Chapter 40
Julia
The ceremony was perfect.
Actually perfect. Not "perfect for a wedding where half the guests knew the bride's aunt had murdered her father and been exiled the night before" perfect, but genuinely, tearfully, beautifully perfect.
I'd walked down the aisle to Pachelbel's Canon, Carlo giving me away with tears in his eyes. Quentin had looked at me like I was the only person in the world. Our vows had made half the room cry.
And when the priest said, "You may kiss the bride," Quentin had dipped me dramatically, kissed me thoroughly, and whispered, "We did it. We actually did it."
"Don't sound so surprised," I'd whispered back.
"I'm mostly surprised we're both still alive."
"The day's not over."
"Optimist."
Now, at the reception, we'd eaten and celebrated.
The Vanetti family mixing with the Russo family.
Emilio and Gina charming Carlo and Vinny with stories about the legitimate hotel business, about expansion plans and interior designers and things that had nothing to do with the world we'd grown up in.
Uncle Riccardo speaking quietly with some of the older Russo relatives, finding common ground in memories of New York before everything changed.
An alliance forged not in strategy, but in something real.
Love.
Complicated, messy, possibly-still-dangerous-given-our-world love, but love nonetheless.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the DJ announced, "It's time for the bride and groom's first dance!"
My heart fluttered.
This was it. The moment. Our first dance as husband and wife.
Quentin took my hand, led me to the center of the dance floor. Everyone circled around us, phones out again.
The music started—"At Last" by Etta James. Classic. Romantic. Perfect.
Quentin pulled me close, one hand at my waist, the other holding mine. We swayed together, and everything else melted away.
The family drama. The murder investigation. The confession and the exile.
All of it gone.
Just us. Just this.
"Hi," he murmured.
"Hi yourself."
"We're married."
"We are."
"For real. Not strategy. Not legal protection. Not investigation."
"For real," I agreed. "Inconveniently, irrevocably real."
"Best inconvenience of my life."
"That's romance."
"That's truth."
We danced, and I let myself feel it—the happiness, the hope, the future stretching out before us.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"For what?"
"For not giving up on me. On us."
"Couldn't if I tried."
The song built toward its crescendo. Quentin spun me out, then back in, dipping me dramatically as the final notes played.
The room erupted in applause.
We stood there, in the center of the dance floor, in the middle of our families, at the beginning of our life together.
"Ready?" he asked.
"For what?"
"Everything. Whatever comes next."
I kissed him—quick but real. "With you? Always."
The song continued. We swayed. Other couples began to join us on the dance floor—Carlo with Chiara, Stone with Serenity, Uncle Riccardo with an old friend of the family.
When the song ended, everyone applauded. Quentin kissed me again, earning cheers and wolf whistles.
"Ready for cake?" he asked.
"You know it!"
We moved to the elaborate five-tier monstrosity Carlo had insisted on. It was covered in sugar flowers and probably cost more than a small car.
"That's a lot of cake," Quentin observed.
"Carlo doesn't do anything small."
"I've noticed."
The DJ announced: "Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom will now cut the cake!"
Everyone gathered around. Phones out, cameras ready.
We took the knife together, our hands clasped around the handle. Made the first cut into the bottom tier. Perfect angle for photos.
"Don't you dare smash that in my face," I warned.
"I would never."
"Quentin."
"Okay, I was thinking about it."
We lifted the slice onto a plate. I broke off a small piece, held it up to his mouth. He took it, perfectly civilized.
His turn. He broke off a piece, brought it toward my face—
And then someone shouted.
"STOP RIGHT THERE!"
The room went silent.
I turned, fork halfway to my mouth, and my heart dropped into my shoes.
Because sitting in his wheelchair just a few feet away was my grandfather.
Nonno.
Nicodemo Russo.
Ninety-one years old and wielding what appeared to be a snub-nose revolver.
Pointed directly at Quentin.
He’d missed our rehearsal dinner last night because he’d been asleep and no one wanted to wake him. How had I forgotten that? He must have slept through the wedding ceremony as well. Now in a lucid moment, he remembered everything.
"That's him!" Nonno's voice cracked with fury. "That's the man who killed Sal!"
My stomach dropped.
"That snake murdered my son! And you're all just—just eating CAKE like nothing happened!"
Stone moved immediately, positioning himself between the gun and Quentin. "Everyone stay calm!"
"CALM?!" Someone shouted. "There's a gun!"
