Chapter 45 Jenna #3
I look around at these men—dangerous, powerful, ridiculous in flashes of humanity—and realize something unexpected.
They aren't just testing me. They're letting me see them.
Sometime, between steak and sarcasm, between Gabe's questionable monitoring habits and Damiano's balcony incident, this stops feeling like a summit of crime lords.
It feels like family. Complicated. Slightly unhinged. But family all the same.
The laughter dies down eventually, replaced by the comfortable clink of silverware and low conversation. Amauri is halfway through dessert when Enzo leans back in his chair, swirling his wine.
"So," he asks casually, as if he's asking about the weather. "How did you two meet?"
The table goes still. Not dramatically. Subtly. I feel it before I see it. Massimo stiffens beside me. Not much. Just enough. His hand rests loosely on the table, still. His jaw tightens a fraction. A flicker of warning passes through his eyes.
Oh.
I fight a smile.
Amauri perks up immediately. "Yeah! Mummy never told me!"
Massimo's eyes cut to Enzo in a way that, under different circumstances, would have resulted in someone reconsidering their life choices.
Enzo lifts both hands. "What? It's a normal question."
Is it though?
I beam sweetly. "He helped me get rid of a body."
Silence. Utter silence. Massimo turns his head toward me very slowly. His eyes scream: Are you fucking serious?
"A body?" Amauri echoes, eyes enormous.
I widen mine right back at him. "A raccoon," I correct lightly. "I accidentally ran it over."
The men stare at me. Not buying it. Not even a little.
Gabe's mouth twitches. Damiano coughs into his napkin to hide a grin.
Alessio watches me like I just passed some kind of unspoken test. Massimo closes his eyes briefly, shaking his head.
I feel his amusement before I see it. He leans closer, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "I love you."
I turn to him fully, my heart hammering in my chest, and the candlelight catches in his dark eyes. "I love you too."
It slips out easily. Naturally. Like it was never gone. Across the table, Enzo exhales softly. Damiano smirks into his wine. Gabe looks away, as if suddenly very invested in his phone again. Amauri looks between us, suspicious. "You guys are being weird."
Massimo ruffles his hair. "Get used to it."
Later, when we have a moment, I ask Massimo about Gabe. His strange obsession is quietly bothering me.
Massimo shrugs, utterly unconcerned. "We all have our tics."
I stare at him. "That's not a tic."
That finally earns me a glance. A small, knowing smile. "Depends who you ask."
I look back across the room. Gabe is leaning against a pillar, phone in hand, expression unreadable. He types something, pauses, then pockets the device as if whatever he needed to know has just been confirmed. I briefly consider warning her.
Whoever she is.
Then reality settles in. I don't know her name.
I don't know where she is. And I don't know what version of the truth she's already living inside.
Also, I have enough on my plate. Because whatever this is, it isn't casual.
It isn't accidental. If there's one thing I've learned living in Massimo's world, it's this: Some men don't need proximity to possess.
Some men claim from a distance. And once they do…
they don't let go. I don't dwell on it. This world is full of choices made long before anyone realizes they had one.
And I've finally learned where my responsibility ends.
The weekend arrives sooner than I thought.
On my side, there will only be a handful of people.
Amauri, of course, he will walk me down the aisle—since my father is, has been, and will be incarcerated for the foreseeable future.
He's also my best man. Then there's Esther.
And my cousin Philippa, who lives in England, far enough away that we could maintain a close relationship without her ever seeing the cracks. The secrets. The shadows.
I haven't let many people close over the years.
After I dropped out of college, after everything that happened, it was easier to keep my distance.
Easier to be composed, contained, unknowable.
Too many secrets made intimacy feel dangerous.
But I'm learning something new now. Secrets don't have to be isolating.
They can be shared. Held. Protected. I'm learning to live with them instead of hiding inside them.
The guest list on Massimo's side more than makes up for the lack of people on mine.
What started with a handful of invitations snowballed fast. In addition to his capos, Massimo invited the three people who helped get Amauri out, Stephano, Raffael, and Stephano's wife, Oksana, along with Raffael's wife, Sophia.
