss that everybody else knows.

I get the best of him.

His undying love and everything we have been through together has all been worth it to get to where we are right now.

To where we are supposed to be.

This isn’t how we planned to do things, but we’ve learnt that no matter what happens in the world, us being together is all that matters.

It’s important to him that we be married before the baby arrives. Today is our beach wedding. We will have a Catholic ceremony in The Pantheon when we get home to Italy.

Our sacred place.

“To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

Enrico gives me a broad, beautiful smile, and I melt. “I will.” He slowly slides the gold band onto my finger, and it’s my turn to blink back the tears.

“And do you, Olivia Reynolds, take Enrico Ferrara to be your lawful wedded husband?”

Enrico gives me a sexy wink, and I giggle despite my tears.

“To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I will.” I slide the thick gold band onto Enrico’s finger, and he smiles proudly.

“You may kiss your bride.”

We both laugh. Enrico leans in and softly kisses me. It’s full of emotion, love, and hope.

It’s perfect.

Just like him.

My love, my life, my Italian.

Two years later

The sound of the music floats through the air. I look around for my family. We are at a local fête. Or as we call it here… a carnival.

People are dancing in colorful costumes, and there are food stalls everywhere. The air is filled with laughter; so much laughter.

I see a little head bopping around up ahead, and I smile.

Enrico is standing and talking to three of his friends. Our son is high on his shoulders.

Romeo is two now, and he’s the spitting image of his father with big brown eyes, and dark hair full of curls. He’s also as smart as a whip and as cheeky as hell.

I stand and watch them for a while. Enrico has a hold of Romeo’s legs, and Romeo is laughing and dancing with another little boy who sits on his father’s shoulders while the men talk.

The other man says something, and Enrico throws his head back and laughs out loud. Romeo reaches down and pulls his hair.

Enrico winces in pain.

I laugh. This child is mischievous. He’s also the absolute apple of his father’s eye.

Enrico adores him.

I’m pregnant again—six months now—and healthy and happy.

Life’s good. It’s better than good. Amazing.

We’ll go back to Italy one day, but not yet.

Enrico wants all of his children to have this childhood. He misses Italy desperately, but not at the cost of his children’s safety and freedom.

He gets it now. He understands his father and why he did what he did. It took a long time, and he’s read that letter his father left for him many times over. But I know that, on many levels, he’s grateful that he didn’t know the finer details back then. He’s grateful that his father stayed with his mother for the sake of his children, and to be there for her.

We’re both grateful that we survived what we did.

Enrico’s eyes meet mine across the park and he says goodbye to his friends before he walks over to me. He bends and kisses me softly, and then takes my hand in his.

I look up to the little boy on his father’s shoulders.

“Ciao, amori miei! Sei pronto per tornare a casa, Romeo?” I ask. Translation: Hello, my loves. Are you ready to go home, Romeo?

“Si, mamma.” He nods.

Enrico reaches down and puts his hand over my stomach.

“Ti ho detto che sei bellissima oggi?” he asks. Translation: Did I tell you that you look beautiful today?

I giggle as I kiss his big beautiful lips.

“Una o due volte.” Translation: Once or twice.

We speak Italian at home now. It’s Romeo’s first language.

We make our way to the car.

“Dobbiamo fermarci all’ufficio postale andando verso casa. Il mio pacco è arrivato,” Enrico says. Translation: We have to stop off at the post office on the way home. My parcel has arrived.

I smirk. “Cosa hai comprato?” Translation: What did you buy now?

He gives me a sexy wink as he loads Romeo into the SUV.

Enrico still buys designer everything, he just does it online now.

I’m the best dressed woman in Australia.

You can take the man out of Italy.

You can’t take the Italy out of the man.