"He's ninety-one!" Someone else yelled. "How did he get a gun?!"
"I've had this gun since 1952!" Nonno announced proudly, waving it with terrifying unpredictability. "And I'm going to use it to get justice for my boy!"
"Nonno, put the gun down!" I said, stepping beside Stone and keeping Quentin behind me.
"Julia, move," Quentin hissed.
"He's not going to shoot me."
"He might shoot through you!"
Valid point.
Carlo reached Nonno, hands up in a calming gesture. "Nonno. Listen to me. Put the gun down."
"Not until that rat bastard pays for what he did!"
"He didn't do it!" Carlo said firmly. "Nonno, we found out last night. Someone else killed Papa. Quentin's innocent."
Nonno's hand wavered. "What?"
"The Vanetti boy did not kill Sal." Vinny spoke slowly, moving to Carlo's other side. "We caught the real killer last night."
"You did?" Nonno looked confused, the gun lowering slightly. "Why didn’t you tell me! Did you kill them? Who was it?"
Awkward silence.
"It doesn't matter," Carlo said quickly. "What matters is that Quentin didn't do it. He's family now. He married Jules."
"He... married?" Nonno squinted at me in my wedding dress, like he noticed it for the first time. "What is this? A wedding?"
"Yes, Nonno," I said gently. "My wedding. To Quentin. Remember? You were at the ceremony."
"I was?" He looked around, bewildered. "Why didn't anyone tell me there was a wedding?"
"We did tell you.” The nurse said. "Multiple times. You got dressed up special."
Nonno looked down at his suit. "I do look very handsome."
"You do," I agreed. "Very handsome. Now can you please give Vinny the gun?"
"The gun?" He looked at it like he'd forgotten he was holding it. "Oh. Yes. This old thing." He held it out to Vinny, who took it carefully. "I brought it to shoot someone. Are you sure I don’t need to do that?"
"No, Nonno,” Carlo said. “You don’t need to shoot anyone. It’s been taken care of."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I’m positive.” Carlo patted his arm. “Believe me. I’m the don now. Remember? What I say goes. No shooting necessary. Now let’s enjoy the cake.”
"If you say so." Nonno squinted at Quentin. "Sorry. Nothing personal."
"Perfectly understandable," Quentin said, still standing behind me.
"You can come out now," I told him. "The gun's secured."
"I'm comfortable here, thanks."
"Behind your wife?"
"Behind my very brave, slightly insane wife, yes."
Nonno motioned toward Quentin. "You're the groom?"
"Yes, sir."
"You married my Julia?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well." Nonno extended a shaking hand. "Congratulations. She's a pistol, that one."
"Poor word choice, Nonno," Vinny muttered.
Quentin slowly came out from behind me and shook Nonno's hand. "Thank you, sir."
"You take good care of her, or you’ll answer to me. Got that?"
"Yes sir."
"If you don't, I'll—" Nonno paused. "What was I going to do?"
"Shoot him," someone supplied helpfully.
"No!" Carlo said sharply. "You were going to give them your blessing."
"I was?" Nonno considered this. "Okay. I give you my blessing. Now where's my cake?"
"They haven't served it yet, Mr. Nico," the nurse said. "That's what they were doing when you—when you interrupted."
"Oh." Nonno looked embarrassed. "Sorry."
"It's fine," I said.
"I love cake."
"I know you do."
Carlo caught my eye and mouthed: Send him home.
I nodded.
"Nonno." I knelt beside him. “How about we get you a big piece of cake to take home? You can have it in your comfortable chair, watch your shows."
He let out a breath and nodded. "That sounds good. I can’t see that well anymore, and this chair is hurting my back."
"Then let's get you home." Vinny signaled to the nurse. "We'll wrap up a huge piece."
"Two pieces," Nonno negotiated.
"Three pieces," I offered. "Because you look so handsome in your suit."
"You're a good girl, Julia.”
"Yes, Nonno."
The nurse began to wheel him toward the exit while Vinny hurried to get the cake.
And then he was gone, wheeling toward the lobby, following the promise of frosting.
The room remained frozen for a beat.
Then someone laughed.
Then someone else.
Then the entire reception was laughing—that relief-edged, slightly-hysterical laughter that comes after genuine fear.
"Your grandfather just pulled a gun at our wedding," Quentin said.
"I'm aware."
"That happened. That was a real thing that happened."
"Welcome to the family."
