Her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"I promise to protect you and our future children with everything I have. I promise to be the partner you deserve. I promise to love, protect and cherish you forever."
I reach into my jacket and pull out the ring, a platinum band with a single diamond that took me three jewelers to find. Simple but flawless, like her.
I slide the ring onto her finger, and she squeezes my hands.
"Viviana?" the priest prompts.
She takes a shaky breath. "Damon, when I was growing up, I used to dream about my wedding day. I imagined it would be perfect—the dress, the flowers, the man waiting for me at the altar."
She looks around the cathedral briefly, then back at me.
"This isn't the wedding I imagined. But you're not the man I imagined either. You're better. You're real. You see me. The real me, not the sheltered girl my family wanted me to be, not the proper wife they expected me to become, but me. The messy, complicated, sometimes impossible me."
I squeeze her hands for encouragement.
"You saved my life in more ways than one. You gave me a future I never could have pictured, and a love I never thoughtI’d have. I promise to choose this life with you, every day, even when it's difficult. Especially when it's difficult." She pauses, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "I promise to love you forever, no matter what comes next."
She slides a platinum band onto my finger.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest continues, "Damon, you may kiss your bride."
Finally.
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her with everything I have. She kisses me back just as desperately, and for a split-second, we're not in a cathedral full of people.
It’s only us.
The congregation erupts in applause, and we break apart.
"Mrs. Lombardi," I murmur against her ear.
"That's going to take some getting used to," she whispers back.
"You've got the rest of your life to practice."
As we turn to face our families I catch sight of Roberto in the front row. He's applauding with everyone else, but there's something in his expression that looks like pride. Something deeper than paternal pride.
Maybe he's seeing what I see—that this could actually work. That this alliance we've forged through marriage and blood might be stronger than anyone anticipated.
We walk back down the aisle together, and I feel the weight of every gaze following us. Some curious, some genuinely happy for us. This wedding will be talked about for years in our circles. The marriage that ended a decades-long rivalry, the alliance that changed the balance of power in the city.
But all I care about is the woman beside me.
Outside the cathedral, photographers are waiting. The carefully vetted professionals who know exactly what they can and cannot publish. As we pose for pictures, Viviana leans against me, and I catch a whiff of her perfume.
"Any regrets?" I ask quietly.
"Not one," she says immediately. "You?"
"Only that it took a kidnapping and a pregnancy to convince you to marry me."
She laughs. "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so romantic."
"Don’t worry, I plan to work on the romance part."
"You'd better. I have very high expectations for married life."
