Chapter 29 Bianca
BIANCA
The private dining room at Le Saint-Martin feels different this time.
Maybe it’s because I’m not walking in as someone trying to prove herself, but as someone who’s already proven everything that needed proving.
Maybe it’s because Alessandro is beside me, his hand warm and steady in mine.
Or maybe it’s just because I finally know exactly who I am and what I’m capable of.
The same crystal chandeliers cast their expensive light across the mahogany table, the same cut-glass windows offer views of the Montreal skyline, but everything feels changed.
The air doesn’t crackle with the tension it did during my trials.
Instead, there’s something that feels almost like respect.
Don Vitelli nods at me as we enter, his pale eyes holding acknowledgment rather than judgment.
Alberto Marconi actually stands when I approach the table, a gesture of courtesy he definitely didn’t offer during my first visit here.
Even the other family heads seem different—watchful, yes, but in the way you watch someone you recognize as an equal rather than someone you’re evaluating.
I fight a grin, trying to appear bored and nonchalant. This is kind of awesome, actually.
“Gentlemen,” Matteo begins once everyone is seated, his voice carrying the authority that comes from decades of commanding respect. “We’re here today to formalize what recent events have already made clear.”
He’s wearing his best suit—charcoal gray that fits like a glove, with a dapper tie Bella picked out. But it’s his posture that really commands the room. Straight-backed, shoulders squared, radiating the kind of quiet confidence that makes other powerful men listen.
This is Don Matteo DeLuca at his most formal, and I feel a surge of pride.
“Bianca DeLuca has proven herself through trials that would have broken lesser candidates,” he continues, his eyes moving around the table to make contact with each family head. “She has demonstrated tactical brilliance, strategic thinking, and the kind of leadership that our world requires.”
Giuseppe’s voice whispers approvingly, She earned this through blood.
She outwitted them all, Sophia’s voice adds with satisfaction.
She proved she’s ready, Matteo’s voice chimes in.
All three voices are in complete agreement, and their unified approval makes me sit a little taller in my chair.
“Therefore,” Matteo declares, his voice carrying across the ornate room, “I hereby officially reaffirm Bianca DeLuca as my heir and underboss of the DeLuca family organization.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. Hearing it said out loud, formally, in front of all these powerful men who used to look at me like I was a child playing dress-up—it makes me want to cartwheel and stick my tongue out at them.
I did it. I actually fucking did it.
Alessandro squeezes my hand under the table, and when I glance at him, his hazel eyes are bright with pride.
He looks amazing in his dark suit, the fabric perfectly fitted across his broad shoulders, and the small scar on his jaw from our final battle only makes him more handsome.
But it’s the way he’s looking at me—like I’m something magnificent—that makes my heart race.
“Furthermore,” Matteo continues, “Alessandro Ricci will continue as her partner and equal, marking a new era of alliance between our organizations.”
More nods around the table. No one seems surprised by this announcement, which tells me they’ve all been expecting it since the trials ended.
Was my crush that apparent? Yikes.
Don Vitelli speaks first, his gravelly voice cutting through the formal atmosphere. “The DeLuca family has chosen wisely. Miss DeLuca’s performance during the recent…difficulties…was impressive.”
That’s probably the closest thing to a compliment I’ll ever get from him, and I’ll take it.
“The Calabrese situation required decisive action,” Alberto Marconi adds, his tone grudgingly respectful. “The way it was handled shows real leadership potential.”
Leadership potential. A month ago, these men were questioning whether I deserved to even exist. Now they’re talking about my leadership like it’s a given.
I try to keep my expression neutral and professional, but inside I’m basically doing victory laps. I squeeze Alessandro’s fingers, fighting to keep my cool.
One by one, the other family heads offer their acceptance. Not enthusiasm, exactly, but genuine acknowledgment that I’ve earned my place at this table. The formal votes are unanimous—no one’s stupid enough to oppose Matteo when he’s backed up by recent victory and obvious competence.
When the business portion concludes, I watch the subtle shift in Matteo’s posture.
His shoulders relax slightly, and some of the formal authority melts into something more human.
He’s not just Don DeLuca anymore—he’s also the man who raised me, and the pride in his eyes is completely personal rather than political. He’s, well, Dad.
As the other families begin their private conversations and side negotiations, I find myself gravitating toward Matteo. Alessandro gives my hand one more squeeze before moving to talk with some of the other men, understanding that I need this moment alone with my father.
“So,” I say quietly, settling into the chair beside him. “How does it feel? Officially passing on the empire someday?”
“Like relief,” he admits, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. “And terror. But mostly relief.”
