Chapter 26
One year… Three hundred sixty-five days since I left Bianca’s office and saw my son for the first time.
It was Leonardo’s first birthday.
“Where are we going, Marco?” Bianca asked from the passenger seat. She looked stunning in a green silk dress that matched her eyes.
“It’s a surprise.”
I parked the car, and when she saw where we were, she froze.
The Duomo di Milano…
The Gothic spires rose against the night sky, just as they had on that fateful morning.
“Marco, no.” Her voice was a panicked whisper. The trauma was still there, just beneath the surface. “I can’t.”
I got out, opened her door, and held out my hand.
“Trust me, mia cara. One last time.”
Hesitantly, she took my hand.
I guided her through the massive bronze doors.
It wasn’t empty, but there weren’t six hundred people there either. In the center of the cathedral, beneath the dome, there they were…
Enzo, holding a very confused one-year-old Leo in a little suit. Matteo and Priscilla, holding hands, with Luca. Larissa, holding Sofia. Bianca’s mother, smiling through her tears, and even Alessandro, the old patriarch, with a rare gleam of approval in his eyes.
The same priest from that day was standing at the altar.
Bianca looked at me, her eyes wide with confusion.
“Marco, what’s going on?”
I guided her to the altar—the very place where I’d failed to show up.
I turned to her. Leo reached out his little arms to me, and I took him from Enzo, holding my son close to my chest.
“Bianca.” My voice was hoarse. I hadn’t prepared a speech; I only had the truth. “Almost two years ago, in this very spot, I made the biggest mistake of my life, broke my promise to you, and ran away like a coward, blinded by pride.”
I looked at our son, who was babbling happily, and then back at her.
“I’ve spent the last year desperately trying to prove that I’m the man you both deserve. I don’t want to run away anymore. I want to stay. I want to be your partner, your co-CEO, and your best friend.”
I got down on one knee.
The great Marco Valenti, on his knees, in the Duomo, holding his son.
Bianca brought her hands to her mouth, letting out a sob.
I pulled a box out of my pocket. It wasn’t the eight-carat diamond I’d thrown into the wind. It was a delicate platinum wedding band, engraved on the inside: I’m staying.
“I don’t want a marriage of convenience, Bianca, or a merger… I want you… Bianca Ferraro, will you marry me?”
Tears streamed freely down her face. She looked at her family, who were smiling. She looked at Leo, who clapped his hands.
She looked at me.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”
I stood up. The priest performed the ceremony. It wasn’t long. It wasn’t about empires. It was about forgiveness, family, and second chances.
When he said, “You may kiss the bride,” I kissed her.
The circle was complete. It was no longer about the rejected bride. It was about the husband who had returned.