Chapter 31
BIANCA
I can’t stop staring at myself in the mirror.
The woman looking back at me is someone I barely recognize—not because I look different, but because I look exactly like who I was always meant to become.
The wedding dress is perfect, ivory silk that flows like water over my body, with intricate beadwork that catches the light every time I move.
It’s not some princess ballgown bullshit—it’s elegant and sophisticated and makes me look powerful even on my wedding day.
Which is exactly what I wanted.
The sapphire and diamond necklace at my throat catches the morning light through the bridal suite windows.
They’re not Sophia’s jewelry—I made sure of that. These are new stones, chosen specifically for today, representing the legacy I’m building rather than the one I inherited.
The weight of them against my skin feels right, substantial without being overwhelming.
You look beautiful, Matteo’s voice whispers in my head, gentle and proud.
You look like a queen, Sophia’s voice adds with satisfaction.
You look ready, Giuseppe’s voice rumbles approvingly.
Their unified approval makes me smile.
It’s hard to believe I would actually covet the voices’ approval, but here we are.
I smooth my hands over the silk one more time, then reach for my bouquet—white roses mixed with dark greenery that somehow manages to look both romantic and slightly dangerous.
Perfect for a DeLuca wedding.
A soft knock at the door makes me turn. “Come in,” I call.
The door opens to reveal Dad in his morning coat, and my breath catches.
He looks incredible—perfectly tailored charcoal gray that emphasizes his broad shoulders and the silver threading through his dark hair.
But it’s his expression that makes a lump form in my throat.
He looks proud, but it also looks suspiciously like he’s trying not to cry.
“Oh, Bianca,” he breathes, stopping just inside the doorway like he’s afraid to come closer. “You look absolutely stunning.”
“Don’t you dare make me cry,” I warn, my voice already shaky. “Santiago spent an hour on my makeup.”
He laughs, blinking rapidly. “I won’t cry if you won’t.”
“Deal,” I say, but we’re both lying and we know it.
He crosses the room slowly, like he’s memorizing every detail of this moment.
When he reaches me, his hands hover near my shoulders before settling gently on my arms.
“I can’t believe my little girl is getting married,” he says softly.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me,” I admit. “A year ago, you would have locked me in my room if I even mentioned getting married at nineteen.”
His smile is rueful. “A year ago, you were still my little girl trying to figure out who she was supposed to become. Now…” He pauses, his blue-gray eyes serious. “Now you’re a woman who knows exactly who she is and what she wants. That changes everything.”
The simple acknowledgment hits me harder than I expected.
He sees me as an adult, as someone capable of making her own choices about her life and future.
After everything we’ve been through—the lies, the truth, the anger, the reconciliation—he trusts me to know what’s best for myself.
“I love him, Dad,” I tell him, even though I know he knows this.
But still, some part of me desperately wants to make sure he knows this isn’t some impulsive, rebellious decision. “I love him more than I ever thought it was possible to love another person.”
“I know you do.” His voice is thick with emotion as he squeezes my arms affectionately. “And I know he loves you the same way. The way he looks at you…” Dad shakes his head with a small smile. “It’s like you’re the most precious thing in his world.”
“He is in mine,” I whisper, tears threatening despite my earlier warning.
Dad reaches up to cup my face gently, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. “I’m so proud of you,” he says. “Not just today, but for everything. For coming into your own. For choosing love and happiness and a future that’s entirely yours.”
“Dad,” I start, but he’s not finished.
“I know I haven’t always made the right choices,” he continues, his voice low as if he’s trying and failing to hold it together.
“I-I know I hurt you by keeping the truth from you for so long. But watching you today, seeing how happy you are…” He swallows hard and he exhales.
“I think maybe everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to.”
Dammit, Dad. That does it.
The tears I’ve been fighting spill over, and I don’t even care about my makeup anymore.
Santiago is going to kill me, but he can get in line with all the other people who also want me dead.
I reach forward and grab him in a hug, inhaling his familiar and comforting scent. Dad’s arms immediately wrap around me and I feel five years old again, safe and secure in his arms.
“You’re the best father I could have asked for,” I tell him fiercely. “Biology doesn’t matter. You chose to love me, to raise me, to be my dad when no one else would. That choice means everything.”
We’re both crying now, holding each other in the bridal suite while months of pain and healing and love pour out between us. This is closure, I realize.
Not just for the lies and the truth, but for the relationship we had and the new one we’re building.
“Oh god, I must look like a raccoon,” I laugh when we finally pull apart, both of us wiping at our eyes.
Dad hands me a handkerchief and I dab under my eyes, relieved when nothing shows up on the stark white linen. Santiago is a genius.
“You look stunning,” Dad says sincerely, his cheeks a little splotchy but they highlight his blue eyes.
“Ready to give me away?” I ask him, handing him back his crumpled handkerchief.
“Never,” he says immediately, tucking it away into his front pocket. “But I’m ready to trust you to someone who deserves you.”
He offers me his arm with old-world formality, and I take it, feeling the solid strength of him beside me.
We walk out of the bridal suite together, through the corridors of the cathedral toward the massive doors that lead to the sanctuary.