I study his face, noting the new lines around his eyes that weren’t there a year ago. “You know I’m going to be okay, right?” I ask him in a small voice. “I mean, I’ve proven I can handle pretty much anything at this point.”
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he covers one of my hands with his.
“You’ve definitely proven that. I just…” He pauses, seeming to struggle with the words before sighing.
“I spent nineteen years trying to protect you from becoming something dark. And now I’m watching you embrace that darkness and turn it into strength. ”
I swallow heavily at the emotion in his voice. “I—is that bad?”
“No,” he says firmly, his eyes—so much like mine—serious as they bore into me. “It’s what you needed to do. You took everything Giuseppe and Sophia gave you, everything I tried to teach you, and you made it into something uniquely yours. Something better than any of us could have managed alone.”
I feel tears prick at my eyes, which is embarrassing as hell when I’m supposed to be projecting strength and authority. But hearing him say that, hearing him acknowledge that I’ve become something good instead of something monstrous, means everything.
“You know,” I tell him, my voice a little shakier than I want it to be. I clear my throat and try again, “none of the Giuseppe being my real father changes anything important. You’re still my dad. The rest is just…details.”
The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything we’ve been through together. The lies, the truth, the anger, the reconciliation—all of it distilled down to the essential fact that nineteen years of love and protection can’t be erased.
Matteo’s not my brother—he’s my actual father.
Matteo’s—Dad’s composure finally cracks. His eyes fill with tears that he tries to blink away, and when he reaches over to squeeze my shoulder, his hand is shaking slightly.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and there’s so much gratitude and relief in those two words that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying myself.
“For what?” I manage to get out, unsure if I can actually say more without bursting into tears.
“For still wanting me as your father,” Dad says. “For forgiving me. For becoming someone I can be proud of instead of someone I have to worry about.” His voice cracks slightly. “For being exactly who you’re supposed to be.”
Before I can respond—and honestly, I’m not sure I could form words around the emotion clogging my throat—Dad clears his throat and stands.
“I think that concludes our business for today,” he announces to the room, his voice back to its formal authority. “Thank you all for coming.”
The other family heads begin filing out, each stopping to shake hands with me and offer their congratulations. It’s surreal, watching these powerful men treat me like an equal, but I manage to keep my expression professionally neutral until the last one leaves.
The moment the door closes behind them, I feel like I can finally breathe properly again.
“How does it feel?” Alessandro asks, moving closer to slip his arm around my waist as he presses his lips against my head.
“Like I just passed the world’s most dangerous final exam,” I admit, leaning into his warmth.
Back in our suite, the formal atmosphere dissolves completely. Alessandro loosens his tie, Dad sheds his suit jacket, and I kick off the heels that have been killing my feet for the past three hours. We’re just family again instead of political figures making historic announcements.
“I’m proud of you,” Dad tells me as we settle into the suite’s living room. “Not just for today, but for everything. The way you’ve handled all of this.”
I open my mouth to say something back, but there’s a knock at the door. Bella’s voice calls through. “Can we come in? Someone insisted they needed to see Banca.”
“Of course,” I call back, and the door opens to reveal a frazzled Bella trying to corral two excited toddlers who clearly have no interest in being corralled.
“Banca!” Giovanni and Arianna shriek in unison, racing toward me with their arms outstretched.
I scoop them both up, laughing as they cover my face with sticky kisses and chatter excitedly about their day. Their innocent joy and unconditional love fills the room with something brighter than all the political maneuvering and formal declarations.
This is my family. The people who choose to love me and who I choose to love back. The people who make all the politics and violence and complicated legacy worth fighting for.
“You know what I figured out?” I tell Alessandro quietly.
“What’s that?” he asks, plucking Arianna off the back of the couch.
“It doesn’t matter whose blood I have or what genetics say about who I am.
” I look around the room—at Matteo with his proud smile, at Bella settling into the chair beside us, at the twins who are now fighting over something only toddlers care about.
“What matters is the family I choose and the family that chooses me back.”
Alessandro’s smile is soft and warm as he reaches over to brush a strand of hair out of my face. “That might be the smartest thing you’ve ever said,” he teases.
“I have my moments.” I grin then turn my attention back to Giovanni, who’s trying to tell me an elaborate story involving trucks and dinosaurs and I can only understand maybe one of every four words.
As I sit here surrounded by the people who matter most, I realize something important: I’m not Giuseppe’s daughter trying to prove I’m worthy of Matteo’s love, or Matteo’s heir trying to live up to an impossible legacy.
I’m just Bianca. For the first time in my life, that feels like more than enough.
It feels like everything.