Chapter 18 Matteo
THE CEREMONY WAS small. Intimate. Exactly what we'd wanted.
One of the private rooms at Inferno, converted for the occasion. White flowers—Stefan's choice. Simple but elegant. Natural light from the high windows. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing that screamed mob wedding.
Just us and the people who mattered.
Sandro and Emilio stood together near the front. Emilio's hand rested on Sandro's back—casual intimacy that spoke of a future together. They'd almost lost this. Almost lost each other to federal prison. The relief was still fresh in both their eyes.
Elio stood to the side, perfectly composed as always. But I could see the faint tension in his shoulders. The trial had affected all of us. We were still processing that we'd actually won. That we got to keep our lives.
Luca was there too, grinning like this was the best entertainment he'd had in months. "Never thought I'd see you get married, DeLuca," he'd said earlier. "Thought you were married to violence and control."
"Found something better," I'd replied.
Diana Martinez stood near the back. She'd kept us all out of prison. Made this possible. Without her brilliant defense, I'd be in federal custody right now instead of getting married. She deserved to be here.
The officiant was a judge Diana knew. Discreet. Someone who wouldn't ask questions about why a Romano was marrying a Vitale. Someone who'd make this legal and binding and permanent.
I stood at the front in my charcoal suit. Custom tailored. Simple. Masculine. Waiting.
The door opened.
Stefan walked in.
My breath caught.
He wore midnight blue—the color made his green eyes striking. Sharp. Beautiful. The suit fit perfectly, highlighting his lean frame. His light brown hair was styled carefully. His expression was composed but I could see the emotion underneath.
This was it. The moment he officially stopped being Stefan Romano and became Stefan DeLuca.
The moment he chose his family instead of accepting the one he was born into.
He walked toward me with steady steps. No hesitation. No doubt. Just certainty.
When he reached me, I took his hand. Held tight.
"Hi," he whispered.
"Hi." My voice was rough. "You look incredible."
"So do you."
The judge cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?"
Stefan nodded. I did too.
The ceremony was simple. Traditional vows with personal additions we'd written.
When it was my turn, I looked Stefan in the eyes and said the words I'd spent days perfecting:
"Stefan, you walked into my life unexpectedly.
I caught you. Kept you. Fell for you in ways I never anticipated.
You've taught me that protection isn't the same as control.
That love means working with someone instead of around them.
That partnership requires trust even when it's terrifying.
" I paused. "Today I promise to honor your choices and your agency.
To remember you're my partner, not my property.
To choose you every day the way you've chosen me.
To build this family together—as equals, as partners, as husbands. "
Stefan's eyes were wet. He squeezed my hand.
His turn.
"Matteo, you gave me something no one else ever has—choice.
You let me decide who I wanted to be instead of telling me.
You valued my mind instead of just my appearance.
You made me feel like I mattered." His voice was thick with emotion.
"Today I'm choosing you. Choosing this family.
Choosing to be Stefan DeLuca instead of Stefan Romano.
And I promise to keep choosing you every day.
To stay even when it's hard. To build this life together. To be your partner in everything."
The judge smiled. "Do you have the rings?"
Sandro handed them over. Simple gold bands. Elegant. Permanent.
I slid Stefan's ring onto his finger. He did the same for me.
"By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss."
I pulled Stefan close and kissed him. Deep. Thorough. Full of promise and relief and overwhelming love.
When we broke apart, Stefan whispered: "I'm Stefan DeLuca now."
"Yes, you are. My husband."
"Your husband." He tested the word. Smiled. "I like how that sounds."
Applause broke out. Small but genuine. Our family—the one we'd built by choice—celebrating with us.
Emilio was crying. Trying to hide it but failing. Sandro had his arm around him, holding him close. I understood. They'd almost lost this. Almost lost each other. Watching us get married probably reminded them how close they'd come to decades of separation.
Luca clapped me on the back. "Congratulations. Try not to fuck it up."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Diana approached. Shook both our hands. "Congratulations. You've both earned this happiness."
"We couldn't have without you," Stefan said. "Thank you. For everything. For keeping Matteo out of prison. For making this possible."
"It was my job. But I'm glad I could help." She smiled. "Enjoy your evening. You've both been through enough—take time to be happy."
We moved to our usual VIP table for dinner. Small celebration. Champagne. Good food. Laughter that felt almost normal despite everything we'd been through.
