Epilogue I
LUCA
“She looks like an angel,” I whisper.
Victor stands beside me, wearing his best tux for a moment I wasn’t sure would ever come: a real wedding.
“In many ways, to you, she is,” Victor replies.
St. Bartholomew’s chapel is a small but beautiful spot in Little Italy. All the Petruccis were married here, and it felt wrong not to follow one of the few traditions I wish to keep from the olden days.
The ceremony itself makes up for warmth in what it lacks in size.
Only the dons and our close family members are in attendance, each of them spruced up in their Sunday best to celebrate this day with us.
Father Nunzio’s white and purple robe with golden embroidery shines joyously as he prepares to join us in holy matrimony.
“And there is your little cherub,” Victor adds, nodding at Michael.
The boy stands next to us in Susie’s soft shadow, holding our new wedding bands. I had the old ones melted and crafted into something more significant, given everything Valentina and I went through to get to this point. My heart beats faster.
With a brilliant smile and twinkling eyes, Valentina reaches us.
And every inch of her is glorious. Even heavily pregnant, this woman absorbs the sunlight pouring through the stained-glass windows and refracts it through her wonderful being.
My queen, dressed in white and carrying white roses in her bouquet, her hair woven into an elegant bun and secured with a diamond and pearl tiara.
The organ music stops.
I wasn’t even aware of it. I was too busy watching my wife glide down the aisle, her delicate white shoes barely touching the marble floor. I look around and see nothing but smiles and goodwill.
“You look so dashing,” Valentina says, and I give her my arm, so we may both face Father Nunzio.
“And you’re a dream come true, returning to me,” I reply.
“Mama’s pretty!” Michael declares.
Everyone laughs lightly, the sound of their voices rippling through the chapel with a sweetness I never thought possible.
Not from these people. Otherwise violent in their nature, ruthless and unforgiving, built by bloody traditions and bound by centuries’ old vows.
But one chirp from my nephew, and they’re all gooey and soft, like melted chocolate.
Father Nunzio looks at my bride and me and offers a warm smile.
“When you first came to me with your request, I thought it was a bit unusual, given that you’re already married,” he says.
“But considering what you both survived, I understand that this day needed to happen on your renewed terms. It’s meant to herald a new life, a new beginning.
And I, along with the Almighty Himself, am all for new beginnings. ”
Valentina and I stay close, listening to his short but beautiful sermon.
The sun casts petals of pink, yellow, and green through the windows, petals that dance across our faces, until it’s time for Michael to give us the new rings. We say our vows and slip the rings on each other’s fingers, and my heart couldn’t be fuller. It might explode.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife once again,” Father Nunzio says. “You may kiss the bride.”
“My favorite part,” I say, making Valentina laugh.
When our lips meet, it’s as if the heavens open up to bless us. It feels right. Our souls tangle and bond forever, a connection that can never be broken wrapped in the promise of better days to come. The small crowd cheers us on, and Victor feverishly claps as he congratulates us.
“I can’t even describe how happy I am to be a part of this,” he says, shaking my hand. “You both deserve this and so much more.”
“And you deserve some rest, old man,” I tell him.
“There will be plenty of that when I’m dead. For now, I say get through the handshakes and the congratulations fast, son, and I’ll have Solomon pull the car up front, so we can get you all to the restaurant.”
“You look a lot better,” Valentina says. “The physical therapy has definitely done you good.”
“Had you not insisted, I probably would’ve languished for a bit longer,” he replies. “Congratulations, Valentina. You’ve leveled up in life, and you made it to the best part, despite the mountain of obstacles you had to contend with.”
“I’m just grateful to be able to do this,” she says, then looks at me. “To call you my home, to…”
Her voice trails off just as Johnny Mancini and his wife step up—the first couple to congratulate us. The look on Valentina’s face immediately worries me.
“Valentina?” I ask, my voice barely a mumble.
“Oh… I… I think we’re going to have to skip the wedding party,” she manages, giving me a terrified look.
My blood runs cold. She wobbles slightly, but both Victor and I have her. She grabs my arm, her grip tightening as she doubles over in pain.
“My water just broke,” Valentina cries out.
The blood drains from Father Nunzio’s face. Susie’s well trained, already scooping Michael up in her arms, ready to tag along. Victor fumbles through his pocket for the phone.
“Mama!” Michael sounds understandably worried, reaching for his mother.
Susie holds him close. “She’s okay, Michael. The baby’s coming, that’s all!”
“Baby!”
Valentina smiles through her pain, “That’s right sweetheart, the baby’s coming.”