His Wicked Ruin – Extended Epilogue
Bianca
One Year Later
The terrace at Matteo’s penthouse overlooks Manhattan like a promise wrapped in gold.
Strings of bulbs cast a warm glow across the space, and inside through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see the party in full swing. Rafe’s telling some story that has Luca doubled over laughing, while Enzo stands near the bar looking characteristically brooding until Isabella says something that makes his mouth twitch into an almost-smile. The penthouse is filled with people I’ve come to love over this past year—the Brotherhood and their partners, colleagues from the foundation, friends who’ve become family.
But out here, it’s quiet. Just me and the city and the weight of thoughts I can’t quite shake.
I lean against the railing, watching the sun sink behind the skyline, and press my hand against my stomach. Still flat. Still empty. Still waiting.
“You’re brooding.”
Alessia appears beside me, two glasses of sparkling water in her hands. She passes one to me with a knowing look.
“I’m not brooding. I’m thinking.”
“Same thing with you.” She clinks her glass against mine. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I take a sip. The bubbles tickle my throat. “We’ve been trying for six months.”
“Ah.” She leans against the railing beside me. “And?”
“And nothing. Every month, the same disappointment. The same negative tests. The same trying to pretend it doesn’t gut me.”
Alessia is quiet for a moment. Inside, through the glass doors, I can see Dante and Matteo at the bar. Dante’s laughing at something—actually laughing, head thrown back, shoulders relaxed. A year ago, I didn’t think he was capable of that sound.
“Have you talked to a doctor?” Alessia asks.
“Next week. We have an appointment.” I twist my wedding ring—the one without the tracker, Dante assured me—around my finger. “It’s probably nothing. We’re just impatient.”
“Or stressed. You’ve had a hell of a year.”
That’s an understatement.
Mom’s death. The scandal. Adrian. Caterina. Building the foundation from nothing while grieving everything I’d lost.
But also—Dante. Our wedding. The life we’ve built together. The way he holds me at night like I’m something precious instead of something owned.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” Alessia says softly. “I see someone who’s become so much stronger than she realizes. A year ago, you were drowning. Now you’re running a foundation that’s changing lives. You’re happy. You’re loved. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”
My throat tightens at her words.
“The Elena Fund helped seventy families this quarter,” I say, my voice thick. “Seventy women who didn’t have to choose between treatment and survival.”
“That’s incredible.”
“It’s not enough.” I watch the last sliver of sun disappear. “It’s never enough. But it’s something.”
“It’s everything to those seventy families,” Alessia says firmly. “Stop minimizing what you’ve built. Your mom would be so proud.”
My throat tightens even more.
“I know.” I touch the gold cross at my throat—still there, always there. “I just wish she could see it. See what we built from her pain.”
“She can,” Alessia says with certainty. “I believe that.”
The terrace door slides open. Dante steps out, his eyes finding me immediately like they always do. Like I’m the only thing in any room worth seeing.
“Matteo’s opening the good whiskey,” he says. “Which means he’s about to make a speech. Fair warning.”
“God help us all,” Alessia mutters, but she’s smiling as she heads inside.
Dante crosses to me, and I notice the way he moves—confident, predatory, purposeful. His hand finds the small of my back, possessive and familiar. Home.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I lean into him. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Babies. Foundations. The fact that Matteo probably has a forty-minute toast prepared.”
Dante laughs. That sound again—warm and real and mine.
“He definitely does. I saw note cards.”
I turn in his arms, look up at him. The city lights catch his eyes, turning them silver-blue, and I’m struck by how much has changed. How this man who once terrified me now makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my life.
“What if it doesn’t happen?” I whisper. “The baby. What if we can’t—”
“Then we figure it out.” His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. “Together. Whatever happens.”
“You say that like it’s simple.”
“It is simple.” He presses his forehead to mine. “You. Me. Whatever comes next. That’s all that matters.”
I want to argue. Want to list all the complications, all the fears that keep me up at night. But when he looks at me like that—like I’m worth everything he sacrificed to keep me—the words dissolve.
“I love you,” I say instead.
“I know.” His lips brush mine, soft and teasing. “I love you too. Even when you’re brooding on terraces at dinner parties.”
“I wasn’t brooding—”
He kisses me properly this time, cutting off my protest. But this isn’t the gentle kiss from a moment ago. This is possessive, demanding, the kind of kiss that makes my knees weak and my breath catch. His hand slides into my hair, angling my head exactly how he wants it, and I melt into him.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and flushed.
“What was that for?” I manage.
“Because you look beautiful tonight.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “Because I’ve been watching you all evening in this dress and thinking about taking it off you later. Very, very slowly.”
Heat floods through me. “Dante—”
“I’m going to lay you down in our bed,” he murmurs against my ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there, “and I’m going to make you forget every worry in that pretty head. I’m going to make you scream my name so loud the neighbors complain. And then I’m going to do it all over again.”
My breath hitches. “We’re at a party.”
“I know.” His smile is wicked. “Which means you have to behave yourself for the next hour. Think you can manage that, Mrs. Vitale?”
The way he says my married name sends a shiver down my spine.
“You’re terrible,” I whisper, but I’m smiling.
“You love it.” He kisses me again, quick and possessive, before stepping back and offering his hand. “Come on. Let’s go hear Matteo’s speech before he sends a search party.”
We walk inside, fingers intertwined, and I’m still dizzy from his promises.
The living room has filled up even more. Matteo stands near the fireplace, glass raised, waiting for everyone to settle. When he sees us, his grin widens.
“There they are! The guests of honor finally decided to join us.”
“We were admiring the view,” Dante says smoothly.
“I bet you were,” Rafe mutters, and Luca elbows him.
Matteo clears his throat. “Before this night ends and we’re all too drunk to remember it—except Dante, who remains annoyingly sober—I want to say something.”
He looks at Dante and me, his expression turning serious.
“A year ago, we stood in a cathedral and watched two people who started as strangers become something extraordinary. We watched a contract become a marriage. A transaction become love. And honestly? We weren’t sure it would work.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Dante says dryly, and the room chuckles.
“But you proved us wrong,” Matteo continues. “You built something real. You took pain and loss and grief and turned it into The Elena Fund. Families have hope because of you two. Because Bianca refused to let her mother’s death be meaningless. Because Dante chose love over reputation.”
My eyes sting.
“So here’s to Dante and Bianca,” Matteo raises his glass higher. “To choosing each other every day. To building something that matters. To proving that even in our world, love can win.”
“To Dante and Bianca!” the room echoes.
Dante pulls me close, presses a kiss to my temple. “See? You’ve made me sentimental.”
“I’ve made you happy,” I correct.
“Same thing.”
When the party finally winds down and we say our goodbyes, Dante keeps his hand on the small of my back, that possessive touch that says mine. In the car ride home, his thumb traces circles on my thigh, a promise of what’s waiting when we get there.
And for the first time in months, I stop counting what I don’t have.
Start counting what I do.
A husband who chose me over everything.
A foundation that saves lives.
Friends who became family.
Nights where he makes good on his promises.
Days filled with purpose and love and laughter I didn’t know I was capable of.
And time. However much we get. However it unfolds.
That’s enough.
That’s everything.
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