"I'd go viral a thousand times if it meant I got to end up with you, Rafe. If it meant I got to keep you. If it meant I got to live this crazy, dangerous, terrifyingly real life with you. My whole life. Every single moment."
I look up at her. Something shifts in my chest. It’s sharp, consuming, and terrifyingly honest. Love. Not the tame kind. The kind that carves you open. She does that to me. Undoes me without even trying.
And I say the one thing that matters now, the words a promise, a vow, a declaration that settles in her soul, solid and true. "I love you forever, Nikki. You and me. Against the world. Always."
It’s her caption that gets them later:
@NikkiRicci #marriedthemafiaprince. didn't die. 10/10 recommend. unless you're my ex. then maybe not.
We get thirty million likes in two hours. And one anonymous message that just says:
She's not untouchable.
Instead of deleting the comment, she reposts the photo with a new caption.
@NikkiRicci Try me. #RikkiForever
EPILOGUE: RAFE
One month later, I'm reading the morning news on my tablet when the headline catches my eye:
"Scorpione Nero Leader Found Dead in Naples Warehouse."
I feel nothing at all as I scan the article describing what the police are calling a "gang execution" - three bullets to the head, very professional, no witnesses. The kind of death that sends a message without leaving fingerprints.
Enzo enters the breakfast room of our Capri villa, coffee in hand, his expression carefully neutral.
"You saw?" he asks.
"Yes." I set the tablet aside and reach for my espresso. "Took longer than expected."
"These things take time. The hit had to look natural. Random violence, you know how it is in Naples. Bad things happen." He settles into the chair across from me. "The remaining lieutenants have already reached out through intermediaries. They want peace."
"And?"
"I told them peace was never the issue. Respect was. They understand now."
Through the open terrace doors, I hear Nikki's voice, bright and animated as she films her morning routine for her followers. Something about skincare and Italian sunshine. Her engagement ring catches the light as she gestures, and I feel that familiar tightness in my chest, part possession, part protectiveness.
"And the video?" I ask.
Enzo pulls out his phone, shows me a screenshot. "Carlo Messina's face has been completely scrubbed from every version online. Our tech team's been working around the clock. Deep fake technology, frame-by-frame editing. As far as the internet's concerned, that thirteen-second mark shows nothing but empty space and shadows. For two days, his name trended in subreddits before we flooded the feed with misleading theories and burner accounts,” Enzo adds. “The internet's memory is short. Especially when we feed it distractions.”
"And the original?"
"Gone. We bought two moderators, a cloud storage admin, and scrubbed four VPN trails. It's not gone by accident." He pauses. "Also, your mother-in-law's flight landed safely. Security confirms she's home in Orlando. She thinks they're 'charming Italian tour guides' you hired as a wedding gift." I actually smile at that. "She'll be back next month. Nikki's convinced her to 'visit' indefinitely."
"Smart. Easier to protect what's close."
"If I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much more about the video. Nikki’s followers are more interested in your abs than background details anyway."
I actually smile at that. "She's good at misdirection."
"She's good at everything. The wedding video alone has forty million views. They're calling you two the 'couple of the century.' Very romantic, very public, very..." He searches for the word.
"Distracting?" I offer.
"Exactly. Hard to investigate a crime family when everyone's too busy shipping your relationship."