Halfway through dinner, Elio mentioned casually: "Heard rumors from Chicago. Some internal family drama brewing. Someone important's son went missing. Don't know details yet."
"Should we be concerned?" Sandro asked.
"Don't think so. Chicago families don't usually involve themselves in East Coast business. Probably just internal politics." Elio shrugged. "But I'll keep monitoring it."
"Last thing we need right after the trial is more complications," Luca said.
"Agreed. Let's hope their problems stay in Chicago."
We drank to that. To avoiding complications. To peace after chaos. To getting to keep the lives we'd fought for.
The evening wound down. People left gradually. Diana first, then Luca. Eventually just Sandro, Emilio, Elio, and us.
"We should go," Sandro said. "Let you two have your wedding night."
Stefan flushed slightly. I pulled him closer.
They left. Stefan and I were alone.
My husband and I were alone.
"Ready to go home?" I asked.
"More than ready."
Our apartment—our home, officially shared now as husbands—felt different when we entered.
More real. More permanent. More ours.
Stefan stood in the center of the living room, looking around like he was seeing it for the first time. His ring caught the light. Simple gold band on his left hand.
"I'm Stefan DeLuca now," he said quietly. "Legally. Permanently. Irrevocably."
"How does it feel?"
"Right." He turned to face me. "For the first time in my life, my name actually feels like mine. Not something assigned to me by birth. Something I chose."
I crossed to him. Pulled him close. "You're mine now. Officially. Legally. In every way that matters."
"I've been yours for months. This just makes it legal."
"Legal matters. It means you can't change your mind. Can't wake up one day and decide to go back to being a Romano."
"I would never want to." He kissed me. "I'm a DeLuca. Your DeLuca. Your husband."
The word did something to me. Husband. My husband. Mine officially and permanently.
"Let me show you what that means," I said.
I led him to the bedroom. Our bedroom. The bed we'd shared for months but now it felt different. More significant. More ours.
Stefan turned to face me. His expression was soft. Vulnerable. Happy in ways I'd never seen before.
"I love you," he said. "My husband."
"I love you too." I cupped his face. "My husband. My Stefan. Mine."
I kissed him slowly. Taking my time. Making this about more than just physical desire. This was celebration. Commitment. Claiming my husband in every way possible.
Stefan kissed back with equal intensity. His hands slid into my hair. Gripped tight.
When we broke apart, I said: "I want to worship you tonight. Want to take my time. Want to make sure you feel exactly how much you mean to me."
"Then do it." His voice was rough. "Show me."
I unbuttoned his shirt slowly. One button at a time. Revealing skin inch by inch. Kissing each new section as it was exposed.
Stefan's breath quickened. His hands gripped my shoulders.
"You're so beautiful," I murmured against his collarbone. "So perfect. And mine."
"Yours," he agreed. "Always yours."
I pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Let it fall to the floor. Ran my hands over his chest, his stomach, his sides. Memorizing every detail of my husband's body.
Stefan's hands went to my shirt. Started unbuttoning with less patience than I'd shown. "Your turn."
I let him undress me. Let him take control for a moment. Let him push my shirt off and run his hands over my chest with the same reverence I'd shown him.
"I can't believe this is real," he whispered. "That we're married. That I get to keep you."
"It's real. Very real." I kissed him hard. "And you're stuck with me now. For life."
"Good. That's exactly how long I want."
We shed the rest of our clothes quickly. Both suddenly desperate. Both needing the connection.
I guided Stefan to the bed. Laid him down gently. Covered his body with mine.
"Tonight's about you," I said. "About celebrating you. About making sure you feel exactly how much I value you. How much you mean to me."
"Matteo—"
"Let me do this." I kissed down his throat. "Let me worship my husband."
I took my time. Kissed every inch of skin I could reach. Learned all over again what made Stefan gasp—biting the juncture of his neck and shoulder. What made him moan—my tongue tracing his ribs. What made him arch—my teeth scraping over his hip bone.
"God, Matteo—" His hands fisted in my hair.
"I've got you." I moved lower. "Just feel this. Feel how much I love you."
I used my mouth on him until he was trembling. Until he was begging. Until he was so close he could barely form words.
Then I pulled back.
"Not yet," I said. "I want this to last."
"You're killing me."