33. Luciano
Three months later, the sun graces us with one of those perfect afternoons—warm but not stifling, the light tinted gold as it filters through climbing ivy and rose trellises. I stand at the end of a modest aisle lined with white chairs, my heart pounding in a way I never thought it could. Not from anger, or fear, or a thirst for vengeance, but from something far more astonishing: a deep and grateful hope.
We chose a small venue tucked behind one of Kansas’s prettiest chapels. It’s the kind of place a person would never think to look for a mob family’s wedding, which is exactly why Gianna and I picked it. Tiny twinkling lights are draped between tree branches, winking in the mild breeze. At a glance, it looks like a garden party for maybe forty people—no more. A few family members, a handful of friends. No lavish spectacle, no suffocating crowd. Just us, the people we trust most, and the promise of a new beginning.
My palms sweat despite the temperate air. If you’d told me six months ago that I’d be here—heart in my throat, wearing a tailored suit I chose solely because Gianna once said I looked handsome in navy—I would’ve laughed in your face. But everything changed the night I almost lost her. Everything changed when I finally let go of my hate, focusing instead on the love I have for her.
Dante stands beside me, hands folded. He smirks a little when he catches my expression—probably because I look like I’m about to pass out. In a sense, I am. I’ve faced bullets, brawls, and betrayals, but none of those compare to the raw excitement I feel as I wait for my bride.
Bride.
A wave of tenderness crashes into my chest at the word. This time, it isn’t forced for the sake of an alliance, a contract, or a scarring brand of revenge. This is a vow chosen freely by two souls who found a reason to move together in the same direction.
A hush sweeps the small gathering as the music starts, a soft instrumental track played live by a violinist we hired. I tear my gaze from Dante’s knowing grin and turn toward the chapel doors. My heart trips over itself. The short aisle feels like a thousand miles away.
And then she appears.
She steps into view, guided by Salvatore, who’s acting as her escort today since her father is gone. We buried our feud with him. Salvatore offered to walk her down the aisle, and she accepted. She doesn’t know him very well, but she will in time.
None of that matters the moment I see her. She’s radiant. Time slows as I take in the ivory lace that skims her curves. She insisted on something simple, a dress that didn’t weigh her down. The design flows over her shoulders and frames her slight bump—a gentle swell at her midsection that reminds me how far we’ve come. She’s in her second trimester now, safe enough that the nightmare of losing our child has begun to recede.
The sight is so beautiful it steals the breath from my lungs. Gianna isn’t just pregnant—she’s glowing, her cheeks flushed a soft pink, her hair pinned back with delicate flowers. It’s as if she’s become the living embodiment of everything hopeful in this world. Her dark eyes find mine, and I swear I see tears glistening there, reflecting the same teary awe that’s choking me up.
Salvatore whispers something to her, probably a teasing comment about not tripping in her shoes, and she smiles. Then they begin the walk. Everyone is silent. Lucia stands near the front row, a grin lighting her face as she catches sight of me. Saverio stands beside her, looking mildly amused by the turn of events. For once, there are no manipulative strings to be pulled, no overshadowing tension to be ignored. Just acceptance. We’re forging a life that belongs to us.
At last, Gianna reaches me. Salvatore offers my bride’s hand with a solemn nod, and I catch a glimpse of a rare softness in his expression. He kisses her cheek gently—like a brother might. The tension in my chest melts away. We’re rewriting the script that fate tried to force on us and turning it into something we can make a life out of.
I take Gianna’s hand, and every muscle in my body sings with the rightness of it. Her fingers tremble, but her grip is sure. Up close, I see the flicker of tears on her lashes and notice the subtle hitch in her breath. We turn to face the officiant, a retired chaplain who agreed to do the ceremony with minimal fuss.
He speaks warmly, his voice carrying over the hush of the garden. I can’t track every word; my attention drifts to the soft rosebud pinned in Gianna’s hair and the way sunlight bounces off the dainty jewels on her dress. I listen just enough to know when it’s time to exchange our vows—vows we wrote ourselves, determined to cast off the shackles of the old arrangement that nearly destroyed us.
I swallow hard, palms clammy, as the chaplain gives me the nod. I release Gianna’s hand for a moment, pulling out a small card from inside my suit pocket. My voice wavers at first, but I force myself to steady.
“Gianna,” I begin, “once, I thought destiny was a curse. I believed no matter what I did, I’d be chained to anger and loss. But then you came along and proved me wrong. You taught me that love isn’t a weakness—it’s the bravest choice I’ve ever made. When I first met you, I was consumed by hatred for the past. Today, I stand here filled with hope for our future. I vow to protect you and our child, to honor your strength, to make you laugh, and to never let my fear or pride push you away again. You are my heart, and now, you’re my home.”
By the time I finish, my throat burns. Gianna’s mouth quivers in the beginnings of a smile. I slip the card back into my pocket, resisting the urge to gather her into my arms right now.
She inhales shakily, fishing out her own little slip of paper. “Luciano,” she begins. “When I met you, I thought you were all the things that frightened me—anger, violence, coldness. But you were more than your pain, and you showed me that I was more than a pawn. On the darkest night of my life, you brought me hope. We fought and bled for each other, and we learned how to love in the ashes of old sins. Today, I vow to stand by you, not because I have to, but because I choose to. I vow to fight for our marriage with the same fierceness you showed when you found me—because you are my strength, and my heart, and the only future I want.”
