Epilogue
Matteo
St. Patrick’s Cathedral glows like a crowned jewel, all marble and music.
Spring hangs new and bright over Fifth Avenue, and for once in our city the only sirens belong to the choir.
Serena’s veil floats like a cloud as Antonio takes her hands, and the priest’s words braid with the murmured prayers of a hundred relatives who have negotiated with God and the devil in much darker rooms.
Livia stands at the front in a dress the color of cream, curls a riot around the crown Alessia pinned there.
She takes her job as flower girl very seriously.
Each petal is placed with the same focus she uses for her drawings.
When she catches me watching, she wiggles her fingers, all five, as if to say look how many petals left.
I press a fist to my heart and wiggle back one finger in reply. Proud of my piccola. Always.
Sometimes I still can’t believe she’s mine.
Cat squeezes my other hand. She is breathtaking in sea-glass silk.
The orange blossom at her collarbone rests beneath a simple chain, the locket warm against my knuckles when I steal a touch.
Her eyes shine and the light turns them Mediterranean blue.
We are a family in a church full of powerful families, but no one is counting ghosts today.
Rory stands beside Alessia with that small but undeniable curve to her belly.
Alessandro has one arm around her and the other braced on the pew like he could shore up the whole cathedral with his broad shoulders.
Bella leans into Raf and whispers a running critique of tuxedos that makes him grin into his bow tie.
Uncle Dante sits straighter than the saints, jaw tight, and eyes wet, though he bats away every tear before it has the chance to fall.
When Serena laughs at something Antonio whispers on the altar, the savage Valentino finally breathes.
Touching vows are spoken, then beautiful rings are exchanged.
The kiss is pure Ferrara, a little too long, a little too smug, and a part of me is worried Uncle Dante is going to rush the altar and rip Antonio’s lips off his daughter’s, but somehow he finds restraint.
Maybe it’s his wife at his side or Uncle Luca’s threats on the other.
Regardless, the applause forgives them everything.
The doors swing wide open when it ends, and the city pours in like light.
The enormous procession makes its way to the infamous Pierre Hotel. The ballroom gleams, mirrored and bright, crystal chandeliers waltzing above tables dressed in their finest. There is an inside joke in every corner tonight. Enemies once, now family.
It was just outside this very hotel that Antonio intercepted Serena only last year and encouraged her into his limo.
Few know the real story, but the rumors hum in the air all the same.
Valentino and Rossi men clap Ferrara shoulders.
Ferrara aunts pinch Valentino and Rossi cheeks.
Tonight, the weapons stay in cars by unspoken treaty.
I didn’t believe I would ever see the day, but here we are.
Livia spins under the chandeliers with a fist full of cake and two fist fulls of attention.
Ale steals her for a dance, then passes her to Rory who sways and whispers something in Gaelic, probably a curse word, that makes Liv’s grin go wide.
Antonio twirls Serena so fast her laugh leaves a comet tail.
Vinny and Bella lead a small army of little cousins headed by my brother, Rex, in a conga line that terrifies the pastry chef.
Papà and my mother appear at my elbow. Livia spots them first. She slips her hand into my father’s—the hand that’s signed truces and death warrants—and the ruthless old wolf just… melts.
“Nonno,” she says solemnly, like she’s known the word forever.
Papà clears his throat, fails to find his voice, and settles for lifting her up with a care that belongs to a different man than the one the entire city fears. “Ciao, piccolina,” he manages, kissing her forehead like it’s holy.
My mom is sunshine at full blast. “Look at you, cutie,” she gushes, cupping Livia’s cheeks as if to check she’s real. “First grandbaby in the family and already the prettiest girl in Manhattan. Too bad we’ve barely gotten a chance to see her.”
“Are you two seriously complaining that we don’t bring her by enough, already?”
“We are,” Papà answers without shame.
“We’ve barely unpacked,” I protest. “We’re still getting settled. It’s been a big move.”
“You keep saying that...” Mom throws me a smile, already smoothing a curl behind Livia’s ear. “I have a closet of tiny dresses and zero patience.”
“Dessert?” Livia suggests, priorities sound as ever.
Papà actually chuckles. “A girl after my own heart.”
And just like that, our daughter drags the Rossi patriarch and my gushing mother toward the dessert table, small hands in each of theirs, while the pastry chef visibly steels himself for whatever comes next.
I watch the chaos unfold, enjoying every minute of it.
Still, I can’t help the sliver of fear that threatens to take hold.
A part of me is sure this peace won’t last. Donal is still out there, but I’ve had a tail on him since my guys found the bastardo hiding out in Dubai.
He’s lying low and I expect it to remain that way.
If he doesn’t, he’ll be handled before he crosses the Atlantic.
Shaking my head of the dismal thoughts, I wind through the crowded ballroom and out onto the terrace that faces the park.
