Chapter 30 Damon
I'm standing at the altar of St. Anthony's Cathedral, trying not to fidget with my cufflinks, when the full weight of what's about to happen hits me.
In ten minutes, Viviana Bonacci is going to walk down that aisle and become my wife.
The church is packed with representatives from both families, a careful balance of Lombardis on one side, Bonaccis on the other, with neutral allies scattered throughout. Every face I recognize carries weight in our world. This isn't just a wedding; it's a summit meeting disguised as a celebration.
"You look like you're going to be sick," Tommy mutters beside me. He's my best man, which means he's been putting up with my nervous energy for the past three hours.
"I'm fine."
"You're sweating through a thousand-dollar suit."
"It's hot in here."
"It's sixty degrees outside and the air-conditioning is on."
I adjust my tie for the hundredth time and scan the crowd.
My father sits in the front row, looking satisfied in a way that tells me this alliance is already paying dividends.
Behind him, Uncle Sal and the other underbosses wear the expressions of men who've watched their boss make a brilliant strategic move.
On the other side, Roberto Bonacci checks his watch.
He's been nothing but cordial to me over the past three weeks, but I notice the calculation in his eyes every time he looks at me.
I'm the man who compromised his daughter, and now I'm about to become his son-in-law.
The complexity of that relationship will take time to navigate.
"She's lovely, you know," Tommy says. "Saw her at the rehearsal dinner. You did good, cousin."
"I know I did." The words come out more possessive than I intended, but I don't care. Three weeks of formal courtship, of chaperoned visits and carefully orchestrated family dinners, and I still feel like I'm going crazy every time I see her.
"Still can't believe Roberto agreed to this."
"The baby changed everything."
"Yeah, but still. Bonacci's precious princess marrying a Lombardi? Six months ago, that would have started a war."
The organ music starts, and conversation dies throughout the cathedral.
This is it.
The side door opens, and the bridal party begins their procession. Viviana's cousin serves as maid of honor, followed by two of her friends from school. They look young and slightly overwhelmed by the gravity of the occasion.
Then the music changes to the traditional wedding march, and every person in the cathedral stands.
The doors at the back of the church open.
And there she is.
Viviana appears in the doorway on her father's arm, and I forget how to breathe. The dress is simple but elegant, classic in a way that makes her look timeless. Her dark hair is swept up beneath a cathedral-length veil, and even from this distance, I can see she's nervous.
But she's beautiful.
So gorgeous it makes my chest ache.
They start down the aisle, Roberto's face a mask of paternal pride mixed with something that looks like resignation. This isn't how he pictured giving away his daughter. But as they get closer, I catch his eye, and he gives me a small nod.
Take care of her.
I will.
Viviana's eyes find mine when she's halfway down the aisle, and everything else fades away. The packed cathedral, the carefully negotiated alliance—none of it matters. All that matters is the woman walking toward me, carrying my child, about to become my wife.
She reaches the altar, and Roberto places her hand in mine after a brief hesitation.
"Take care of her," he says quietly, so only I can hear.
"With my life," I reply.
He nods and steps back, taking his seat in the front pew.
The priest begins the ceremony, but I barely hear the words. I'm too focused on Viviana, on the fact that she's really here, really doing this.
"The couple has written their own vows," the priest announces. "Damon?"
I turn to face Viviana fully, taking both her hands in mine. Looking at her now, everything I planned to say disappears.
"Viviana," I begin. "Three months ago, I thought I knew exactly what my life would look like. I thought I had everything figured out. Then I met you, and you turned my entire world upside down."
A few chuckles from the congregation, but I keep my eyes on her.
"You challenged me, frustrated me, made me want things I didn't know I was capable of wanting. You made me realize that everything I thought was important was nothing compared to this. To us."
Her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"I promise to protect you and our future children with everything I have. I promise to be the partner you deserve. I promise to love, protect and cherish you forever."
I reach into my jacket and pull out the ring, a platinum band with a single diamond that took me three jewelers to find. Simple but flawless, like her.
I slide the ring onto her finger, and she squeezes my hands.
"Viviana?" the priest prompts.
She takes a shaky breath. "Damon, when I was growing up, I used to dream about my wedding day. I imagined it would be perfect—the dress, the flowers, the man waiting for me at the altar."
She looks around the cathedral briefly, then back at me.
"This isn't the wedding I imagined. But you're not the man I imagined either. You're better. You're real. You see me. The real me, not the sheltered girl my family wanted me to be, not the proper wife they expected me to become, but me. The messy, complicated, sometimes impossible me."
I squeeze her hands for encouragement.
"You saved my life in more ways than one. You gave me a future I never could have pictured, and a love I never thought I’d have.
I promise to choose this life with you, every day, even when it's difficult.
Especially when it's difficult." She pauses, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
"I promise to love you forever, no matter what comes next. "
She slides a platinum band onto my finger.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest continues, "Damon, you may kiss your bride."
Finally.
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her with everything I have. She kisses me back just as desperately, and for a split-second, we're not in a cathedral full of people.
It’s only us.
The congregation erupts in applause, and we break apart.
"Mrs. Lombardi," I murmur against her ear.
"That's going to take some getting used to," she whispers back.
"You've got the rest of your life to practice."
As we turn to face our families I catch sight of Roberto in the front row. He's applauding with everyone else, but there's something in his expression that looks like pride. Something deeper than paternal pride.
Maybe he's seeing what I see—that this could actually work. That this alliance we've forged through marriage and blood might be stronger than anyone anticipated.
We walk back down the aisle together, and I feel the weight of every gaze following us. Some curious, some genuinely happy for us. This wedding will be talked about for years in our circles. The marriage that ended a decades-long rivalry, the alliance that changed the balance of power in the city.
But all I care about is the woman beside me.
Outside the cathedral, photographers are waiting. The carefully vetted professionals who know exactly what they can and cannot publish. As we pose for pictures, Viviana leans against me, and I catch a whiff of her perfume.
"Any regrets?" I ask quietly.
"Not one," she says immediately. "You?"
"Only that it took a kidnapping and a pregnancy to convince you to marry me."
She laughs. "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so romantic."
"Don’t worry, I plan to work on the romance part."
"You'd better. I have very high expectations for married life."
As our families file out of the cathedral behind us, mixing and mingling in ways that would have been impossible six months ago, I realize something has fundamentally shifted. This isn't about duty or honor.
This is about building something new. Something better than either family could have achieved alone.
And it starts with the woman beside me and our unborn child who will be the bridge between two worlds that have been at war for too long.
"Ready for the reception?" I ask as Tommy brings the car around.
"Ready for all of it," she says.
So am I.