CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE #2
"You are a moron," Cassia choked out, the tears finally spilling over her eyelashes and tracking down her cheeks. She was laughing and crying all at once, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the moment. "You didn't even... you didn't even let me finish my charts."
Dante let out a rich laugh. He slid the sleek platinum band onto her finger. It fit perfectly.
"I will finish your charts for you," Dante promised softly, dropping the velvet box onto the counter. He reached out, pulling her flush against his chest, wrapping his arms securely around her waist.
Cassia buried her face in his neck, her hands gripping his shirt tight enough to wrinkle the fabric, still crying, still laughing.
Dante held her through it. He rested his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes, an unshakable happiness settling over him.
It was perfect. And it was how it was meant to be.
***
The following morning, the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the twelfth-floor dining space was blindingly bright.
It was Saturday. The entire family had gathered for their usual brunch. The long table was chaotic, filled with the clatter of silverware, the smell of roasted espresso, and the loud, overlapping conversations of Dante’s aunts and uncles.
Dante and Cassia walked off the elevator together. Cassia was wearing a simple, dark green sweater and jeans, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Dante walked beside her, a subtle, radiating energy rolling off him that immediately caught the attention of the room.
They took their seats near the center of the table. Concetta looked at her son, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the impossible, triumphant brightness in his gaze.
"Before we begin," Dante announced, his voice carrying effortlessly over the din of the room. The conversations immediately ceased. Dante reached out, taking Cassia’s left hand and pulling it from her pocket, resting it openly on the top of the table.
The brushed platinum and the brilliant-cut diamond caught the morning light perfectly.
"Cassia and I are engaged," Dante stated.
For one breathless second, the room was silent.
And then, pandemonium erupted.
Isabella shrieked, knocking her chair backward as she bolted up to throw her arms around Cassia’s neck. Fina slammed her hands on the table, grinning wildly, while Aunt Nettie began clapping and yelling something in rapid-fire Sicilian.
But it was Zoran Valente whose reaction cut through the noise. The massive enforcer practically leapt out of his chair at the far end of the table, his dark eyes wide with unadulterated glee. He pointed a massive finger directly at Salvatore.
"Sal! Pay up!" Zoran roared, his laughter booming through the room. He leaned over the table, looking directly at Cassia. "Doctor! Please, I need you to confirm this for the historical record. When he asked you... did you call him a moron?"
Cassia, blushing furiously as Isabella finally let go of her neck, couldn't stop the genuine smile that broke across her face. She looked at Zoran, still swiping at the lingering, joyful tears from the night before.
"I did," Cassia confirmed, her voice ringing out clearly. "I did."
"Ha!" Zoran cheered, slamming his palm on the table as Salvatore groaned, pulling a wad of euro notes from his suit pocket and tossing them across the tablecloth.
"It is true," Dante admitted readily, leaning back in his chair, unbothered by his second-in-command winning money off his proposal. He looked at Cassia with affection. "She called me a moron in the exact same breath that she said yes."
The whole exchange struck everyone as both deeply endearing and hysterically funny. The room dissolved into another round of joyous laughter, the warmth of the family enveloping them.
Concetta, who had quietly wiped a tear from her own eye, immediately pivoted from emotion to logistics. She was, after all, the matriarch.
"This is magnificent," Concetta declared, clasping her hands together. "We have so much to do. Cassia, when would you like the wedding to be? Spring? We will need to secure the cathedral, and the guest list will easily exceed five hundred if we include the syndicate heads from Milan and—"
"Mrs. Fazzari," Cassia interrupted smoothly, holding up a hand.
The sheer thought of planning a five-hundred-person mafia wedding made her want to break out in hives.
"I do not have the time, the patience, or the desire to pick out floral arrangements or debate seating charts with assassins. I work eighty hours a week."
Concetta paused, blinking. "But the logistics—"
"We will handle the logistics!" Fina volunteered instantly, her eyes lighting up with The organized zeal of a woman who had just been handed a blank check. She grabbed Isabella’s arm.
"We will plan everything. The flowers, the catering, the music, the venue.
Cassia, you won't have to lift a single finger. "
"," Isabella agreed enthusiastically. "All you have to do is show up."
Cassia didn't even hesitate. "Deal. Just tell me what time to be there and draw an X on the floor so I know where to stand, and I will be there."
Dante, listening to the absurdity of his fiancée negotiating her own wedding like a hospital shift swap, found the whole exchange endlessly hilarious.
"Or," Dante suggested, a playful, dangerous smirk curving his lips, "we could skip the seating charts. We could just go down to the courthouse tomorrow morning and get married in five minutes."
Cassia’s eyes lit up. She turned to him, genuinely thrilled by the prospect. "I have tomorrow off. That works perfectly. We can go at nine, and I can be back in time to review my afternoon case files."
" Absolutely not!" Concetta gasped, pressing a hand to her pearls in genuine horror.
"Are you insane?" Aunt Nettie shrieked from across the table. "A courthouse? Like common criminals? There are traditions, Dante! There are expectations to honor! This family has not had a wedding in a decade!"
"I am not waiting six months for Fina to argue with a florist over the shade of white on a tablecloth," Dante pushed back playfully, enjoying the outrage he had sparked. He reached over, lacing his fingers through Cassia’s. "I have waited long enough."
"You will wait until the spring, and you will wear a tuxedo, or I will poison your espresso," Fina threatened, pointing a butter knife at him.
"I'll buy the poison," Isabella added cheerfully.
The whole exchange dissolved into easy, loud, incredibly affectionate family banter.
The teasing and the laughter passed seamlessly back and forth between everyone at the table.
Uncle Sal offered unsolicited advice on avoiding the press, while Zoran began actively threatening the catering companies on Fina’s behalf.
Cassia sat in the middle of it all, her hand held securely in Dante’s.
She looked around the table. She looked at the loud, incredibly loyal people who had fundamentally rearranged their entire lives to make room for her.
She found the entire dynamic strange. It was chaotic.
It was loud. It was unfamiliar to a woman who had spent thirty years relying on no one but herself.
And yet, as she sat there, she realized it was undeniably, breathlessly warm. It was a warmth she was still learning how to accept, but she wasn't fighting it anymore.
Through it all, Dante remained openly affectionate with her. He didn't drop her hand. He didn't pull away when his uncles teased him. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her head, unbothered by who was watching, as he always was now.
And for the first time in her life, Cassia Thorn leaned into the touch, finally, truly home.