Guards in all black line every corner. Still, the air cools the sweat at my collar.
The city breathes below, restless and benevolent.
For the first time in years, I remind myself to count my blessings instead of focusing on the impending doom. Not impending. Everything is fine.
With all the guards hovering, I can’t help but think of Leo. “He should be here, damn it.” I say it under my breath and touch the railing like it could carry the message to the heavens. Gratitude always follows grief, the way the tide follows the moon.
“I thought I’d find you out here.” Cat’s voice reaches my ear an instant before she slips into the crook of my arm, chin tipping to my shoulder. Her perfume is citrus and rain. “Your daughter just informed Rory’s baby that cookies are a kid’s right.”
“Rory will need to know that for the record.” I kiss Cat’s temple. “How is my little flower girl?”
“Telling everyone she is the best at petals.” Cat tilts her head.
I can’t help but laugh. The doors open and Papà joins us, slower than he used to walk but proud as ever. He looks at Cat with something like relief and at me with something like a dare to ruin this and see what happens. Then he surprises us both and kisses Cat’s cheek.
“Well done, Matteo. You did good bringing her home.” There’s an edge to his voice. “Bringing both of them home.”
“I did.” My throat tightens. “With help anyway.”
He nods once, the truce old and new in the same breath. “Now, go dance before your daughter riots.”
Mom steps onto the terrace a moment later, and we take our leave, leaving behind the most unlikely but still in love couple I’ve ever met.
I guess I learned from the best. Inside, the band slides from Sinatra into something we used to hear through open windows on late nights in Little Italy.
I find Livia by the edge of the floor inspecting the sugar roses on the cake.
She looks up at me with frosting on her lip.
“Papà, they said no more petals.” Her little lips push into a pout.
“You did perfect work,” I assure her. “And according to union rules, you now owe me one dance.”
“What’s a union?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I offer my hand.
She puts her palm in mine like it always belonged there before I lead her onto the dancefloor. I pull her into my arms and we sway slow. She rests her cheek on my shoulder and hums along. She smells like sugar and sweet shampoo and a life I didn’t know I was allowed to have.
“Can we live in the sky house forever?” That’s what she calls the penthouse with its wide windows and new bookshelves already giving up space to picture books.
“For as long as you want.” I mean it so hard it hurts.
“Even when I am so big?” She spreads her arms wide.
“Especially then.”
Cat joins us, sliding her palm to the back of my neck, forehead to mine, all of us a single sway. The room blurs until it’s only their faces.
Across the floor, Serena and Antonio climb onto chairs while the cousins bang spoons against glasses for another kiss.
Ale catches my eye over Rory’s shoulder and lifts his chin: you good?
I give him what I have been waiting years to give anyone.
A smile without the smirk behind it. He answers with one of his own and pats Rory’s belly like a wish.
Toasts swell and stories bloom. The old men, Papà’s generation, the original capi of the Kings and Geminis leave out the worst parts.
The young ones pretend not to recognize the shape of a future that might not require knives and guns.
We eat too much and drink just enough, and when the band breaks into a tarantella, Papà drags Livia into the circle, and she becomes a spinning lemon among olives.
Near midnight, I ease Cat to the edge of the floor.
“Dance with me alone,” I murmur, and we drift to a balcony that overlooks Central Park, the band a soft echo in the distance.
I draw her close and she comes without question.
She rests one hand over my heart where Livia’s name now lives in colorful ink and memory, a perfect match to Cat’s.
“I used to think peace was a place,” I admit. “Some secret house at the end of a road. Tonight, I think it is a person. Two people.”
“You and your daughter?” She smiles, testing.
“You and our daughter,” I correct, and her eyes go bright again.
“Careful, Rossi. I am dangerously susceptible to romance at weddings.”
“Good to know.” I slide a small velvet box deeper into my pocket. Not tonight. Tonight belongs to Serena and Antonio and the simple miracle of everyone making it to this wedding. Soon though. Very soon.
Fireworks bloom over the park, distant and celebratory. Livia squeals somewhere behind the glass and the entire room answers. Cat looks up into the colored light, and the sky paints her in gold.
“Do you believe it?” she asks. “This quiet.”
“Yes.” I tuck her against me and watch our families laugh through the windows. “For the first time since that summer, I really do.”
She rests her cheek on my chest and listens to the proof. My heart goes steady under her hand. Behind us, the cousins roar as the band kicks into a final chorus. In front of us, the park exhales and the river beyond holds the city the way I hold the two of them.
No blood on the marble. No ghosts at the door. Just music and vows and a little girl who conquered a ballroom with petals.
I press a kiss to Cat’s hair and close my eyes. Safe. Not a word we used much. Tonight, it fits. Tonight, I’ll sway with the two souls that chose me. And vow to never let them go.
THE END