epilogue

The entire city of Milan trembled in fear. One by one, I'll Diavolo's enemies had met their gruesome demise, their bodies discovered in various states of mutilation. Yet, the man himself had vanished without a trace. The once untouchable mafia king had been declared missing, and the police, desperate for answers, had only one person to turn to—his wife.

Isabella Romano-Vitale sat in the dimly lit interrogation room, her hands resting elegantly on the metal table. Even in the cold, sterile environment, she radiated power, her piercing gaze making the detectives hesitate before speaking. She was no longer just Dante Vitale's wife—she was a force in her own right. Years in this life had hardened her, refined her, made her as much of a legend as the man she loved.

"Mrs. Vitale," the lead detective, an aging man with weary eyes, began, swallowing thickly under the weight of her gaze. "You understand why you're here."

She tilted her head slightly, the corner of her lips twitching. "Because my husband's enemies are dropping like flies?" Her voice was smooth, almost amused. "Or because you think I had something to do with it?"

The detective exchanged looks with his partner before sliding a folder across the table. Gruesome photos spilled out—bodies of men who had once plotted Dante's downfall.

"Tell me, Mrs. Vitale," he continued, "do you know anything about these murders?"

She didn't even glance at the photos. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with an air of supreme indifference. "I know that they made a mistake thinking they could take on my husband."

One of the younger officers scoffed. "And where is your husband, Mrs. Vitale?"

Isabella's smirk widened. "If I knew, do you think I would tell you?"

They had expected many things—denials, outbursts, even pleas—but not this eerie, calculated calmness. She was untouchable, and they knew it.

"We're going to need you to take a polygraph test," the detective finally said.

"Of course," Isabella said easily, standing up. "Lead the way."

_

_

_

The room was colder than the interrogation chamber, but Isabella didn't flinch as they strapped the polygraph sensors to her wrist and chest. She merely adjusted the diamond ring on her finger, its gleam a reminder of the man who owned her heart. The machine hummed to life, and the questioning began.

"Is your name Isabella Romano-Vitale?"

"Yes."

"Do you know anything about the location of Dante Vitale?"

"No."

"Do you know who is behind the recent killings?"

"No."

Every answer was verified by the machine, her voice never wavering. The detective sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, knowing this was leading nowhere. Then, he tried one last question.

"At any point during this test, have you lied?"

Isabella finally looked up, her lips curving into a slow, lethal smirk.

"Yes."

The polygraph machine beeped aggressively. Truth.

The room went deadly silent. The detective's breath hitched, his hands tightening into fists as fear crept into his eyes. "Wh-what…?"

Before he could finish, the entire building shook with a deafening explosion. The walls cracked, alarms blared, and the lights flickered. Chaos erupted outside the room as shouts and gunfire echoed through the station.

The wall to the interrogation room blasted apart, debris flying as officers dived for cover. And from the smoke, a silhouette emerged—tall, powerful, and merciless.

Dante Vitale.

Covered in blood and dust, his presence alone was enough to suffocate the room. His dark, furious eyes locked onto his wife, his jaw clenched. He looked like a god of vengeance, a man who had torn through hell itself to return to her.

"Dolcezza," his voice was rough, filled with suppressed rage and something deeper—relief. "Did they hurt you?"

Isabella, still strapped to the polygraph machine, exhaled, rolling her eyes as if this was just another evening inconvenience. "Took you long enough."

Dante's gaze flickered to the stunned officers, pure lethal intent in his stare. "Get that shit off her."

No one moved.

Dante took a single step forward, and suddenly the detective found the courage to rush forward, unstrapping Isabella in record time. The moment she was free, Dante pulled her into his arms, inhaling deeply, grounding himself in her presence.

"You were gone for too long," she murmured against his chest.

"Never again," he vowed, pressing a kiss to her temple. Then, his gaze turned cold once more as he glanced at the officers. "I assume we're done here."

The detective opened his mouth, then closed it, nodding rapidly. There was nothing they could do. Dante had come back like a nightmare, untouchable, unstoppable.

As Dante and Isabella stepped over the rubble, an officer muttered, "What kind of man comes back from the dead?"

Isabella turned slightly, eyes gleaming. "A Vitale."

And with that, they walked out of the station, leaving behind only fear and the echoes of a legend.