I can hear the murmur of voices beyond those doors—hundreds of people waiting to witness this moment.
Representatives from every major family on the Eastern seaboard, business associates, friends, allies.
People who’ve come not just to watch a wedding, but to see the formal alliance between the DeLuca and Ricci organizations.
“You know,” Dad says quietly as we pause before the doors, “this isn’t just about love. What you and Alessandro are creating together—it’s going to change everything about how power works in our world.”
“I know,” I reply, and I do. This wedding isn’t just personal; it’s political.
The seating arrangements alone send messages about alliances and respect.
The guest list represents a careful balance of power that took weeks to negotiate.
Even my dress was chosen to project strength as much as beauty.
But underneath all the politics and power plays, it’s also just a girl marrying the man she loves.
The doors open, and the first thing I see is the cathedral itself.
It’s breathtaking—soaring ceilings, stained glass windows that paint everything in jeweled light, and arrangements of white flowers shipped in from Italy.
Every detail has been planned to perfection, creating an atmosphere that’s both sacred and undeniably luxurious.
Nothing less for the eldest daughter of Matteo DeLuca.
Then the music begins—not some traditional wedding march, but something more modern, more us.
The notes fill the cathedral, and every head turns toward the doors.
But I only have eyes for Alessandro.
He’s standing at the altar in a morning suit that looks made to him, showcasing his muscular frame.
His dark hair is styled just messy enough to make my fingers itch to run through it, and I certainly do plan on it later.
But it’s his expression that makes me faint—wonder and love and something that looks like awe as he watches me walk toward him.
He’s perfect, all three voices agree in unison.
Hell yeah he is. I’m glad we can also agree to that.
The walk down the aisle feels both eternal and instantaneous. I’m aware of the faces turning to watch me pass.
Some are approving, the others judgmental, but they all recognize that they’re witnessing something significant.
But my focus remains on Alessandro, on the way his eyes never leave mine, on the slight smile that curves his lips as I get closer.
Halfway down the aisle, I catch sight of Bella in the front row, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue while Giovanni and Arianna wave excitedly from beside her.
The twins are dressed in matching outfits that will probably last all of five minutes once the wedding is over, their faces bright with joy at seeing their “Banca” in a pretty dress.
My family. The ones who would walk through hell for me and the ones I would do the same for.
When we finally reach the altar, Dad stops and turns to face me.
For a moment, it’s just the two of us, father and daughter, sharing this final moment before everything changes.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“I love you too, Dad,” I whisper back, feeling the significance of this moment. This is the last time I will ever be his little girl.
Then he’s placing my hand in Alessandro’s, and the warmth of his touch sends electricity up my arm.
His fingers intertwine with mine, solid and sure, and when he lifts my hand to press a soft kiss to my knuckles, I feel like I might float away with happiness.
“Hi,” he murmurs, just for me.
“Hi yourself,” I murmur back, grinning like an idiot.
The ceremony itself passes in a blur of vows and rings and words that carry the weight of forever.
When it’s time for my vows, I look directly into Alessandro’s hazel eyes and speak from the heart.
“I promise to love you with everything I am,” I say, my voice steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm me.
“The light parts and the dark parts, the gentle parts and the dangerous parts. I promise to stand beside you as your equal partner in everything we build together. And I promise that no matter what comes next, you’ll never have to face it alone. ”
His vows are just as heartfelt, just as perfect, and by the time the priest pronounces us husband and wife, there isn’t a dry eye in the cathedral.
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest announces.
Alessandro’s hands cup my face gently, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones as he looks with so much love it makes my breath catch.
“Hello, Mrs. DeLuca-Ricci,” he whispers.
“Hello, husband,” I whisper back, unable to stop the smile unfurling on my lips.
The kiss is soft at first, tender and full of promise.
But it quickly deepens as months of love and desire and the euphoria of finally being married combine into something that makes the cathedral disappear around us.
When we finally break apart, both breathless and glowing, the applause is thunderous.
But even over the applause, I can hear Giovanni shrieking, “Ew! No kiss!”
As we turn to face our guests, Alessandro’s arm around my waist, I feel complete and utter contentment.
Everything feels exactly as it should be.
It’s complicated, yes. We’re twenty and thirty-six, running criminal organizations in a world that tries to destroy everything good.
Our marriage is as much about political alliance as it is about love, and the guests applauding our union include people who would probably kill us if it served their interests.
It’s dangerous, absolutely.
The life we’re choosing means constant threats, impossible decisions, and the kind of violence that most people can’t even imagine.
There will be enemies who see our happiness as weakness to exploit and rivals who want to destroy what we’re building together.
But it’s also absolutely perfect. Standing here with Alessandro’s ring on my finger and his love surrounding me, I know with complete certainty that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
This is the life I was meant to choose, the man I was meant to love, the future I was meant to build.
I catch sight of my reflection in one of the cathedral’s mirrors as we walk back down the aisle together, husband and wife, equal partners in love and power.
The woman looking back at me is radiant with joy, strong with purpose, and ready for whatever comes next.
She’s everything I ever wanted to become.
She’s exactly who I was always meant to be.
And she’s just getting started.