"This family is insane."
"You married into it. No take-backs."
He pulled me close, kissing my temple. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The DJ spoke up, clearly trying to salvage the moment. "Okay! Now that things have settled down, how about we let the bride and groom finish cutting that cake? Everyone wants a piece, right?"
Applause. Lots of nervous laughter.
We returned to the cake—now with a slightly different energy than before.
"This is the weirdest wedding I've ever been to," Stone muttered.
"This is the only wedding you've been to," Serenity corrected.
"And it will remain the only one. I'm traumatized."
Quentin and I cut another slice—the "official" one for photos, since the first had been interrupted by armed-grandfather-crisis.
This time, Quentin did smash a little frosting on my nose.
I retaliated by smearing some on his cheek.
The photographer captured it all—us laughing, covered in sugar, alive and married and somehow having survived everything thrown at us.
Including literal gunfire threats.
After cake had been served and people had returned to celebrating, the DJ announced other traditional dances. "The bride will now dance with her brother, the don of the Russo family!"
Carlo appeared at my side, offering his hand. "May I have this dance, sorella?"
"Yes."
He led me onto the floor as "The Way You Look Tonight" began playing.
"Thank you," I said quietly as we swayed. "For everything. For believing in me. For giving me a chance."
"You're my sister. There was never a question." His expression turned serious. "Are you happy, Jules? Really happy?"
"I am. Terrified, but happy."
"Good. That's all I want for you." He spun me gently. "Though I have to say, between Filomena and Nonno, this family is giving me gray hair."
"You handle it well."
"It's all an act. Inside I'm screaming."
I laughed. "You're a good don, Carlo. Papa would be proud."
"I hope so." He pulled me closer for the final bars of the song. "I love you, Jules."
"I love you too."
When the song ended, Carlo kissed my forehead and handed me back to Quentin with a solemn nod—the old tradition, the symbolic passing from one protector to another.
A couple of dances later, I stopped to catch my breath, sending Quentin away to snag a drink. Right after he left, Quentin's cousins approached.
"Julia!" Emilio opened his arms. "May I hug my new cousin-in-law, or is that too forward?"
"Hug away," I laughed, and he did—a warm, genuine embrace that felt nothing like the calculated touches I'd grown up with in my world.
"Congratulations again," Gina said, stepping in for her own hug. "You survived the rehearsal dinner drama and your grandfather pulling a gun during the cake cutting. That's impressive."
"The boring side of the Vanetti family is very proud of you," Emilio added with a grin. "The hotel-owning, completely-legitimate, never-been-investigated-by-the-FBI cousins are officially claiming you as one of our own."
Gina swatted his arm. "Stop bragging." She turned to me with a warm smile. "We meant what we said last night—we're so happy for Quin. He deserves someone special. Someone who can handle him."
"He does come with a certain level of intensity," I admitted.
"That's the Vanetti blood," Emilio said. "Even those of us who went legit can't quite shake it. Though we channel it into hostile takeovers of competing hotel chains instead of, you know, actual hostility."
"Much more civilized," I agreed.
Gina leaned in conspiratorially. "We were taking bets on whether Quin would ever settle down. I had money on 'confirmed bachelor forever.' You've cost me two hundred dollars."
"Sorry?"
"Don't be. I'm happy to lose." She squeezed my hand. "Welcome to the family. The whole family—even those of us who stayed in New York and pretend we're normal now."
"Is anyone in this family actually normal?" I asked.
Emilio and Gina exchanged glances, then burst out laughing.
"Fair point," Emilio said. "But we're the closest you're going to get. If you and Quin ever want to visit New York and stay somewhere that doesn't involve organized crime connections, our hotel always has a suite available."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Please do." Gina hugged me again. "And if you ever need advice on handling stubborn Vanetti men, call me. I've been dealing with them my whole life."
"That offer might be worth more than the hotel suite."
"It absolutely is," she confirmed.
Quentin rejoined me moments later, but Stone immediately waved him over with an urgent gesture.
"He looks like he'll have a heart attack if I don't go see what's wrong," Quentin said. "Will you be okay for a minute?" He handed me my drink.
"Of course."
"I'll be right back."
I watched him go, proud that he was all mine. Chiara stepped beside me. "Is everything okay?"
"Absolutely."
She looked me over and nodded. "Finally... the truth. I knew something was going on, but now I can see you're okay. So, what was all that about with your Nonno?"