The chaplain beams at us. “You’ve chosen each other freely and pledged your hearts honestly. It’s my honor to declare you husband and wife. Luciano, you may kiss your bride.”
I don’t waste another second. I close the distance, cupping her face with steady hands, and kiss her like it’s the first day of my life. She leans into me, arms sliding around my neck, the gentle swell of her stomach pressing into my suit jacket. The applause that erupts is warm, immediate, and unpretentious—like everything about this day.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers, breath hitching. She’s crying, I’m crying. Dante clears his throat behind us, and I can hear Lucia squealing softly in excitement. It’s chaotic in a good way, and it’s perfect.
We turn, hand in hand, to face our guests. Dante steps up first, clapping me on the shoulder with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “You did it,” he murmurs, eyes suspiciously moist. He shoots Gianna a warm smile. “Congrats, sister-in-law. Officially, this time.”
Lucia bustles over, almost colliding with Dante in her rush to hug Gianna. She’s wearing a sage-green bridesmaid dress that Gianna picked out for her. “I’m so happy for you,” she gushes. “And to think, a few months ago, we were all convinced there’d be no saving this situation. Now look at you—radiant, pregnant, and married to one of my favorite people in this entire world.”
Gianna squeezes her back. I sense the tension between me and Saverio is absent today. He’s across the small lawn, shaking hands with Niccolo, neither of them looking the slightest bit aggravated. I can’t help the pang of surprise. We truly have come a long way, forging uneasy alliances into something closer to acceptance. Maybe fatherhood is softening Saverio, or maybe the old battles just aren’t worth it anymore.
The small reception that follows is even more intimate. Beneath a canopy of fairy lights strung between trees, tables are arranged around a clearing. Each table has a simple centerpiece—a jar filled with daisies. Gianna loved the symbolism so much that daisies now feature in all our decorations. It’s an inside joke between the two of us, and I hope it’ll stay that way forever.
No one is overly formal; the vibe is one of relief and new beginnings. Salvatore sidles up to me at one point, offering me a glass of water—no alcohol for either of us, out of solidarity with Gianna. She teased me about my “mocktail wedding,” but I insisted on it, wanting a clear head for every second of this day.
Salvatore arches an eyebrow at me. “You two look disgustingly happy,” he says, but his tone lacks malice. “I’m proud of you, Luc.”
I swallow, unsure how to respond. For a long time, Salvatore and I have been the bachelors of the family. Now he’s the only single Terlizzi left. “Thanks. And for walking her down the aisle…”
He waves a hand dismissively in my direction. “It was the least I could do. She deserved a wedding that didn’t have men with guns lining the aisle.” His gaze drifts to Gianna, who’s speaking with Lucia. “She looks so happy.”
“She is,” I whisper, heart twisting with joy. “So am I.”
Eventually, it’s time to cut the small wedding cake. Gianna insisted on lemon because it’s bright and fresh—everything we want for this marriage. She giggles when I dab a little frosting on her nose, and I lean down to kiss it away. Cameras snap, but we ignore them.
“I never imagined I’d have a wedding like this.”
I thread my fingers through hers. “Me neither. I always assumed I’d marry out of duty or not at all. If you had asked me a year ago, I would’ve said love was for fools.” A rueful smile tugs at my lips. “Guess I’m a fool now.”
She laughs softly, her breath warm against my neck. “You’re not a fool. You’re a man who risked everything to protect me. A man who’s going to be a father in just a few months.”
The reminder makes my heart flip. “You sure you’re okay with me being a dad?” I tease gently, though there’s genuine earnestness behind it. “I might be hopeless at first, but I promise I’ll figure it out.”
Gianna stands on her tiptoes to press her lips to mine for a brief, fleeting moment that leaves me wanting more. “We’ll figure it out together.”
I glance at her belly, at the gentle curve that represents a life we fought for. That we nearly lost. My hand settles protectively over it, and I whisper, “Thank you for giving me a chance to be someone better.”
“Thank you for choosing to be better,” she says. She leans closer, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw, and for a moment, we forget about the guests, about the tiny courtyard filled with flowers, about the hush of well-wishers watching our private moment. We kiss softly, deeply, the kind of kiss that speaks of forever.
When we part, the lingering sweetness of her lips fills me with warmth. I remember the man I was—angry, bound by vengeance, convinced that love was a weakness that would unravel me. But now, standing with her in my arms, I understand something I never let myself admit before: letting go of hatred isn’t weakness; it’s the purest kind of strength. It’s the willingness to fight for something bigger than myself, something worth every bruise, every scar, every leap of faith.
In“I had to be better. You deserved more than the broken pieces of me.”
Gianna exhales, and her eyes shine with a gratitude that tightens my chest. “Luc, I don’t see broken pieces anymore. I see a man who fought his demons and won.”
I close my eyes briefly, letting those words settle into the quiet spaces of my heart. A tremor of old pain flickers through me, but this time, it doesn’t own me. I breathe it out like a final exorcism. There’s no victory in clinging to rage—only in learning how to outgrow it.
When I open my eyes, she’s still there, still smiling, still warm against me. I dip my head and kiss her again, slow and purposeful, memorizing every breath and sigh. And in that kiss, I understand that this is what it feels like to truly let go—to welcome hope where hate once lived and to know without doubt that some things really are worth changing for.