Page 107 of Knot Made to Break: Part Two

She whimpered. Actuallywhimpered. And Tommy choked on air somewhere beside us.

Needless to say, we made it to the airport on time. Barely. With her suitcase packed to bursting—most of it full of things she wouldn’t end up needing.

In fact, if I had my way, she wouldn’t need much clothing at all…

epilogue: giovanni

GIOVANNI

“Do you see that croissant?Look at the lamination—those layers!”

Kit’s voice was breathless with wonder, her nose nearly pressed to the glass of the bakery window. Sunlight caught her hair, casting a soft golden halo around her, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

“I swear to God, I can’t eat another dessert—” Tommy groaned, patting his stomach.

“Pretty sure we’ve single-handedly boosted the entire French pastry economy,” Marco added, his grin reflecting in the glass beside hers.

“But they were all so good.” Kit practically bounced on her toes. “We could visit each one a second time.”

I chuckled. “We better keep a close eye on our Omega. If we’re not careful, she’s going to apply for French citizenship. I think she’s fallen for this city.”

“What’s not to love?” Kit sighed with a dreamy expression, as if the city had whispered sweet nothings straight to her soul.

Marco stepped closer. “You still love us more, though, right?”

She pursed her lips like she was truly considering the question. “Do you come with desserts?”

“I’ll buy you treats every fuckin’ day, Angel.”

Her lips softened into the sweetest smile. “I’m teasing. Though I will never say no to sugar.” Hooking her fingers in the collar of his t-shirt, she tugged him closer. “You know, I love you more, right? With or without the treats.”

“I do, Kit. And I love you right back. We all do.”

“But word to the wise,” I clamped my hand down on Marco’s shoulder, “she’ll love us even more if we ply her with baked goods,” I teased.

My mate giggled but didn’t deny it, and fuck, I loved to see her playful side.

We’d been in Paris for five days, and I’d made damn sure she saw every café, every pâtisserie, every sugar-dusted, chocolate-drizzled dream the city had to offer. I’d even booked her a private class with Julien Roche—a French baking legend whose macaroons were rumored to make grown men weep. She’d come out of that class glowing like sunlight on water, flour on her cheek, grin stretched ear to ear.

She’d never looked more alive.

I’d seen her strong. I’d seen her broken. But this? This was her light, unburdened and burning bright. And fuck if it didn’t undo me every time I looked at her.

We started walking again, leaving the café behind. On one side, Kit hooked her arm around mine while on the other she held onto Tommy’s hand, walking happily between us. Marco followed behind us, while Dimitri was ahead, sunglasses on, scanning the crowds like the overprotective Alpha he was.

He clocked everything—every passing face, every car that got too close—but even he couldn’t help but soften when Kit skipped forward and slipped her hand into his.

She was everything. Every goddamn thing.

“Are we close?” she asked him, always trusting him to know where we were and where we were going.

D didn’t answer, just gave her one of those quiet, knowing smiles that said more than words ever could.

Then we turned a corner—and there it was.

The Eiffel Tower, rising above the city, framed by that perfect sunset sky.

Kit gasped. Her hand flew to her chest, and she rushed forward as we walked onto the green. “Oh my god. It’s even more majestic close up.”

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