That opened the door for more of the New York family.
Enzo brought his daughter Violet and her husband, Marcello, to Vegas, and once they were included, the rest followed.
Enrico Sartori and his wife, Cat. Antonio DeLuna and his wife, Scarlet.
Friends. Extended family. Allies. Suddenly, we're looking at close to a hundred people.
More than enough to remind me exactly how alone my side of the aisle still is.
The day comes without fanfare. No crowds.
No press. No spectacle. Just sunlight spilling through tall windows, soft and golden, and the low murmur of voices that matter.
I stand at the altar in a dress that is objectively ridiculous—custom, silk, worth more than my first car—and for once I don't feel like I'm wearing a costume. I feel like myself.
Amauri stands a few steps away, solemn in a suit he's already wrinkled, clutching the rings with a seriousness that makes my chest ache.
Esther smiles at me from the front row. Philippa dabs at her eyes like she knew she would.
Behind them sit an entire clan of people who all seem to get along well, but who I have yet to properly meet.
And then there's Massimo. Waiting. Tall.
Still. Dressed in black like he always is, but softened somehow, stripped of armor in a way only I can see.
His eyes are locked on mine, unblinking, like I'm the only fixed point in the room.
I don't think about danger. Or consequences.
Or the life we're choosing. I just know—deep in my bones—that this is right.
When it's my turn, I say I do without hesitation. No tremor. No doubt. The words feel like an anchor dropping into place.
Then it's Massimo's turn. He doesn't reach for a prepared vow. He doesn't look at the officiant. His gaze never leaves mine.
"For most of my life," he begins in a low and steady voice, "I believed love was a liability." A faint, self-aware smile touches his mouth, gone as quickly as it appears. "I was taught that love makes men weak. Predictable. Easy to break." His eyes never leave mine. "So I became something else."
The room is silent now. Every breath feels suspended.
"I became ruthless," he admits simply. "I learned how to take. How to survive. How to sin without remorse." A pause. "It worked."
My chest tightens.
"Then I met you." His voice softens—not weaker, never that—but stripped bare. "I didn't understand you then. I didn't understand why you unsettled me. Why you made the world feel… less certain." He swallows. "But I knew I didn't deserve you."
Tears blur my vision.
"I tried to convince myself I could walk away from you," he continues. "That I could bury what I felt and still be whole. I told myself I hated you. I told myself you betrayed me." His jaw tightens. "I was lying to survive."
A ripple moves through the room. Someone inhales sharply, Philippa, maybe.
"I never stopped loving you," he continues.
"Even when I became a man you shouldn't have forgiven.
Even when I didn't want to. Even when loving you felt like the most dangerous sin of all.
" His eyes shine now, unguarded. "I am a merciless sinner," he acknowledges quietly.
"I have done things that cannot be undone.
I carry blood and guilt and ghosts that will never leave me. "
My heart feels too big for my chest.
"And still," he goes on, "you survived without me.
You protected our son without me. You built a life in the ruins you were left behind in.
And when I came back broken and late… You let me come home.
" He steps closer, as if distance itself is unbearable.
"I don't ask for forgiveness I haven't earned," he says.
"I don't ask you to forget who and what I am.
" He takes my hands in his, warm, steady, anchoring.
"I vow this instead," he kisses my fingers.
"I will spend the rest of my life proving that loving you is the one thing I will never fail at again. "
Tears spill freely now.
"You are the one," his dark eyes shine with severity.
"The only one. You were before I understood it, and you are now, and you will be until my last breath.
" His thumb brushes my knuckles, grounding me.
"You are my truth," he finishes. "My family.
My redemption. My home." His voice drops, fierce and reverent all at once.
"And whatever darkness waits for me in this world will never touch you or our son without first going through me. "
There isn't a dry eye left.
Massimo Manetti—Don, king, merciless sinner—looks at me like this vow is the only absolution he's ever believed in.
"I do," he finishes.
The moment he slides the ring onto my finger, I know something with absolute certainty: I didn't marry power. Or protection. Or a kingdom. I married the man who chose love and let it change him. And that choice?
It was the bravest thing either of us has ever done.