Page 179 of Desperate Actions

And nothing else matters.

Epilogue 1-Sammy

"Sweetheart, is this really all you wanted?"

My mother’s voice is soft, warm with the same maternal concern that has never wavered, even now that I’m a grown man. I turn to her, a slow grin spreading across my face as I take in the scene before me.

Our backyard—our home—is filled with the people we love.

The smell of grilled meat, fresh bread, and imported whiskey lingers in the air, mixing with the distant scent of blooming jasmine from Aella’s carefully curated garden.

Laughter rings out from one side of the patio, while the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar blends with the DJ’s mellow rock playlist.

It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"Aella and I didn’t want a big party. We’ve been married for four months already, Mom," I remind her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "This—good food, music, and our people—this is what we wanted."

She hums, nodding, though she doesn’t look fully convinced.

"Well, nothing’s wrong with it," she concedes. "But we do Sourdough Sundays all the time."

I chuckle, understanding her need to make thismore, but I shake my head. "Mom, I promise you, this isexactlywhat we wanted."

Her eyes soften, and she pats my cheek before stepping away to check on the bread table, where generations of sourdough recipes are proudly displayed instead of traditional wedding gifts.

The atmosphere hums with warmth and familiarity.

Junior sits at a table with the usual suspects—Ono, Liam, Connor, Balor, and some big fucker who’d been introduced to me as Gaetano Ricci, Ono’s cousin.

Their conversation is a mixture of serious talk and easy laughter, drinks clinking as they swap stories and inside jokes.

The women sit together, heads bent as they gossip and giggle, looking happy and carefree. My sister, Andrea, is right there among them, whole and unscathed after everything that went down.

Thinking about Santos—even just for a second—makes my jaw clench, but I push it aside.

Not today.

Today is for celebrating.

I scan the yard again, my gaze sweeping past my father and father-in-law, who seem locked in yet another playful argument. Judging by the smirks on everyone’s faces, it’s not serious. Probably some competitive bullshit between the two of them.

Then I see her.

And everything else fades.

Aella steps onto the patio, and it’s like the whole fucking world stops.

The sunlight catches in her dark hair, turning it into a river of midnight silk. The apple-green dress clings to her curves, a dress made to be touched, gripped, worshiped.

And I will.

Later.

Right now?

I just need to get to her.

I move, cutting through the crowd, my body pulling toward her like it always does.

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