Chapter 28 Bianca #2
But there are still signs if you know where to look: scorch marks on the courtyard stones, a section of wall that’s slightly different color from the rest, a fountain that had to be completely rebuilt.
Evidence of the war we survived.
I park in my usual spot and walk through the main entrance, nodding to the security guards who I’ve known since infancy. The house feels lived-in again, comfortable in a way it didn’t when I was angry at everyone and everything.
I find myself gravitating toward Matteo’s study, the room where so many important family decisions have been made over the years.
The door is open, and I can see him sitting behind his desk, reading something on his tablet.
He looks up when I appear in the doorway, putting aside his glasses—when did he get those?
“How did it go?” he asks gently, setting aside his reading and leaning forward to give me his undivided attention.
“Hard,” I admit, settling into one of the chairs across from his desk and pulling my legs up to my chest. “But good, I think. Necessary.”
He nods, understanding what I mean without needing details.
My eyes drift around the familiar room, taking in the expensive furniture, the family photos, the wall of books, and the priceless artwork that was probably procured under questionable circumstances. Bella is always telling him he needs to return them to museums.
And there, on the corner of his desk, is the photo of Giuseppe, Matteo, and Mario turned face-down.
“Why do you keep it like that?” I ask, nodding toward the picture.
Matteo follows my gaze and his expression grows thoughtful. “As a reminder,” he says.
My brow furrows. “Of what?”
“Of what not to become.” He reaches over and adjusts the frame slightly, but he doesn’t turn it upright.
“Giuseppe built something powerful, but he built it on fear and cruelty. Every day I make decisions about this family, I look at that photo and ask myself: what would he do? And then I try to do the opposite.”
I study his face, seeing the weight he carries, the responsibility of leading a family while trying not to repeat the mistakes of the man who came before him.
“That’s what you’ve been trying to teach me, isn’t it?” I realize, feeling stupid for not getting this revelation earlier. “Not just how to be strong, but how to be strong without becoming a monster.”
Matteo gives me a small, tired smile. “You’ve always had the capacity for both,” he admits.
“From the time you were little, I could see Giuseppe’s intelligence and ruthlessness in you.
But I could also see something he never had—the ability to love and be loved.
The question was whether you’d let that second part guide the first.”
“And now?” I demand, my heart thumping.
He reaches forward and takes my hand, squeezing it. “Now I think you’ve figured out how to be dangerous and human at the same time. That’s something Giuseppe never managed.”
I’m about to respond when I hear the sound that never fails to make me smile—little feet running down the hallway, accompanied by high-pitched giggles.
“Shh!” Arianna’s voice whispers loudly. “Banca no see!”
“Hiding!” Giovanni adds in his own stage whisper.
I glance at Matteo, who’s clearly fighting back laughter, then watch as two small figures creep into the study, tiptoeing dramatically toward the leather chair near the window.
“I don’t hear any little monsters in here,” I announce loudly. “I guess they must all be taking naps!”
More giggles, followed by shuffling sounds as they settle into their hiding spot.
“Nope, definitely no tiny people anywhere,” I continue, playing along. “What a relief. I would hate to have to—”
Two small figures burst out from behind the leather chair, shrieking with delight as they race toward me.
“Banca!” they yell in unison, launching themselves at my legs with the kind of enthusiastic affection that only toddlers can manage.
I scoop them both up, one in each arm, staggering slightly under their combined weight. Giovanni immediately starts chattering about something involving trucks and cookies, while Arianna pats my face with her small hands like she’s making sure I’m real.
“Were you hiding from me?” I ask them with mock suspicion.
“Surprise!” Arianna announces proudly.
“Good surprise!” Giovanni agrees, leaning forward to press a kiss to my cheek. Matteo’s eyes soften and my heart melts.
Looking at their bright, innocent faces—Giovanni with Matteo’s dark hair and serious eyes, Arianna with Bella’s delicate features but the unmistakable DeLuca bone structure—I realize something that’s been bothering me for months.
This is family. Not the blood that runs in my veins or the genetic inheritance I can’t escape, but the people who choose to love you even when you’re difficult, even when you make mistakes, even when you discover you’re capable of things that should probably scare them.
“I love you guys,” I tell them, meaning it completely.
“Love you too, Banca,” Arianna says solemnly, like she’s making an important declaration.
“Cookie time?” Giovanni asks hopefully.
I laugh, setting them down but keeping hold of their hands.
“Sure. Cookie time.” I look back to see Matteo watching us, his eyes suspiciously bright but he looks happier than I’ve seen him recently.
I swallow the lump that’s suddenly developed in my throat.
“Should we get Daddy some cookies?” I ask the twins.
“Yes!” They shriek, jumping up and down. “Cookies! Daddy! Cookies!”
Matteo laughs heartily, leaning back in his chair as he looks at the children affectionately. “Chocolate chip only,” he tells them. “No yucky oatmeal.”
“You heard him,” I tell the delighted twins. “Oatmeal cookies for Daddy. Yay!”
As we head toward the kitchen—the twins chattering excitedly in their baby talk while I listen with genuine interest—I catch sight of a family photo hanging in the hallway.
It’s from last Christmas. Matteo and Bella looking disgustingly happy, the twins in matching outfits that probably lasted all of five minutes, and me standing slightly apart but clearly part of the group.
We don’t look like a traditional family. But we look like us. Complicated, occasionally dysfunctional, bound together by choice rather than just biology.
Looking at that photo, I realize something that’s been true all along but took me all this time and a war to understand: the family that chooses you is more powerful than the family that creates you.
Giuseppe gave me his blood, his intelligence, his capacity for violence.
Sophia gave me her cunning, her survival instincts, her ability to read people.
But Matteo gave me something neither of them ever could—the knowledge that love and power don’t have to be mutually exclusive. That you can be dangerous and still choose mercy. That strength isn’t about inspiring fear, it’s about protecting the people who matter most.
And these two little hands in mine, chattering about cookies and trucks and whatever else fills their growing brains—they represent the future I’m going to build. A legacy based on loyalty and love instead of fear and control.
I may be Giuseppe’s daughter, but I’m also Matteo’s. I’m Bella’s stepdaughter and Alessandro’s partner and Giovanni and Arianna’s big sister.
Most importantly, I’m choosing to be all of those things.
And that choice makes all the difference.